All language subtitles for The-Pale-Blue-Eye_2022_English-ELSUBTITLE.COM-SUL_450660

Morning, gentlemen.

- You Augustus Landor?
- I am.

And you?

Captain Hitchcock at your service.
Second-in-command at the Academy.

I'm here to inform you

Superintendent Thayer
requests an immediate audience.

- And the nature of this audience?
- I'll leave that to the colonel.

- When might this take place?
- At your earliest convenience.

And if I should decide not to come?

That would be your own concern.
You're a private citizen.

Well, it's a fine day for a ride.

The governor suggests
that you were a legend

among New York City constables.

And when he recommended your services,
he noted your impressive accomplishments,

including apprehending
the leaders of the Daybreak Boys,

breaking up the dreaded Shirt Tails gang,

and solving a particularly grisly murder
of a young prostitute in Elysian Fields.

Your talents include
code breaking, riot control,

and gloveless interrogation.

You're a minister's son from Gloucester

who came to New York
while still in your teens.

And you are a widower, Mr. Landor.

Three years now.

- Shall I send for coffee?
- Beer will do nicely.

You, uh...

You keep these notes in a pigeonhole
back there somewhere, do you?

What else do they say?

Do they say that I haven't
darkened the door of a church

in a long time?

Does it mention
that my daughter ran off a while back?

We are aware
of your daughter's disappearance.

And we offer our sympathy.

With all due respect,
I hope I have not offended.

No. No, no, no.

No, sorry. I ought to apologize.

And I do. Please carry on.

Mr. Landor, we are obliged
to proceed with extreme discretion.

We're looking for someone.

A private citizen
of well-documented industry and tact

who might carry out inquiries
on the Academy's behalf.

Huh.

They're of a highly complex
and delicate nature

and concern one of our cadets.

Second-year man
from Kentucky by the name of Fry.

- Leroy Fry.
- There's no point in dancing around it.

Fry hanged himself... last night.

Oh.

Well, I'm sorry to hear that.

A dreadful business, this.
But you must understand our position.

We have been specifically charged
with the care of these young men,

to make them gentlemen and soldiers,
and to that end, we drive them.

But we'd like to think
we know when to... stop driving them.

A boy hangs himself...

uh, that's a matter for the coroner.

I'm afraid
that's not the end of it.

Cadet Fry's body was
violated last night in the hospital ward.

Violated? By whom?

Well, if we knew that, we would
have had no need to summon you.

I'm sure the Academy
has its share of pranksters.

This was no prank, Mr. Landor.

Leroy Fry's heart
was carved from his chest.

Dr. Marquis, how does
a person go about doing this?

Scalpel. Or any good,
sharp knife would do.

But getting to the heart,
that's the tricky part.

Those gashes on the lungs and liver

came from angling
the blade to save the heart.

And how would one preserve the heart?

A container of some sort.

Wrapped in muslin, maybe, or newspaper.

Very likely surrounded by ice.

What type of fella could do this?

A strong one.

Not a woman, then?

No woman as I've ever had
the pleasure of meeting, no.

What about his medical pedigree?

Would he need to be as well-educated
and well-trained as yourself?

Not necessarily.

He'd need a lot of light,
and know where to cut,

but it wouldn't have to be
a doctor or a surgeon.

- It'd have to be...
- A madman!

And still out there.

Port arms!

You'll have to forgive me,
Mr. Landor.

You've found us
in a very delicate position.

Left, face!

There are certain
powerful senators in Washington

who would like nothing more than
to see us fail utterly, to shut us down.

I'm asking you to help save the honor
of the United States Military Academy.

And save it, I'll try.

You were, uh, on guard duty
last night, Mr. Huntoon.

Yes, sir.

Post at 9:30. Relieved at midnight
and made my way back to the guardroom.

Where is that?

Number four, sir. By Fort Clinton.

I... I admit, I'm not very familiar
with the grounds,

but it seems that the part
we're standing on right now

is not on the way
from Fort Clinton to North Barracks.

- No, sir.
- Oh. What took you off course?

Well, sir, on my way, I heard something.

I reckoned it was an animal.

It sounded like it was dying
or caught in a trap, so I came to help.

I'm terribly partial to animals.

Uh... I was running this way
until I brushed Cadet Fry, sir.

- How'd he look?
- Not well, sir.

He wasn't hanging straight.

It was almost
as if he was seated in a chair.

I'm not following you.

Well, his feet were
touching the ground, sir.

- His feet were touching the ground?
- Yes, sir.

All right. What did you do next?

I ran. Ran straight back
to North Barracks.

Hmm.

Uh, one last question
and I'll trouble you no more.

Did you see anyone else about?

No, sir.

Mr. Huntoon.

The neck...

That's what first struck me.

See?

Not a clean cinch at all.
The rope grabbed at him

and ran up and down the neck
looking for purchase.

As though...

As though he was... fighting.

Hmm?

Look, if you would, at his fingers.

Blistered fresh
from clutching at the rope...

...trying to peel the thing off him.

May I ask what's going on here?

This is, uh, quite irregular.

I was wondering if you wouldn't mind
feeling around the back of Mr. Fry's head.

You did examine Mr. Fry?

Of course I examined him, as is my job.

Hmm.

Haven't we already
been through this?

- Uh...
- Hmm.

There is a contusion of sort.

Parietal region.

Approximately three inches.

- I must have missed that.
- Mmm.

Someone murdered Mr. Fry.

Is this what
you're telling us, Mr. Landor?

You might be onto something there,
Captain Hitchcock.

Well, anyone
could have missed that, doctor.

Mr. Landor.

So now you're on board,

I think it's important
we set some ground rules.

You will report to me
on a daily basis and I to the colonel.

And you mustn't breathe a word of this
to anyone, inside or outside the Academy.

- Is that all?
- One final condition.

There will be no drinking throughout
the course of this investigation.

Your reputation precedes you.

Oh.

Pardon.

- Are you Augustus Landor?
- I am.

Unless I mistake, you've been
tasked with solving the mystery

surrounding Leroy Fry.

That's so. What might I do for you?

