All language subtitles for 419. Quick-Quick Slow Death

(music)

(theme music)

(car engine roars)

(gunshot)

(gunshot)

(gunshots)

How's that?

Good morning, Steed.

Good morning, Mrs. Peel.

Like to make yourself
useful?

Not at all, but you
didn't bring me here

just to be
a gun bearer.

No. I want you
to meet someone,
Willi Fehr.

Used to be a top agent.

Now relegated
to traffic control.

Traffic control?

Yes, for incoming spies.

He looks after
their accommodation,

money,
that sort of thing.

Why should I meet him?

He had an accident
last night.

His pram ran out of contr...

- (gunshot)
- (beer fizzing)

That was
my lunchtime refreshment.

His pram
ran out of control?

Hate to see good beer
going into orbit.

In the pram was a dead man
in full evening dress.

And what does
Mr. Willi Fehr
have to say about it?

Man: He just
isn't saying anything,

not a darn thing.

Well, that's
not like Willi,

not like him
at all.

Usually quite talkative.

Isn't that so, Willi?

Remember the old days?

Back and forth
across the wall

like a game
of Ping-Pong.

It's a bit
of a comedown

from those days,
isn't it,

making you do dreary
old disposal work?

Who was he, Willi?

Who was the man you were
trying to dispose of?

And why
the evening suit?

Of course, it could be
delayed concussion.

A case of good
old-fashioned
stubbornness.

- That's all.
- What about the dead man?

Where does he lead?

Completely
unknown to us.

Here's the suit
he was wearing,

pockets empty,
all labels removed,

had been recently
dry-cleaned.

No clues at all?

Unless you count
the fact that it didn't
fit him properly.

The evening suit,
not a proper fit
for the dead man.

Perhaps he hired it.

Possibly, but where
does that take us?

No. Our only hope
of identifying him is this,

the only label
they couldn't remove.

It was tattooed
on the dead man's arm.

Man: Ah, Eros.
Hey, that's the one there.

Now, that's one
of my most popular designs.

Comes right behind
"I love" whoever it is

and "What is home without
a mother's loving touch?"

- (laughs)
- (needle buzzing)

Hey, a lovely thought
is that.

"What is home without..."
ah.

Of course, that's only good
for the big ones, you know.

Needs plenty of room,
you see. Heh.

I... I tried to put it
on a skinny one once.

(laughs) Disastrous.

Oh, I ran out of space,
you see,

so it finished up,
"What is home
without a moth?"

- (laughs)
- (laughs)

Ridiculous. Mind you,

it spoiled what should
have been a lovely
sentiment, you know.

Now, which design
would you like, miss?

- Well, I...
- Ah!

Engraved garter
around your left leg.

Hee hee.
I enjoy doing them.

No. Actually...

- No, no. Rosebuds.
- Hmm?

Pretty pink rosebuds?
One on each?

Do you recognize this?

Hey, you wouldn't be
his wife, would you,

that one who had "Lucille"
tattooed on his arm?

No, I'm not his wife.

Ah. Pays to be cautious,
you see.

Very discreet business
is this.

Hey, I knew a chap
once had to keep
his shirt on in case...

Then you
do recognize it?

Oh, aye, of course.
That's my work,
all right.

Lucille with two Ls.

A misspelling
can be very tricky
in this business.

And the man
who had the tattoo,

do you remember him?

Mr. Peever.

Are you sure
you won't indulge?

There's
a bird's-eye view

of Sydney I've
always wanted to...

What was
Mr. Peever like?

Oh, he were
a funny little chap.

Thinning hair,
middle-aged,
nervous, glasses.

There we are, then.

Lovely, girl.
Lovely.

Thank you.

Ah, he wasn't married,
you know.

- Oh?
- Peever.

Oh, you get to know
a lot about folk

in this business,
you know.

(laughs) You, uh...

You get under their skin,
so to speak. Heh heh.

No, Peever wasn't married.
I'm fairly sure of that.

- What's he done, anyway?
- Done?

Well, asking all
these questions about him,

he must have
done something.

Well, he was involved
in an accident,

what you might call
a write-off.

