All language subtitles for Epilog - Das Geheimnis der Orplid (1950) -- Helmut Kautner

THESE DAYS, THE NEWS MEDIA FREQUENTLY
REPORTS ON UNEXPLAINED AIRPLANE CRASHES,

EXPLOSIONS AND NAVAL ACCIDENTS.

OFTEN, POLITICS ARE INVOLVED.
INVESTIGATIONS ARE DANGEROUS.

ONE OF THOSE MYSTERIOUS CASES
IS THE FATE OF THE "ORPLID".

THEREFORE, SOME QUESTIONS ARE ONLY
HINTED AT, AND SOME LEFT OPEN.

A SECRET SERVICE AGENT IS TRACKING
AN INTERNATIONAL GUNRUNNER.

UNRELATED TO THIS, A MEMBER OF A
RADICAL POLITICAL ORGANIZATION

TRIES TO GET RID OF THE GUNRUNNER
AND HIS RUTHLESS EMPLOYER

BY WAY OF ASSASSINATION.

JOURNALIST PETER ZABEL DISCOVERED
THESE CONNECTIONS BY ACCIDENT.

HE OFFERS HIS REPORT TO THE EDITOR
OF AN ILLUSTRATED MAGAZINE.

EPILOGUE

I discovered this note last year
on August 20

in a small-town newspaper
from Northern Germany.

THE YACHT "ORPLID", WHICH LEFT THE
HAMBURG HARBOR AUGUST 14, 1949,

NEVER ARRIVED AS PLANNED IN NORTHERN
SCOTLAND. ALL INVESTIGATIONS FAILED.

I knew nothing about the bizarre story
behind these few meager lines.

These are the people
on board of the ORPLID.

ARTIST-MARRIAGE

I found the image one week later

in an edition of the magazine of
the international artist's association.

End of august.

In the blow-up you can make the faces
of the wedding guests more clearly.

This is Conchita, the bride.

This is the bridegroom.

I didn't know his name back then.

This is her former partner Ermano.

"Conchito and Ermano".
they used to be a famous act.

- Did you ever see them?
- No, no ...

This is the priest Johannes Klappshorn,
from Elmstein.

- A childhood friend.
- Of the bride or of the bridegroom?

Of the bridegroom.

This is the musical clown
"The Great Teach".

I didn't know their names back then, but
I looked at their faces again and again.

I sensed that something special,
something uncanny

must've happened to those people.

I called the naval authorities.

Of course there was an investigation.
... No, not so far ... No, nothing.

I'm sorry? ... Yes, I have the facts here.

At the time of the accident a weak
distress call was received,

but without indication
of the name of the ship, so ...

At the wharf Henke & Thies,
at Vegesack, near Bremen.

Two 8 HP Maybach diesel engines?
8 miles an hour?

That's quite something.

Well, the yacht was built in 36/37,
by order of a party bigwig.

Probably paid for by the party, too.

Paid for by all of us, in the end.

This over there is the sister ship,
the ORION.

Same line.

After the war she was returned to us.
Looked terrible.

We patched her up some,
but couldn't find a buyer.

We rented it out once in a while. Mostly
to guys from the occupying forces.

On August 10th, it was chartered
on short notice for a pleasure trip.

- By some P.L. Hoopman.
- An Englishman?

According to his passport, yes. We were
contacted by Cook from Kairo, though.

Can you give me a list of the crew?

Yes, of course, as far as we have it.

Some of them were sent by an agency
for foreign workers.

Bayani. (???)

Thank you. What do you think
happened to the ORPLID?

Might've lost its course and hit a mine.
Stuff like that still happens, sadly.

- Was there a storm?
- I can tell you that exactly.

Night from August 15th
to August 16th ... here it is.

Wind speed 1.
At 10 pm negligible strengthening.

Light fog, 4.9,
air pressure, temperature ...

- So nothing you'd call a storm.
- No, quite the contrary.

A quite summer night. Plain water.

This was all I was able to find out.

No more newspaper stories.
The foreign papers also had nothing.

These drawings are crucial to lifting
the ORPLID's secret.

This spring I arrived in London
as a journalist.

While taking a walk I made it to
a bookshop, in front of an art salon.

I discovered a number of sketches
exhibited there.

Chinese, I thought first.
But then I saw European faces.

They looked like the original versions
of book illustrations.

A naval story or a crime novel, probably.

The faces seemed familiar to me.