It is incumbent upon me
and the honor of this institution

to divulge some of the conclusions
which I have reached.

Conclusions?

Regarding the late Mr. Fry.

I'd be most interested.

The man you're looking for

is a poet.

Private Cochrane.

When Leroy Fry's body
was brought back to the hospital,

you were detailed to guard it?

I was, sir.

- Did anything happen while on watch?
- Not till around 2:30.

- That's when I was relieved of my duty.
- Who relieved you?

- Private, who relieved you?
- I can't tell you, sir.

Only that it was an officer.

- He never identified himself?
- No, sir.

But I wouldn't expect it of an officer.

Hmm.

What did this officer say to you?

He said, "Thank you, private.
That will be all. I'm relieving you."

- An odd request, no?
- Yes, sir. Very.

- Did you see this officer's face?
- No, sir.

I had only a candle. It was terribly dark.

Right, tell me then,
how did you know it was an officer?

The bar on his shoulder, sir.
But I must admit, it was so very strange.

- How so?
- The bars.

The bars on his left shoulder
were missing.

Ah, there's the man himself.

Benny knows a man
who's in need of a drink when he sees one.

The very sight of it warms my blood.

- Benny!
- Sir.

- Here's... to rules.
- Fuck 'em.

Patsy.

Patsy!

What's grieving you?

Did you hear about that poor cadet?

- They say it took him hours to die.
- "They"?

Him.

Aren't you meant to be in recital?

Uh... Good evening. Recital?

No, I won't be missed.

They hardly know I'm at the Academy.

And besides, I've learned more
in rooms like this than any classroom.

I don't doubt it.

Sit, please. Please, sit.
Have a... Have a...

- Seat?
- Seat. Thank you. Uh...

Fourth Classman Poe. E. A. Poe.

Edgar A. Poe.

Worked up quite a thirst, I see.

Helps take the bite off the gloom.

Um...

So tell me, how did you learn
about Leroy Fry?

Uh, well, from Huntoon, of course.

He has been spouting the news
like the town crier.

Perhaps someone
might hang him before too long.

You don't mean to imply
that someone hanged Mr. Fry?

I don't mean to imply anything.

Why do you think that the man
who cut Leroy Fry's heart out

was a poet?

Well...

The heart is a symbol or it is nothing.

Now take away the symbol
and what do you have?

It's a fistful of muscle of no more
aesthetic interest than a bladder.

Now, to remove a man's heart
is to traffic in symbol.

And who better equipped for such labor

than a poet?

Awfully literal-minded poet,
it would seem...

Oh, you cannot pretend
that this act of savagery

did not startle the literary resonances
from the very crevices of your mind.

Lord Suckling's charming song,

"I prithee send me back my heart
Since I cannot have thine"

Or... Or the Bible even,

"Create in me a clean heart, O God."

"A broken and a contrite heart
thou wilt not despise."

Then we might just as easily
be seeking a religious maniac.

No, you see, I neglected
to tell you that I am a poet myself,

hence inclined to think as one.

I don't get around to poetry much.

Why should you? You're an American.

And you?

An artist.
That is to say, without country.

- Oh...
- What, Mr. Landor?

You've been a great help.

You want a second look
at a cadet named Loughborough.

In former days, Leroy Fry's roommate,
until they had a falling out.

The nature of which remains uncertain.

Mr. Loughborough.

Tell Mr. Landor
how you were acquainted with Mr. Fry.

Yes, sir. We were roommates.

Hmm.

You ever have a falling out?

I wouldn't call it a falling out. Just...

a matter of diverging paths, sir.

- What made you diverge?
- Well...

Nothing so...

A matter of course.

If you know of anything
pertaining to Mr. Fry,

you're bound to disclose it at once.

Well, it's like this, sir.

I'd say he'd fallen in with

a bad bunch.

At least that's what he called them.

Now then, tell me,
by "bad bunch,"

did he mean other cadets?

He never said,
but I assumed so.

And why didn't you come forward earlier?

I didn't quite see
that it had any bearing,

happening so long ago, sir.

Dismissed.

Mr. Stoddard.

You were the last one
to see Mr. Fry alive.

Yes, sir.

- Speak up.
- I'm just a bit ill, sir.

I did see Leroy
late on the night in question.

Passed him on the way
to barracks as I was coming in.

You spoke to him?

He stopped me,
asking if any officers were about.

How did Mr. Fry look?

It was so very dark.
I... I wouldn't trust my memory.

Did you see anything
on his person, a length of rope, maybe?

- None that I could see.
- Hmm.

There was something. Uh...

As Fry was leaving, I did ask
where he was off to at such an hour.

And?

He said, "Necessary business."

What did you take that to mean?

I don't know.

Dismissed.

- Pardon me, captain.
- Yes.

Christ almighty.

"A cow and sheep have been
murdered and mutilated in Cold Spring."

"Their chests most cruelly carved open
and their hearts removed."

Are any of God's creatures
immune from this man?

We don't know that this is the same man.

What?

Coincidence, is it?

Effective 0600 tomorrow morning,

all men will only attend
class, meals, prayer services.

Nothing more!

If any of your classmates ask,

we did nothing more than discuss
your acquaintance with Leroy Fry.

There was no acquaintance.
I never knew him.

- What?
- I never knew the fellow.

- Then I misunderstood you.
- Huh. You're not the first.

So, if this is not a discussion,
what is it?

An offer of employment.

There's no pay.

None of your classmates
may know what you're doing

until long after you're done with it.

If they do find out,
they'll likely curse your name.

Oh! An irresistible offer.

No, um, please, tell me more.

Excellent. I need you to decipher this...
This segment of a larger note.

You'll have to work secretly
and as precisely as you can.

I am pleased to report
I have successfully decoded your message.

Hmm. Handwritten,
it is of a personal nature.

Fry had it with him
at the time of his death.

From that,
we may presume it was sufficient

to draw him from his barracks
on the night in question.

As the rest of the message
was torn from his hand,

we may presume that the note,
in some way, identified its sender.