(laughs)

(knock on door)

(gunshot)

(gasping)

(groaning)

It's... It's Fehr, Willi Fehr!

Listen.

We had road accident.

They f... they found Peever.

Yes, yes, yes.
All identification removed,

but we overlooked
the dress suit.

It was hired from
Lichen & Comp... Company.

Yes, sir. This is quite
definitely one of our suits.

I recognize the cut.

But the wearer must
have worn his medals
very clumsily, sir.

I mean, these holes.

We'll... We'll never
get these invisibly mended.

The wearer
can't exactly
be mended either.

- Sir?
- Do you remember
who he was?

Oh, quite definitely, sir.
I fitted him myself.

I remember he was
long in the arm,
but short in the leg.

It's a most unusual
combination.

- Who was he?
- Sir?

The man who hired
this suit.

But don't you know, sir?

I mean, after all,
you are returning the suit.

And with these holes,
I'm afraid, sir,

we shall have to claim
his deposit.

The deposit is yours.

I made it quite clear
to Mr. Peever, sir.

I said, "If there's
any damage, sir",

then I'm afraid you
forfeit your deposit."

- Peever?
- Sir?

Do you have
his address?

Well, it'll be
in my book, sir,

but that kind of information,
it's strictly confidential.

Not between business
associates, surely.

Hmm?

Baggypants Ltd.

- Baggy Pants?
- Shh!

Top secret work.

Diplomatic corps
only.

- But Baggy Pa...
- Shh.

You've seen pictures
of those visiting
Russian diplomats?

- Hmm.
- Well, where do you think

they get those
terrible clothes from?

Well...

I'll get Peever's address
for you right away, sir.

Excuse me.

I wonder
if you could help me.

I... I can't fix this
at all.

I often thought
of buying one of those
made-up ones, you know.

Oh, my goodness, sir.
That would never do.

- No?
- No, sir.

Sir, the mark
of a true gentleman

is that he actually
ties his tie himself.

In fact, sir, there are
one or two places

where I believe they
simply won't let you i...

(gasps)

Such a terrible thing,
and at Lichen's, too.

We dress the entire nation,
you know.

Why, without us,
Ascot Race Week would look
like a nudist convention.

Heh. This ledger is
your only record?

Yes, I'm afraid so, sir.

Tell me. Mr. Peever,
now, he must have
left a deposit.

Could he
have paid by check?

Oh, very likely,
and that would be on record.

If he did pay by check,
we'd have the name of his bank.

Would you mind
checking for me?

Oh, but of course.

I thought
the pockets were empty.

Oh, all our suits have
a gentleman's secret pocket,

so it must have
been in there.

Shoe repair ticket.

Oh, for Piedi's.

No ordinary
shoe repair, then.

Well, Piedi's, sir,

the most exclusive shop
in town.

Everything handmade.

So exquisitely elegant.

Ah, signora,
they are a poem.

They sing. They soar.

♪ Santa Lucia ♪

They're also
very useful for, um,

walking on.

(chuckles)
You take the Mickey, eh?

But it's true
what I say, signora.

Such expressive feet.

Look. They talk to me.
(chuckles)

You naughty little
chatterboxes, you.

(laughs)

Bernard?

I shall cherish them.

I shall compose
a shoe for them.

I shall encase them
in the softest leather.

Push off.

Finely tooled, superbly sewn,
devastatingly designed.

I shall treat them
with delicate care.

(squelch)

Piedi never measures.

He molds.

Ah, twin treasures.

Carissima.

Signora...

I am at your feet.

Yes, Arthur Peever
had an account here.

"Had"? Then you know.

Yes. Sad.

Very sad.

Very, very sad.

Quite a shock.

Oh, shocking,
very shocking.

When he came in here
this morning...

This morning?

Walked right in
and closed his account.

- Bad.
- Very bad.

Very, very bad.

Did he leave
a forwarding address?

Yes. He was
rather reluctant
about that at first,

but when I explained
I'd have to send details
of his balance...

Do you have the address?

Yes. Care of
Purbright & Company,
Mackidockie Street.