I took a closer look and found
the name ORPLID on one of the sketches.

Now I knew were I had seen the faces.

I took up the trail.

Good mor ... ning.

The surprise rendered me speechless.

This was, without a doubt, the same
foreign looking face

as the one from the marriage picture
in the artist's journal.

A survivor of the ORPLID.
The girl also didn't talk.

You were on the yacht ORPLID,
weren't you?

You were saved.

(in french) You were on the yacht ORPLID
with the wedding guests, were you?

(in french) I know it, tell me the truth!

I realized that he wasn't the painter
of the sketches in the window.

The girl was the painter.
He only signed and sold them.

He seemed to exploit her
in other ways, too.

I confronted him head-on.

He didn't dare to answer.

The girl stayed silent, too.

When I asked her to come with me,
the painter blew his top.

After this scandal,
the painter disappeared,

leaving behind the girl,
alone and helpless.

I took her with me to Hamburg.

I hoped in vein that more people
would contact me

and tell me more
about the vanished yacht and people.

My publications had a
completely different effect, though.

I was being watched.

In the beginning I thought
I was imagining things.

But I soon realized I wasn't wrong.

I doubled my efforts to uncover
the ORPLID's secret.

It wasn't easy to get something out of
the poor, frightened, mute girl.

She had never learned to write
and only understood French.

But she drew sketches
with strange, almost manic obsession.

As if trying to free herself
from a gruesome mystery.

I asked, she painted the reply.

That's interesting.

The hints I gained from this made me
restart my investigation.

I visited the owner of the pension
Conchita lived in

when doing shows in Hamburg.

My child ... you can't speak anymore?

Sparrow, what happened to you?
What happened to her?

- She used to speak?
- Oh yes!

You thought she was born mute?

She downright tweeted, like a bird.
High-pitched and fast.

French. No one understood her.
Me least of all.

I want nothing to do with foreign
languages. Even less so after the war.

How did she meet Conchita?

She was only that big. Eight years old.

When she performed her jumping number.

And then she got sick.
Always was a frail creature.

And then the troupe returned,
to Casablanca and she couldn't travel,

and then Conchita took care of her.
All through the war.

Help yourself!

Like a birdie, she used to be.

Like a kitten, not like a human at all.

Do you still have stuff that belonged to
that dancer?

Of course! Everything's still here.
What did you think?

Nothing's missing.

This one she married. A Mr. Jarzombeck,
I never saw him with her, though.

Only in church. Not my type.

- But this Hoopman was here often?
- Yes, every day.

Sometimes after the show, too.

- But these are private matters.
- Of course.

I have to cover all the bases, though.

I can't make my peace with it.
A ship leaves and never arrives.

- May I see that?
- A beautiful woman!

And very natural, that's something
you don't find often.

So competent!
I often saw her at the Hansa Theater.

I always had free tickets.

This is Mr. Hoopman.

Yes. Not a handsome man,
but in uniform he had personality.

When she danced,
one could almost be afraid of her.

So her partner Ermano
sent back the invitation?

"To her death"?

Strange.

I was pretty much convinced that the
ORPLID had become the victim of a crime.

One night, I discovered that my desk
had been broken into and searched.

They must've looked either for the
manuscript of for Leata’s sketches.

But I had those with me.

So there had to be people interested in
leaving the ship's secret undiscovered.

This was the moment I decided
that I had to uncover the truth.

No matter the cost.

- Why do you want to know that?
- I'm a reporter. Want to see ID?

- We don't handle requests by strangers.
- I'm not asking out of curiosity.

And it's not a big deal to you.
Please, Miss ...

- The yacht ORPLID, you said?
- Yes.

L, M, N, O ... August 14th last year?

Yes, please.

A Mr. Aldo Siano, from Trieste.
As a musician.

ALDO SIANO
SCHOOLTEACHER

A steward, Stefan Lund. American.

Another steward, Nikolaus Drobitsch.
Stateless.

Not him. He was supposed to be on board,
but they chose another steward instead.

- Wait a minute. Lund?
- Yes.

- Why?
- Happens often.

One is chosen,
another one takes the job.

- Foul play, you mean?
- No foul play with us, got it?

- Good bye.
- Excuse me ...

Can you give me the address
of this Nikolaus Drobitsch?

No!

At the registration office I learned,
that a Nikolaus Drobitsch

had lived in Rothenburgsort,

but that he was supposed to have died
during the big air raid in July 1943.