Now the use
of rather primitive black capitals

would also indicate that the sender
wished to disguise his identity.

An invitation of sorts, or might we
more accurately call it a trap.

A trap?

Hmm.

- Now, with that in mind... Oh, may I?
- Mmm-hmm.

Let's concentrate
our labors on the third line

which we know, for a fact, is complete.

"Be." But be what?

Something that begins with "L."

"Little"? "Lucky"?

No. Neither gibes with the invitation.

"Be lost"?
No. No. Too ungainly a construction.

If in fact Leroy Fry's attendance was
desired at a particular time and place,

there is but one word, "late."

"Be late."

And as we scan the third line,

the first word becomes almost
insultingly simple to deduce, "don't."

So, "Don't be late."

Now, look closely, Mr. Landor.

We need not journey far
for a suitable candidate.

If Fry is going
to a predetermined location,

he was, from the perspective
of the writer, coming.

So, "Come, Mr. Fry."

Now, with that in place,
it is the height of simplicity

to deduce the next word.
Can it be any other than "soon"?

We insert the word, et voilà!

"Don't be late. Come soon."

And there you have it,
the solution to our petite énigme

- respectfully submitted.
- Mmm-hmm.

First-rate work. I thank you.

- Just one thing.
- Yes?

Did you have any luck
with the first two lines?

Well, I was forced to declare them a loss.

Are you a good speller?

Oh, flawless. Judged so
by no less an authority

than the Reverend John Bransby
of Stoke Newington.

So I take it that you've never done
what so many of... us do.

Misspell similar sounding words.

For example,
"they're," "their," and "there."

A common solecism.

An invitation indeed. "Meet me there."

Of course, we still don't know
where to meet, do we?

Something with "N-G" trailing behind.

The landing!

- And might I add, the cove by the landing.
- Excellent choice.

So, "I'll be at the cove by the landing."

"Meet me there at say, 11:00 p.m. or so."

So, "Don't be late. Come see me."
Might be closer to the mark.

- Yeah.
- Ah...

Does this suggest anything to you?

Why would he meet
a fellow cadet at the landing

- when you can meet him anywhere?
- Hmm.

Because it's not a cadet, but a woman.

Hmm.

You knew the solution
all along, Mr. Landor.

I had an idea.

Well, if this is indeed a woman we seek,

I believe I may be credited
with a sighting of her.

The morning after Leroy Fry's death,
before I knew anything of what had passed,

I awoke, and began speaking
the opening lines of a poem,

lines that speak of a mysterious woman
in profound distress.

Then, just outside the mess,
appears the most beautiful creature

I've ever had the pleasure
of laying eyes on.

Who was she?

I haven't the faintest.

But why do you believe that this poem
or young woman are connected with Mr. Fry?

The air of concealed violence.

Unspeakable duress.

An unknown woman.

You could have woken
any morning and written this.

But I didn't write it. It was dictated.

- Dictated?
- Mmm-hmm.

By whom?

My mother.

She's dead.

Dead nearly, uh, 20 years.

Tell me about this Poe fella.

Oh, Poe, he...

A lovely boy.

Beautiful manners. Um... Talks a lot.

Definitely. And definitely
something peculiar about him.

Because he talks a lot?

No, because he's filled
with senseless fantasies.

Tells me about a poem,

claims it has something
to do with Leroy Fry's death.

Claims it was dictated to him
in his sleep by his dead mother.

You of all people know
that the people we lost...

are always with us.

Man will do most anything
to cheat death, won't he?

A container of some sort.

Wrapped in muslin, maybe, or newspaper.

Very likely surrounded by ice.

Good. My note reached you.

- Were you followed?
- Followed?

How unprofessional. Certainly not.

- What is this?
- The scene of the crime.

The second... crime.

Where Fry's heart was brought.

You mentioned the taking
of Fry's heart drew you to the Bible.

I must admit.
I was already moving in that direction.

Not to the Bible.

But to religion.

This... This does appear to render
a ceremony of some sort.

Blood and candles placed
in an intentional manner.

- A circle.
- Mmm. And a triangle.

And Fry's heart very likely placed inside.

I have an old friend
who might be of some use.

Professor Jean Pépé
is an expert in symbols...

- Pépé!
- ...rituals...

- ...the occult.
- Professor!

Pépé might be

- the most peculiar man...
- Come in. I'm back here.

- Sorry to intrude.
- ...I've had the pleasure of coming across.

I, uh, bring something curious
I would like you to observe.

Uh...

This can only be a magic circle.

I remember seeing it in
Le Véritable Dragon Rouge.

And if I recall all right,
the magician would stand there

in the triangle.

Alone?

Well, he might have
a group of assistants.

And candles and torches
on either side, light everywhere,

a festival of light, in fact.

Now, Gus, if you go to the third shelf...

On the second to the top.

That volume on the top.

Yes. Yes.

Pierre de Lancre,
redoubtable witch hunter.

- You read French, Mr. Poe?
- Well, yes.

Please read in silence.
It's in the center page.

De Lancre executed 600 Basque witches

and left behind
the remarkable volume you now peruse.

But the book I wish to give you,
Discours du Diable by Henri Le Clerc,

who executed 700 witches
before he was done,

is reputed to have been destroyed.

Now, rumor has it that he left behind
two or three other volumes

identical to the one destroyed.

Now, finding one has become
the idée fixe of many an occult collector.

- Why?
- Why? Ooh...

Le Clerc left behind instructions
for securing...

immortality.

Oh, my Lord.

"It is commonly known
among the fraternity of evil angels

that the contents
of a witch's sabbath feast

are confined to the following sundries."

"Unclean animals such as are
never eaten by Christian peoples,

the hearts of unbaptized children,

and the hearts of hanged men."

I need you
to discretely infiltrate the cadets,

see if you can ferret out which of them
may have a connection to the occult.

Explain yourself.

Well, um, certain overtures
have been made to me,

rather dark, and shall I say,
unchristian overtures.

- Unchristian?
- Yes.

I've been spurred to question
the very grounds of my faith.

And to dabble in mysterious and arcane
practices of an ancient provenance.