(gasping)

It'll soon be there,
signora.

Presto.

Ah, an excellent cast.

A truly beautiful
reproduction,

right down to the tiniest
baby toenail.

(chuckles)

Bernard.

And now we will
pour in the wax, huh?

And very soon,
we'll have two pairs
of foot,

those that touch
to your legs

and a duplicate pair
for me,

for me to make
a pair of shoes

that will be like
puffs of air upon your feet.

Now, signora,
is there anything else
I can do for you, huh?

A pair of slippers
for the boudoir?

Wellington boots

in the kinkiest
black leather?

I've come
to collect these.

A repair?

Mm-hmm.
They're for Mr. Peever.

You know Mr. Peever,
don't you,

right down
to his tiniest toenail?

It... It saddens me
to admit,

but these shoes were
not specially fitted.

Even a craftsman must
corrupt his standard
on occasion.

Oh, no, these were part
of a job lot that
we had delivered,

all different sizes.

Who was the job lot for?

A team of dancers,

you know,
ballroom dancers.

Men with tails
and women with tulle frocks
and... and sequins,

and all of them thrashing
their poor arches
to destruction.

This, uh,
team of dancers,

where do they
come from?

The Terpsichorean
Training Techniques.

Scusi.

Bernard.

(ballroom music playing)

Slow, slow, quick,
quick and back.

Lead, turn and back.

And swing
those feet.

And watch
that balance.

And up, up,
up on our toes,
and round...

- (chairs clatter)
- Oh.

Well, just sit down there
for a moment, would you?

I'm Lucille Banks,
the principal here.

Can I help you?

Peel, Mrs. Emma Peel.

Oh, yes,
and you wish to train

to trip
the Terpsichorean
light fantastic.

Well, Mrs. Peel, I can...

Actually,
I'm looking for a job.

Oh.

Yes. I saw
you were advertising
for an instructress,

and I thought if the post
was still vacant...

Hmm. Well,
you're rather tall.

That could be
a disadvantage.

Well, we'll just
put you to the test,
shall we?

Oh, Ivor,
just in time.

Now, this
is Mrs. Peel.
Ivor Bracewell.

He's our senior
male tutor.

Would you just
take Mrs. Peel
around the floor?

Delighted.

Yes, you move
quite well.

Have you had
much experience?

Of a very limited kind.

My father,
he entertained
a good deal,

a preponderance
of heavy elderly
gentlemen.

It was important
I made them feel

as though
they could dance.

Yes. Yes, well, um,

that'll do.
Thank you.

Yes, well, I'll
give you a chance

to show what you
can do, Mrs. Peel.

We'll give you
a week's trial.

Nicki.

Oh, Nicki,
would you show.

Mrs. Peel around
the establishment?

Yes, certainly.

We'll see
how you shape up by
the end of the week.

I'd say she shapes up
pretty well.

We're expected
to take six pupils each

per day
at hourly sessions.

It isn't hard work,
so long as you have

an unlimited amount
of energy,

the constitution
of an ox

and cast-iron feet.

As bad as that?

Oh, good afternoon,
Mr. Read.

Afternoon.

This is Mrs. Peel.
She's just joined us.

How do you do?

How do you do?

Chester Read,
our pet bandleader.

Drinks too much.

Hmm.

Dance night's
our busiest time.

Every one or two weeks,
we have a dance for all
our budding pupils.

We finally limp home
at about midnight.

Lucille sees to it that
we don't rest for a moment.

- Lucille?
- Miss Banks,

- Lucille Banks.
- Ah.

- (door opens)
- Oh.

Our prize toe crusher.

Well, I suppose you
have to start somewhere.

It might as well be him.

Well, well, well.
Good afternoon.

Good afternoon.

My, we are looking
debonair today.

(chuckles)

And just in time to meet
our latest instructress,

an unrivaled expert
in Latin American.

May I present Emma Peel?

How do you do?

Mr. Arthur Peever.

Peel: Thinning hair,
timid, mousy.

Bears a superficial
resemblance to the man
found in the pram.

Seems we have
two Arthur Peevers,
one dead...