- Arcane practices?
- He means black magic. Who was it?

I demand to know.

I'm honor bound
not to reveal his name.

Who was it?

You can't drag it from me,

not if God himself threatened
to smite me with a lightning bolt.

- If you want to join our prayers...
- No, I gave my word.

- One asks you to question your faith...
- It must stay private.

Was it Marquis?

Hamilton, watch yourself.

Yes, I have a name,
but I need a face to go with it.

- Vertigo, hmm?
- Mmm.

Well, things are swirling about.

Your heart rate is rather quick.

Very well, Mr. Poe,
keep to the house today

and take care of yourself.

Present this to Lieutenant Locke
and his cadet commandeer,

Artemus, my son.

He'll make sure
you're relieved of your duties.

You wish to be excused
from class because you were feeling

vertiginous?

And an even worse ailment not noted.

A grand ennui seizure.

"Grand ennui"?

Of a most pronounced character.

Mind yourself, Poe.

You may ask the doctor yourself.

It's true, Lieutenant.

My father did tell me
he's never seen anything quite like it.

Very well.

But I am charging you
with unbecoming brazenness.

Three demerits.

Return at once to your quarters.

And you would best be there when
the officers come around for inspection.

- Poe, is it?
- Yes.

Artemus Marquis.

I must say, your brazenness is admirable.

Tonight, eleven o'clock.
18 North Barracks.

Apologies for my tardiness.
I hope I haven't kept you too long.

This is lovely.

Books!

You have never interested me more.

Where to begin? Oh...

The lamentable Fenimore Cooper.
I guess every library must have one.

Ooh, what a collection.

History of Egypt, and all sorts.

You've been found out.

Oh?

You gave me to understand
you didn't read poetry.

I don't.

Byron!

- A personal favorite, Mr. Landor...
- Please.

...and might I say, terribly well-thumbed.

That's my daughter's.

And your daughter is no longer here?

No. No, she ran off with someone.

Someone you knew?

In passing.

And she's never to return?

Not likely.

Then we're both alone in this world.

But you have your mother.

She still speaks to you.

- At any rate.
- Yes.

Yes, from time to time.

And I might add, whatever's good in me,
in person, in spirit, comes from her.

Your daughter. What's her name?
If you don't object.

Mathilde.

Mattie.

You needn't say anymore, Mr. Landor.

- So you say you found something.
- Well, no. Better than that.

Someone goes by the name Marquis.

The doctor.

No. His son, Artemus.

And I have tasked myself with maneuvering
into his impenetrable peer group.

Here's another
good creature of God.

Courtesy of la divine Patsy.

Are you going to report us
for defying curfew, Poe?

Do our wee transgressions offend thee?

Not only am I not offended,
Mr. Ballinger, but, mmm...

another round is in order.

Drink it.

All of it, woman.

Ballinger, you really
are quite the bully tonight.

Mmm.

Another, s'il vous plaît.

Oh, I thank you.

Mmm.

- I can do this all night.
- Uh-uh.

Easy, Ballinger.

I've gone to great trouble
to secure that mash.

Poe.

I understand you're a published poet.

I am told I evidence a humble gift.

Well, then I demand
a public reading.

- Pleasure us.
- Oh.

I met a lewd nude in Bermuda

Who thought she was shrewd

I was shrewder

She thought it quite crude
To be wooed in the nude

I pursued her
Subdued her and screwed her

Well done, Poe.

Bravo.

Losing card... is a seven.

Winning card... is a jack.

Oh!

Well, well, well.
It's your lucky day, Poe.

Thank you.

Is it true, Poe, that Detective Landor
interrogated you about Fry?

He was mistakenly under the impression
that I was an intimate of Fry's.

Were you?

I was not.

Fitting that the only thing
that Fry could do to gain attention

was to hang himself.

I think he hanged himself
in despair over being jilted by a lady.

And what lady
might that be, Stoddard?

What of your sister, Artemus?

Didn't she dazzle Fry?

Oh, come now, Randy.

You were closer to Fry
than anyone in this room.

I don't believe
I was so near to him...

...as you.

All right. Where were we?

Halt!

Curfew not apply to you, Mr. Poe?

Explain yourself.

Candles were
to be extinguished three hours ago.

I'm sorry, sir.

Your apologies have always
rung hollow with me.

Leroy Fry met his maker
when he too was out after curfew.

Return to barracks at once.

You're lucky you're not
digging your own grave.

Thank you, sir.

Pick up the pace.

Mattie?

"Remember thou me
for thy goodness' sake, O Lord."

"For in death
there is no remembrance of thee,

in thy grave who shall give thee thanks?"

"According to thy mercy,

remember thou me
for thy goodness' sake, O Lord."

"Mine eye is consumed because of grief."

You're Mr. Landor. Aren't you?

I am.

I'm Leroy's mother.

I'd like you to have this.

Leroy's diary.

It goes back at least three years.

I don't recall...

I'm sorry.

Terrible loss.

I don't recall any diary
being found with his personal effects.

It was Mr. Ballinger who sent it to me.

- Mr. Ballinger?
- Yes.

As soon as he heard what had happened,

he went straight to Leroy's quarters
to see what could be done.

The dear boy mailed it to me.

I see.

And just now... as soon as he saw me,

he said, "I thought you should have
Leroy's diary with you in Kentucky."

"And if you feel like burning it,
go right ahead."

How considerate of him.

But I can make no sense of it.

All the numbers and letters...

But... seeing how the Army
is depending on you,

it seems only right
that you should have it.

I'll be back to meet you
all the time.

- To manage her needs...
- I understand.

...'cause all of us are in this together.

Doctor!

Ah, Mr. Landor.
What a pleasant surprise.

Uh, please, let me introduce you
to my wife, Julia.

I've heard so much about you.

It's a pleasure.

Aren't you the gentleman
inquiring after Mr. Fry's death?

I am.

Well, we were just discussing the matter.

Indeed, my husband informs me
that despite his own heroic efforts,

the body of Mr. Fry had been judged
too far along for public display.

Hmm.

His poor parents.

Oh. Indeed.

Well, this whole matter has shaken us.

Be assured, I won't rest
until we've apprehended him.

Lovely to make your acquaintance.

My dear.

I understand you're a widower, Mr. Landor.

That is so.

Well, all due sympathy.

Was it recent?
Your wife going to her reward?

Two years ago now.

Only a few months
after we moved to the Highlands.

A sudden illness, was it?

Not sudden...

enough.

Well, your sacrifices aren't lost on me.

- Condolences.
- Thank you.

Hmm.

Brava.

Edgar, did I not tell you
my sister is a prodigy?

Marvelous, my dear.
Brought a tear to my eye.

Yeah.

A lovely run, Miss Marquis.

- Truly.
- Yes.

Your immortality is assured.

I can't think of any woman
who wishes to be immortal, Randy.

I am at once reminded
of Sir Thomas Grey's,

"Full many a flower
Is born to blush unseen"

"And waste its sweetness
On the desert air"

A favorite, Mr. Poe.

And what do you think
of my little protégé?

I think Mr. Poe is far beyond
being anyone's protégé.

He's certainly not to be corrupted
by the likes of you.

All right, Lea.

That's enough now.
You need to rest before dinner.

- If you'll excuse me, gentlemen.
- Thank you, Lea.

Randy, chairs.

Stoddard, come on, man. Chess board.

All right. I'm bored now.

I don't care! She's ill.

In her condition,
she shouldn't be entertaining at all.

Miss Marquis.

Oh, um... Pardon me.

Nothing would afford me greater pleasure
than an audience with you on Saturday.

I'm sure that's true, Mr. Poe,
but... I'm afraid I'm engaged Saturday.

Ah, I see.

Your coat and your hat, sir.

Thank you, Eugenia. You needn't have.

I could have fetched my coat myself.

- Good evening.
- Good evening.

You speak French, Mr. Poe.

With an accent that is rather charming.

So you propose this Saturday?

Or Sunday, if that's preferable.

Or Monday, even.

And where do you propose this audience?

Let me guess.
Gee's Point? Flirtation Walk?

Oh, no, no, no.

Neither, I'm afraid, no.

I had in mind the cemetery.

- The cemetery?
- Mmm.

How interesting.

Yes, I certainly think so.

Well, I wish you good evening.

It's all so bare now.

But to enjoy the Highlands
in the full extent of their glory,

it must be seen immediately
after the fall of the leaf.

Why is that?

Vegetation does not improve,

but rather obstructs
God's originating design.

A romantic.

You do enjoy talking
about God and death, don't you?

I do consider death
to be poetry's most exalted theme.

Shall we?

- A lovely spot.
- Yes, it's my favorite.

How well it sits on you, morbidity.

Suits you better than your uniform.

The only one to match you is Artemus.

I've never seen him dwell
in the realms of melancholy.

He does consent
to visit our world for long intervals.

You know I believe it's possible
to dance on broken glass

for some length of time.

Not forever.

Yes, I can see you two
hold much in common.

I hope you aren't cold.

The frigid climate
has clearly settled in for good.

Please, let us not.

Do not suppose I came here
to talk about the weather. How prosaic.

I'm sorry.
My sole concern was for your welfare.

Proceed then, by all means.

Declare your undying love, so we may
both return home and be none the worse.

- I was just saying...
- I'm sorry.

Sorry, I'm being a horror,
and I have no idea why.

You are cold.

Miss Marquis, would you
like to borrow my cloak?

- Quite all right.
- It's really no, um...

I...

- What?
- Miss Marquis.

Lea! Lea!

Lea! Lea? What's happening?

Lea!

Lea.

My God, Lea.

Are you all right?

- Lea?
- I'm rather fine.

Are you sure you're all right?
I was quite terrified.

It happens.
It's nothing to worry about.

Your, um...

Your spirit so emboldens me
that I feel free to confess...

my mother has
a kind of presence in my life.

My sleepings and my awakenings.

Yes. Yes.

At times, I believe the dead haunt us
because we love them too little.

We forget them, you see.
We don't mean to, but we do.

I believe they feel most cruelly deserted,
and so they clamor for us.

Perhaps it best we don't give
that too much thought.

I want you to know how grateful I was...

to open my eyes and find you there.

To look deep within you

and find something
I would never have expected.

Not in a thousand years.

Thank you.

Stop!

Bastards ought to know
their fucking place.

Stay away from Lea.

Leave off!

Leave off, Ballinger!

Or you will be court-martialed!

Ugly fuck.

You all right?

Clearly that savage knows
that Lea prefers me to him.

- And if he seeks to frighten me away...
- Frighten?

- He looked set on killing you.
- Killing me? Oh!

Oh, no. Before I let him come
between me and my heart's desire,

I will kill him.

It's always been this way.
People underestimating me.

Friends, classmates,
my very own benefactor.

- Thank you, Patsy.
- Everyone.

Everyone...

but my dear mother.

And thank you for assisting earlier.

It's unlike me to be caught by surprise.

And you surprise too. Don't you, Landor?

I have no desire to offend,

but you're much more sophisticated
than you present.

Now, tell me, is it true
you once solicited a confession

with nothing more than a piercing look?

With enough patience,

the suspect will often
interrogate himself.

Well, you are most
delightful company, Landor.

I shall write a poem someday.

Something that shall send
your name down through the ages.

Even after this attack,
you don't suspect Randy Ballinger?

So where does this leave you?

Your investigation.

I'm interested in Artemus Marquis.

I take it you know him?

Well, who doesn't?

Glorious look to him.

He'd almost have
to die young, wouldn't he?

But I wouldn't have
picked him for the violent sort.

Always, um, very cool.

Perhaps he's not our man.

There's a quality to him.
To his entire family.

They act like people
who are guilty of something.

Aren't all families guilty of something?

- Captain.
- It's Mr. Ballinger.

I'm afraid he's gone missing.

Next to those rocks.

Here on this side too.

Up the hill.

Cadet, right side.
Behind those trees.

Nothing here.

Captain! Up here!

My Lord.