And one learning
to swing a dainty foot.

Trouble is, which was
the real Arthur Peever?

What do you think, Captain?

- (muttering)
- Oh, you must forgive him.

A slight tightness
of the throat.

Yes, this'll help.

I'll let
the bank manager
have it.

Good idea,
don't you think,
Captain?

- (muttering)
- Glad you agree.

Now you, Mrs. Peel,
back to your pupils,

and be quick-quick
slow about it.

I intend to.
This was made
for Arthur Peever,

and if the shoe fits...

Good day, Captain.

(grunts)

(muttering)

(ballroom music playing)

P, P, Peever.

A little out of your
territory, aren't you?

I took the wrong door,
I'm afraid.

(chuckles)
Little girl lost?

Big girl lost.

Oh, don't worry.

I'm just going to lead you
back to where you belong.

I can find my own way,
thank you.

It pays
to be nice to me.

I'll remember that.

(gasps) Mr. Bracewell,
I am so sorry.

Ivor.

Mrs. Peel, you have
a pupil awaiting tuition.

Yes, Miss Banks, I...

Please attend to it.

Yes, Miss Banks.

What are you doing
in here?

I found her looking
in the lockers.

Which one?

That one.

Forward, back,
step, step, step.

Back, forward,
step, step, step.

Forward, back,
step, step, step.

Back, forward,
step, step, step.

My, you're making
enormous improvement,
Mr. Wattakins.

So light on your feet.

Thank you.

He's murdering mine.

I think I need
a bone graft.

Forward, back,
step, step, step.

Back, forward,
step, step, step.

Forward, back,
step, step, step.

Back, forward,
step, step, step.

Forward, back,
step, step, step.

Back, forward,
step, step, step.

Right, gentlemen.
That's the end

of another
delightful session.

Now run along,

and we'll see you
both again tomorrow.

Now, girls,
are we ready for
our next session?

- So soon?
- (laughs)

Do I detect a tiny
note of discontent
in the camp?

Certainly not.

She's only
teasing you,
gentlemen.

You're
her favorite pupils.

Now, Mrs. Peel,
you will partner
Mr. Marsh

the fox-trot,
the rumba, and
the Black Bottom.

Watch out
for flying glass.

Mr. Peever, you...
Oh, no, no, no, no.

Naughty Mr. Peever! Now,
I've warned you before.

Nails protruding!

You'll absolutely ruin
our beautifully sprung
floor.

Oh? Oh, I'm sorry.

Yes, well, come along.
We'll see if we can

find you another pair,
shall we?

Well, get on with
the lesson, Mrs. Peel.

One, two...

Cha-cha-cha.

Cha-cha-cha.

1, 2,
cha-cha-cha,

1, 2,
cha-cha-cha,

1, 2,
cha-cha-cha.

1, 2,
cha-cha-cha.

1, 2, cha...

- (speaking Russian)
- In English.

I've told you only
speak English here.

What was all that about?

Nothing that need
concern you.

Now, you're just
Arthur Peever,

that quiet little
English gentleman,
remember?

Yes.
Now get into these.

Get back in there.

Get hold
of the Commander.

It's urgent,
very urgent.

- What's the matter?
- The tattooist.

We've forgotten
about him.

Yes, that's him.

You're sure?

Very sure.

Very, very sure?

Positive.
That is Arthur Peever.

I see.

Yes, I never forget
a face,

and despite
the fact that I only
met him once,

my memory has
never yet failed me.

You only met him once?

Yes, the day he came in
to close his account.

So he may still be
an imposter.

After all, the bank may
have been dealing with
the real Arthur Peever,

but the fake one
closed the account.

(muttering)

Yes or no would be
more practical, Captain.

Did you phone Mrs. Peel?

Did you get the address
of that tattooist?

Good. I'll see what he
makes of the photograph.

Oh, by the way, Captain,

it may be a trade secret,
but when you

phoned Mrs. Peel,
how did you, uh...

(whistling
in Morse code)

Heh.

(humming a tune)

(needle buzzing)

- (knock knock)
- Come in.

Come on in.

You mind holding on
a minute?

Little fad of mine
is this.

Garlic sausage.

Helps keep me handy
when business is slack.

A very delicate touch
is needed.

(blows)

One false move,
and the skin is torn.

Oh. Oh, that's nice.

Though it's not mine,
of course.

I can always appreciate
another man's...

(silenced gunshot)

(needle buzzing)

May I offer you
some refreshment,
Mr. Peever?

You're most kind.

Nonsense.
It's all part of my job.

Besides, I want a chance
to get to know you better.

- Have a bicky.
- Uh-uh.

Well, if we're to be
seeing a lot of each other
in the future...

I regret that
will not be
the case, Mrs. Peel.

I shall soon
be passing out.

I beg your pardon?

I'm within a fishtail
of receiving my diploma
in ballroom dancing,

and when I have that,
I shall have

no further need
to attend classes.

I shall pass on,
Mrs. Peel,

and we will
not meet again.

- Excuse me.
- Mm.

Put them
above your head.

- Hmm?
- Oh, these poor
abused feet.

If you put them
up in the air,

it soothes them
to such an extent

that the agony is
only excruciating.

Nicki, Mr. Peever's
just been telling me

he's about to get
his diploma.

- Yes, that's right.
- Well, I've danced
with him.

If dancing's
the right word.

- I know. He's terrible.
- Then why a diploma?

Good for business,
I suppose.

Take their money,
a few lessons,
hand them a diploma,

and another
satisfied customer.

Funny, though,
how Lucille hands out
those diplomas.

Mmm.

Isn't everybody
who gets one,

just the selected few.

Diploma in hand, and...
Puhh! He disappears.

- Disappears?
- Well, as far
as we're concerned.

I've never known one
to come back.

Well, now, here we have
our most exclusive
dance studio.

It's the most
beautifully sprung floor.

- (chuckles)
- Heh.

And we have instructresses
in attendance at all times,

so you can just see
how well equipped
we are, Mr. Steed.

Steed:
Very well equipped.

Yes, well, shall we just
take some particulars, then?

After you.

Oh, thank you.

Jonathan Steed.

Well, that's a fine
old English name.

Thank you.
Came over with the Vikings.

They were between raids
and discovering America
at the time.

Then you're British
by birth?

Birth, nature
and inclination.

I just love
the old country.

Of course, I haven't seen
much of it lately.

I've been abroad,
you know.

Just recently returned?

A week ago.

To see your family?

I have no family.

Oh. Still, you must have
many friends here.

I'm afraid I've lost touch.

And you wish
to learn to dance?

Brush up
more than anything.

If you'll forgive me,
Mr. Steed,

isn't your motive
deeper than that?

You come here
hoping to make friends.

Are you a lonely man?

I have no friends.

Well, I hope
you'll be very happy

joining our little group,
Mr. Steed.

Now, you may have your
first lesson whenever
it's convenient to you.

Why not right now?

Very well.

I'll just make
the necessary
arrangements.

If you'll excuse me.

♪ Dee, dee dee, dee ♪

♪ Dee, dee, dee dee, dee ♪

♪ Dee dee, dee ♪

(door opens)

What are you doing here?

Looking for a killer
with a rose tattoo.

What?

Read it,
and then destroy it.

Oh, Mr. Steed.

- Destroy?
- Eat it.

Yes, dear lady?

I've decided
to undertake

your tuition myself
personally.

An honor.

(ballroom music playing)

Slow, slow,
quick-quick, slow.

I'm surprised you're still
a bachelor, Mr. Steed.

You are still a bachelor?

I had a girlfriend once,

but, alas,
she is no more.

Oh, how tragic.

Eaten by a crocodile.

One of those
Amazonian treks.

Lunch.

Oh.

Psst. Psst.

Is the coast clear?

Yes.

Where's Nicki?

I don't know.
I'll go find her.

No. Just see
that she gets this.

Seen you before somewhere,
haven't I?

I don't think so.

Sure I've seen you
before.

Only to Nicki.
No one else, see?

Mm-hmm.

Very familiar.

Not in here.