Mr. Ballinger's dissection
wasn't as clean as Fry's.

Suggesting it was performed
by different hands.

As for the castration...

Well, I'm...

Castration?

My God, Landor.

We're no closer to finding
who's responsible for this

than we were a month ago!

We are closer.

- It's only a matter of time.
- Tell me!

Have you found
more evidence of satanic practices?

What of the so-called officer
who persuaded Private Cochrane

to abandon Leroy Fry's body?

Or Fry's diary?

Have you found a single clue
that might be of use?

A maniac is freely roaming these hills,
disemboweling my men.

Men who barely carry out their duties,
hardly leave their barracks or sleep.

And if they can sleep,
do so with their muskets!

I'm beginning to believe
you no longer think I'm competent

to undertake this investigation.

Thank you, doctor.

It's not your competence we question,
it's your allegiance.

Is there any possibility that this
could have been the work of Mr. Poe?

Poe?

Just yesterday,
he was regaling his table mates

with an heroic account
of his epic tussle with Mr. Ballinger,

declaring that he
fully intended to kill him

should they ever cross swords again.

You've seen Poe.

Can you honestly tell me
he subdued Ballinger?

No, there would have been no need.
Firearm would have turned the trick.

Whatever his relations with Ballinger,

there's no sign of any link
between Poe and Leroy Fry.

- They didn't even know each other.
- Oh, but they did.

They had a tussle
of their own last summer.

I don't suppose he ever volunteered
that bit of information, did he?

Then arrest him.

Arrest him if you are so persuaded.

All we have is motive.

We're looking to you to supply evidence!

Mr. Landor, do you harbor
a latent hostility toward this Academy?

Is that it?

I am risking my life
on behalf of your precious institution.

But yes.

I do believe that the Academy
takes away a young man's will.

It fences him with regulations and rules.

Deprives him of reason.
It makes him less human.

Are you implying
the Academy is to blame for these deaths?

Someone connected to the Academy, yes.
Hence, the Academy itself.

Well, that's absurd.

By your standard,

every crime committed
by a Christian will be a stain on Christ.

And so it is.

When I first asked you... to take this job,

you told me you never
had dealings with Leroy Fry, so, uh...

Let's start there. Well?

- Well, that's not entirely true...
- Well... Well... Well...

Why is nothing simple with you, Poe?

Where are the facts?
Where are the simple facts?

Yes! Or no!

The truth!

- Did you know Leroy Fry?
- Yes.

Did you have words with Leroy Fry?

Yes. Yes.

Did you kill Leroy Fry?

Did you kill Randolph Ballinger?

No.

Did you have anything to do
with the desecrating of their bodies?

- No, no, no. May I be struck dead if I...
- But you do not deny

that you threatened both men?

Well, as it relates
to Ballinger, that was...

I never meant it.

- And Fry?
- I never once threatened him. I merely...

There is
a very disturbing pattern here, Poe.

Men who cross you
end up on the wrong end of a noose

with rather important organs
carved from their chests.

Mr. Landor...

If I were to kill every cadet

who had abused me
during my brief tenure here,

I'm afraid you would find
the Corp of Cadets

reduced to less than a dozen.

Now, if you must know,
I've been a figure of fun

from my very first day here.

My manner, my age, my person...

my aesthetics.

If I had a thousand lifetimes,

I could not begin
to address all the injuries

that have been done to me.

Yes, I am guilty of a great,
great many things, but never that.

Never murder.

Now do you believe me?

I believe that you should take better care
of what you say and do.

For now, I can probably
hold off Hitchcock.

But if you ever lie to me again,

they can clap you in irons
and I won't lift a finger to help you.

Do you understand me?

Now if you'll excuse me,
I'm expected for dinner.

Thank you for joining us
in mourning Randolph's untimely passing.

The dear boy was family.

Don't you find my son
exceptionally handsome, Mr. Landor?

Um...

I would judge both of your children
to have been blessed in that regard.

Yes, we are hereditarily blessed.

But I must say, I do find you a rarity.

A person of exceptional intelligence.

The quality in such
ridiculously short supply here.

And with that intelligence,
Mr. Landor,

I hope when you're finished
with your official business,

you will assist me
with a puzzle of my own.

- Oh, a puzzle?
- The strangest affair.

While in recital, Monday,

it appears someone
had rifled through my belongings.

- Oh.
- Well, eh...

- Terrible people are abroad.
- Really, Father?

I was inclining toward the theory
that the fellow was simply rude,

while, of course,
having no idea who he was.

All the same,
you must be careful, Artemus.

- You really must.
- Oh, Mother.

It was probably
just some tiresome old fellow

with nothing better to do
and no life of his own to speak of.

A rustic sort of cottager.

Don't you think, Mr. Landor?

Oh.

- You have a cottage, don't you?
- Artemus.

You may even have some
very near relations who fit the pattern.

Perhaps a dear friend who likes
a tipple and to drink in a tavern.

Stop it! Just, please! I hate it!

I positively hate it
when you take on like this.

- I don't follow your drift, Mother.
- Oh, no, I'm sure you don't.

I might drift clear to the other side
of the Hudson and no one would care.

No one would follow!

- Would they, Daniel?
- Son, please.

You'll... have to forgive my wife.

Mr. Ballinger's death

has cast a pall
over our happy little clan.

I wonder if you'd care
to join me in my study, Mr. Landor?

I'd be delighted.

My apologies, constable.

Living on pins and needles
has taken its toll on all of us.

- No need to apologize.
- Yeah.

And the time of year,
all this confinement...

Mmm. It is all very understandable.

I couldn't help noticing, doctor.

Is your daughter unwell?

Quite observant.

Yes.

Yes, she's...

She's had a rough go of it, that one.

Since she was a pup, really.

A ghastly illness
seizing her when no one is looking,

stopping her brain
and shaking her like a gourd.

Beautiful child.

One marked for marriage, status, children.

And in the same stroke, illness.

'Tis dreadful.

Gentlemen, Lea is in fine form
if you'd join us.

Thank you, son.

Shall we?

If you don't mind,
I'll just step out for some fresh air.

Of course.

Father, have a game with me.

Shall I try the scholars again

or something more challenging this time?

- Just remarkable.
- Hardly.

Passable, maybe.

You don't realize the effect
your playing has on me.

On all of us, really, I...

- Yes?
- Well, I...

I don't quite know how else to put it,
but, um... I've come to realize

that I would do most anything for you.

Oh, Edgar.

May I help you
find something, Mr. Landor?

You've recovered. And so soon.

Well, do forgive me.

I feared I was coming down with
one of those horrid migraines,

but it seems a moment's rest
was all I required.

And I feel quite cured. Mmm.

Let's put that dreadful,
old thing away, shall we?

I'm quite sure it won't fit you.

The good doctor and I
were in search of it.

And I found it.

Look what the constable
found in our closet, darling.

Remember Artemus wearing it
as a young lad around the house?

Remember, love?

- I remember, Mother.
- It's my brother's coat.

Your brother's?

That's the only thing
we have to remember him by.

Why do you have it?

Perhaps Artemus can answer that.

Everyone is in the salon.

Ethan.

What brings you here?

Another cadet is missing.

And I've formed a search party
ready to go within the hour.

No stone will be left unturned.

God help us. I shudder to think...

Gentlemen!

I've just been to Mr. Stoddard's quarters.

His trunk was empty. No civilian clothes
were to be found anywhere.

I believe he has run off.

Run off?

Fry's diary allows

that both Stoddard and Ballinger
were good mates with Leroy Fry.

Fearing he might be next, I think he ran.

Well, that may well be, but what about
Artemus and the officer's coat?

If he's involved, how can
we possibly delay arresting him?

He is... too cool a customer for that.
All he has to do is deny it.

Now, there's a last avenue
of inquiry I'm exploring.

Two of his closest companions are dead,

and imminently, I must report
to the president that we have our man.

We have our man, Landor. Do we not?

Mademoiselle.

Edgar.

- I, uh...
- Professor?

Pépé?

Last time I was here,
you mentioned a witch hunter and a book.

Yes. Discours du Diable.

Henri Le Clerc.

Was Le Clerc a priest?

One burned at the stake.

It came to me while I slept

Down, down, down

Came the hot threshing flurry

Ill at heart, I beseeched her to hurry

"Lenore"

She forbore the reply

Endless night
Caught her then in its slurry

Shrouding all, but her pale blue eye

Darkest night, black with hell

Charneled fury

Leaving only

That deathly blue eye

Do you see?

Lenore.

Lea.

It speaks of your unspeakable distress.

A conclusion to what's... oppressing you.

The poem...

is speaking to us.

Remember when you said
you'd do anything for me?

Your devil worshipper.

- Thank you, Pépé.
- Yeah.

Mr. Landor.

Your family.

Your family... have been

quite a puzzle.

I could never get a fix
of who was in command.

One time or other I suspected each of you.

It never occurred to me

that it might be someone
who wasn't even alive.

Pardon me?

Father Henri Le Clerc.

Finest of witch hunters,

until he became the hunted.

What are you talking about?

Your daughter, she suffers
from a falling sickness, does she not?

She copes because
she is in contact with someone.

Someone who instructs her.

Him.

Do not make me question
your sanity, Mr. Landor.

Uh, what are you suggesting?

Le Clerc's incredibly rare
Discours du Diable.

Well, communicating with the devil

is not a pastime
with which I am familiar, Mr. Landor.

I have never read a page of this book.

Does your daughter speak with the dead?!

Over the years, the seizures
have gotten much, much worse.

I...

I have tried
every medical regimen I could think of.

She was given three months to live.

Do you know
what it feels like to go to sleep,

not knowing if your daughter
will make it through the night?

But then, one day she came to me,

and said that she'd met someone.

Her great-great-grandfather.

Le Clerc?

Henri Le Clerc wasn't evil.

He... He was misunderstood.

They swore to me Mr. Fry was already dead.

They swore they could never kill anyone.

You believed them.

I had no choice.

You are a physician! A man of science!

How dare you
put your faith in such madness?

Because...

Because I... I...
I couldn't save her myself.

My own art had failed me.

I sacrificed everything for my Lea.

So how can I then object
to her finding a cure elsewhere?

Doctor.

Communicating with the dead...

that's not normal. But murder...

destroying innocent lives...

that's inhuman.

Someone has to hang for this.

I only indulged her because... miraculously,

she seemed to improve.

Doctor, where is your family?

Where are your children?

Mr. Poe was here earlier.

He left with... With Artemus.

Why is his cloak still in the hall?

Doctor, where is Lea?

Doctor, where is your family?

It's starting to wear off.

Lea.

Continue.

What's happening?

It won't be much longer.

I don't feel terribly well.

- I thought...
- No.

Just a few minutes more and I'll be free.

Free?

Yes.

Please, Lea. I'm...

This must happen.

You do understand.

Sacrifice is
the ultimate expression of love.

I knew from the moment I met you,
you were the one.

Lea.

- Yes?
- I do love you.

Artemus...

Enough!

- Get out!
- You'll hang for this!

- You've no business here!
- Lea, finish!

Mrs. Marquis, do you
wish to see your children hang?

- Don't listen. He's bluffing!
- Continue.

- Lea!
- That's Fry's heart, no?

- Landor.
- Lea, continue!

Ballinger, he'd do anything for you,
even murder a man.

And, Artemus, you killed him.

Please, just leave us alone.
It's almost done.

- Lea, finish!
- Lea, it is done!

It was you.

It was you who lured Fry out with a note...

It wasn't her idea! It was mine!

- I did it!
- No! Artemus!

No!

Stop!

Stop!

Lea!

Lea!

- Lea! Lea!
- Lea!

Artemus. Artemus, help her.
Help her!

Mother, stay back!

Artemus.

Lea. Lea! Lea!

Artemus! Artemus!

- I can't leave her!
- No!

Artemus, no. Artemus!

Artemus! No!

Let me go! No!

No, Artemus!

Artemus! No!

Lea! Lea!

No!

No!

Move!