You mustn't
open that in here.

If Lucille saw
what we were doing,

we'd both get the sack.

I suppose
Bernard told you about
our little arrangement.

No.

Well, I suppose
you'll have to know.

I'll let you in
for 1/3.

1/3 of what?
What little arrangement?

Well, Bernard
works for Piedi,
the shoemaker,

and Piedi
supplies our pupils

their first pair
of dancing pumps.

Well?

But only
their first pair,
you see.

After that,
Bernard sells them
on the side,

cuts out Piedi,
cuts out the middleman.

Bernard makes
his profit.

There's something
in it for me.

Everybody's happy.
Nobody suffers.

But isn't it
rather dangerous for you,

I mean, approaching
the pupils right here?

Oh, Bernard
sees to that.

He waits for them
after school

and buttonholes
them then.

I see.
So Bernard gets to meet

all the pupils
at one time or another.

- Yes.
- Including Mr. Peever?

Of course.

I think we better
get inside.

Ah, there you are.

I just heard
the funniest
thing, Lucille,

the funniest thing.

So that's the time,
is it?

Mine must have
gained a bit.

Tsk tsk tsk tsk.

Steed.

He's an imposter,
man who calls himself Peever.

No tattoo lovingly
inscribed to Lucille.

Trouble is, the tattooist,
our chief witness, is dead.

Well,
there may be another,

a man at the shoe shop
named Bernard.

He might be
able to help.

- Right, now!
- I'm going to see him.

Oh, Miss Banks, uh,
the heel of my shoe
has come loose.

It's liable to break
at any moment.

- Could I go out...
- Yes, yes.

Well, go and get it
attended to, would you?

- Oh, and hurry back.
- Yes, Miss Banks.

Aah!

(ballroom music playing)

Come now, Mr. Steed.

There must be someone
in this big city
that you know.

I've been away
for a long time.

All my friends
have gone away.

1, 2, 3.

And I have
no family at all.

Oh, you poor, poor man.

You mean, if you
disappeared tomorrow,
no one would know or care?

Goodbye, Mr. Steed.

You'll be on time
for your next lesson,

won't you?

Couldn't keep me
away, madam.

Easy. Nothing to it.

Good. The Commander
will be pleased.

I'll tell him.

You can also tell him
about John Steed.

- Who's he?
- He's our next victim.

So Bernard
got himself plastered.

- (muttering)
- I do so agree.

So we've lost
our last witness.

- And now we go...
- Back to square one.

To the heart
of the matter.

Peever is
an imposter.

The dancing school
is conniving at
the deception, so...

Carry on dancing.

Oh, well. The same
mixture as before.

Gala dance,
happens once a fortnight.

Dance to Chester Read.

Couple of currant buns,

half a glass
of lemonade,

and they all
go into an ecstasy
of rhythm. Ho-hum.

Is this when
the advanced
students

receive
their diplomas?

Yes. Only one this time,
Mr. Peever.

Nicki, have you
noticed any changes

in Mr. Peever
since he came?

Hardly,
but then I wouldn't.

He's more Lucille's client
than mine.

I remember
when he first enrolled.

She really kept him
to herself.

Does she do that often?

Mm, once in a while,

but nearly always
the mousy, anonymous ones.

Keeps them under wraps.

Sometimes
three or four weeks

before I'm even
allowed to see them.

See you.

Bye.

(ballroom music plays)

Lucille:
Now remember, it's got
to be absolutely smooth.

You must glide into it.

No hesitation, mind.

Are you ready?

1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3.

1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3.

1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3.

1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3.

1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3.

1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3.

1, 2, 3.

1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3.

1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3.

1, 2, 3. 1... like that.

And 1, 2, 3, twirl.

Oh, yes,
that's much better.

That's splendid.

You'll be
absolutely perfect

for the takeover
tonight.

Now, 1, 2, 3.

- 1, 2, 3.
- (door opens)

1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3.

1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3.

I was looking
for another door.

The door was locked.

Hmm?

- Locked...
- Hmm?

The door.

Oh. Oh, uh,
Lucille's rehears...

Um, Lucille
is rehearsing.

Rehearsing?

Rehearsing for...

- For...
- the...

- the...
- gala night.

Gala night.

(band playing ballroom music)

Good evening, Mr. Peever.

Oh, I'm so glad
you could make it.

I wouldn't miss one
of your little soirees

for the world,
Miss Banks.

- (chuckles)
- (chuckles)

Oh, hello.
Oh, I'm glad you
could make it.

- Hello.
Nice seeing you again.
- Hello. Thank you.

Thank you.

Mr. Steed.
Oh, how resplendent
you look.

Thank you, Miss Banks.

This is your
very first visit to one
of our little events.

I do so hope
you'll enjoy it.

- I'm sure I shall.
- Heh.

Would you excuse me?

Black coffee.

Excuse me.

It's bigger
than we think, Steed.

Some kind
of swap system,
a takeover,

another man's
personality.

I saw a whole
dress rehearsal.

Lucille was dancing
round the ballroom.

Quick swirl
out of sight.

Whht. Change of partner.

Perfect.

After an extraordinary
one-way conversation
with Captain Noble...

(mutters, whistles)

I found out
the real purpose
of this school.

It's for infiltrating
foreign agents
into the country.

First select a lonely,
anonymous bachelor...

Whom no one will miss.

Get rid of him.
Replace him with
a highly paid agent.

Off with the old.
On with the new.

Marvelous method.

I don't want to do
anything right away.

Want to catch them
red-handed.

You'll get your chance
soon. They're planning
another swap tonight.

- Any idea who?
- I don't know
who yet, but...

Watch it.

No, no, my dear lady.

Not even if you went down
on your bended knees
and begged.

I'm not free, I'm afraid,
until the 12th dance.

I may be able to fit you in
between the Sir Roger DeCoverly
and the Lancers.

Oh, Mr. Steed, we're just
going into the ballroom now

if you're ready.

Any time you say,
Miss Banks.

Excuse me.

- (claps hands)
- Ladies and gentlemen.

Ivor: I'll see
if it's clear now.

All right.

You go through
that door there,

round to the back
of the studio.

Now, you know
what you have to do.

He'll be wearing
a number 9 like you.

And no slipups.

The Commander
doesn't like slipups.

All right, off you go.

(ballroom music plays)

And now competition time.

Chester Read has kindly
consented to do the judging,

and, as usual,
the contestants will be masked.

Oh, I must just mention
to our new members

that this is to avoid
any possibility of favoritism.

Chester will be judging you

purely on your
dancing ability alone.

(applause)

(ballroom music plays)

I've located
the next victim.

Who?

He'll be wearing
a number 9.

Mrs. Peel. Mr. Steed.

And this is your card,
number six.

Thank you, Miss Banks.

(chuckles)

Well, that eliminates me.

- Mrs. Peel.
- Hmm?

I understand
you have been chosen
to partner me.

Oh.

Mr. Steed, we are
dancing together.

- Oh.
- Allow me.

Oh, Miss Banks.

(yelps) Miss Banks.

There.

Something wrong?

Oh, are you attempting

the reverse
double flip, Mr. Steed?

With you, Miss Banks,
I reach for the rainbow.

(chuckles)
You mad, impetuous man.

Oh. (Laughs)
Miss Banks.

You're number 9.

And you're dancing
with garlic sausage.

Good evening.

How do you do it?

I nerved his soissons.

Shall we dance?

To the door?

- I thought you...
- But I thought you...

It was
that last reverse turn
takeover that did it.

I did this.

When I should
have done this.

Commander! Commander!

Keep 'em coming.

Whoops.

Sorry.

(groans)

Excuse me, Commander!

Tsk tsk tsk tsk.

You'll lose
your deposit.

(groans)

Steed.

Mrs. Peel.

Did you know they just
arrested a bandleader

for being drunk
in charge of a pram

containing a man
in full evening dress

with a plaster cast
on his head,

tattooed on
his right wrist,

clutching
a dance diploma
in one hand

and a garlic sausage
in the other?

Shall we dance?

(ballroom music plays)

(theme music)