I'm told he's lost no more blood
than a physician would have drawn

in the course of a normal bleeding.

Might have been the best thing for him.

More to life than meets the eye,
Landor, I admit.

I couldn't agree more.

So what now of Mrs. Marquis?

Grieving as only a mother can.

The magistrate felt she'd suffered enough.

But you'll be pleased to know

our good doctor
has submitted his resignation.

None of this pleases me, I can assure you.

Landor.

You and I could not be more dissimilar
in manner, philosophy.

But I wish to convey

that if this business
has ever rendered me...

Which is to say, if ever out
of impertinence, I have impugned...

your competence...

then I'm sorry.

Thank you, captain.

How could I have dined and fraternized
with the man all of these years?

Known his family almost as well as my own

and never fathomed
the depths of their distress.

By design, colonel.

Yes.

Yes, I suppose shame on me.

I can only assume
Artemus murdered Mr. Ballinger

to prevent him
from alerting the authorities,

and Mr. Stoddard ran
rather than become the next victim.

You can assume that, yes.

Well, Landor,

I declare your contractual duties
fulfilled to the letter.

I hereby release you from your contract.

I hope that won't displease you.

At the very least, I hope
you won't object to accepting our thanks.

The jackals in Washington
will soon be in retreat, I hope.

I believe we have won a stay of execution.

No. Colonel.

Don't you look fully recovered.

I know about your daughter.

Very well.

What does Mattie have to do with anything?

Everything.

As you know full well.

It came to me while I slept.

The note... found in Leroy Fry's hand.

The note left for him
luring the poor bloke from his barracks.

You were careless enough
to leave that with me.

This is the other note you left.

Remember?

I'm most

struck by the shape of your characters.

Uppercase, as you well know,
are every bit as damning as lowercase.

The A, the R, the G and the E,

virtually identical to the ones
found in Leroy Fry's note.

You can imagine my astonishment.

Could the same man
have written both notes?

And why would Landor have
any reason to correspond with Leroy Fry?

As luck would have it,
I ran into la divine Patsy.

His daughter Mattie...

She told me the whole story.

Returning home from the Academy Ball...

Grab her!

- Hold her.
- No!

...your Mattie was raped...

No!

...and left for dead
by three nameless ruffians.

Quiet.

- Please, no! No!
- Julius, grab her legs!

- No! No, no, no!
- Grab her!

- Legs! Legs! Hold her down!
- No!

- Keep her still.
- Please!

A bad bunch, indeed.

Mattie.

Just as Leroy Fry had said.

Mattie?

Oh, God! Mattie.

Oh, my God! Come here.

Mattie.

I'm sorry.

- I'm sorry.
- It's okay.

Everything will be all right.

It'll all turn out.

Mattie, he cannot help you.

Please, my love. Let me help you.

But she didn't run away, did she?

Mattie?

Mattie.

Mattie.

Mattie, please. Come here.

Please, my love. Come here.
Please come here.

Don't.

Everything will be all right.

Please, Mattie.
Come back.

It'll all turn out.

Don't.

I love you.

Why did you never tell me?

It's not a story

I enjoy telling.

But I would have comforted you.

Helped you as you helped me.

I don't think I can
be comforted on that particular subject.

So what did I do next?

Exactly what you would have done.

Examined all assumptions, beginning with

what were the chances that two parties

would have had designs
on the same cadet in the same evening?

Small!

Small indeed!

Unless we see one party
as being contingent upon the other,

or what if one party say, Artemus and Lea,

what if they were simply
on the lookout for a dead body.

And then the opportunity
magically appears,

and they don't care who the body is,
provided it had a heart.

The one thing
they won't do for it is kill.

No, it is the other party
who is ready and willing to kill.

And to kill this man in particular.

Why? Why?

Might it be revenge, Landor?

Patsy? Patsy?

- Help!
- Who was with you?

Someone there?

Hello?

So... the second party is interrupted,

though not before
his successful resolution.

Steals back to his cottage
in Buttermilk Falls,

where he has escaped unnoticed.

But he's shocked at being summoned back
to West Point the very next day

to learn that in the intervening hours,

the dead man's body
has been most horribly mutilated.

Thus providing his crimes
with an extraordinary cover.

Hmm.

He must think God himself was on his side.

Being engaged to solve
the very crimes that he himself committed.

And as a result, Artemus and Lea
will forever go down as murderers.

Ah... There's no forever about it.

They will be forgotten
just like the rest of us.

I shall not forget them!

Especially my Lea.

She was to be a wife, Landor, a mother.

Nor shall I forget how you
played the rest of us as fools.

Fools.

But I was your prize fool.

- Was I not?
- No.

You were the one who I was
to deliver myself to all along.

I knew that from the moment
I first met you, and here we are.

I, uh...

If you want me to say I'm sorry, I will.

I don't want your apologies.

No. I want answers.

How did you know
it was Fry who raped Mattie?

The sheep and the cows, your doing?

- Of course.
- And Ballinger?

Mmm-hmm.

Ballinger.

I had to cut his heart out.

Had to make it look
like the work of satanists.

That is no easy job for an old man.

How did you learn
of Ballinger's involvement?

Fry's diary.

Did Ballinger confess as well?

- Oh, yes, under duress.
- No, please!

Who else was with you?!

Julius Stoddard.

Julius.

Sorry.

They both...

They both recalled her name,

and I made certain
that he recalled what she was wearing.

Every detail of her dress.

Only Stoddard, it seems,
has escaped your justice.

I haven't... the strength
or the will to chase him down.

I only hope...

that he spends the rest of his...
miserable life looking over his shoulder.

What they did
was an appalling, savage thing.

But you might have gone straight
to Thayer, secured a confession.

I didn't want them to confess.

I wanted them to die.

And so what now?

What now?

That depends on you.

I have a pair of notes...

that will send you to the gallows.

Very well.

You know, Edgar, I often wish

that my Mattie had run into you

that night... of the ball.

Who knows?

We might have become a family indeed.

I sure treasure...

...what... What we, um...

Goodbye, Landor.

Rest, my love.