Per chance I found him in the
"Samba-Diehle" at Reeperbahn, though.

- Mr. Drobitsch?
- Yes, how can I help you?

I'm happy for you
that you're still alive.

What do you mean?

If you'd traveled with the ORPLID as a
steward, you'd have croaked last year.

- Probably?
- How did they push you out of that job?

Foul play?
What do you think was the reason?

I don't have time now.
Please come back tonight. After one.

Drobitsch?
But he resigned this afternoon.

- All of a sudden?
- What do you want from him?

He owes you, too?

No. I only wanted to know
why he didn't drown with the Orplid.

- Would've been better if he'd drowned.
- Why?

When did this happen,
the thing with the ship. Last year?

- Yes.
- in August?

What happened to him last August?

Better you don't mess with politics.

Politics.
The first time that word came up.

So no crime?
But there are political crimes, too.

I covered all the bases.

Three meals, fruit, cheese, ice.

12 bottles of Hennesey,
12 bottles of whiskey,

50 Mosel, 60 Rhine Whine,
2 boxes of french Champagne.

The man diligently selected all of this
for the yacht,

and payed cash.

- You don't get this often, these days.
- Yes, unfortunately.

The man's name was Jarzombeck,
wasn't it?

- No, Hoopman.
- Huckmann?

P.L. Hoopman, born in Levant,
58 years old,

became a British citizen in 1928,
very wealthy,

officially works in export.

- And in reality?
- Someone well connected.

On paper,
he only worked in Germany, though.

- Doing what?
- Someone like me can't tell.

In 48 he stopped with his work.

- Oh yes? Why?
- Strange story. I got nothing.

Tell me, is your information
completely trustworthy?

How dare you, our agency exists
since 1895.

We work on denazification.

Is that so? What did you find out
about his private life?

Married to an exiled German,

since 46 in a relationship
with Christiane Bruckmann.

- Christiane Bruckmann?
- Yes.

Stage name Conchita.

Some kind of dancer.

Permanent address until July 49
Cairo, Hotel Shepard.

Cairo, Hotel Shepard, got it.

Current address unknown.

EPILOGUE

I continued following up
on every possible lead.

Step by step I managed to connect
Leata's drawings

with the results of my investigation.

Gaps were filled, errors resolved,
and connections illuminated.

Finally, the fate of the Orplid
was revealed to me.

It took me four days and four nights
to write down this report.

"Epilogue"

And you really were able
to trace back the whole thing?

Yes, everything. The facts, the fates
of the involved and the backstory.

Please excuse my curiosity,
but did or didn't the Orplid perish?

- Beckmann, I ...
- What is it?

Oh, excuse me ... I'm going out to eat,
want to join me?

One moment ...
Dr. Mannheim, chief editor.

- And here's ...
- Miss Leata.

- I am Peter Zabel.
- Peter Zabel?

- Yes.
- I did read one of your pieces.

A series of items, "Murder in Politics".

Yes, that was me.

Very good. From Nero to Ghandi.
Excellent.

Mr. Zabel offered us a factual report.

I think, Dr.,
this will be of interest to us.

I'm sure we will.
Did you read it yet?

No, I was going to ask him
to summarize it for us.

But why not read it.
No need to make speeches.

No, please, Dr.,
stay with us and listen.

This was painted
by that woman.

She illustrated the whole story ...
Not, more like the other way around ...

Go on.

So ... The important stuff happened
between 10:08 and 11:20 ...

- ... on this yacht.
- I see, and what happened there?

The sketch you're holding ...

The sketch you're holding
shows the marriage party.

This is the situation at 10:05.

No speeches were given, although
a marriage was the reason for the trip.

Only Reverend Klappstein, a war body
of the bridegroom,

who had married the couple,
tried his hands at a secular toast.

Please let me skip all the
emotive imagery expected of a priest,

obvious stuff like a lighthouse sending
its bright greetings through the night,

the life boat, securely guided
into the haven of marriage,

alongside the high and mighty
Lady Liberty,

no ... this isn't the right kind
of imagery when thinking of marriage.

Dear newlyweds, let me just say
one thing instead.

From 1. Corinthians 13, Verse 7.

The apostle speaks of love:
"Love is patient, love is kind.

It does not envy, it does not boast."
And the 8. verse starts:

"Love never fails."

To happy times!

Mr. Hoopman had organized the wedding
on the rented Orplid.

Oddly enough,
his wife was on board, too.

Even odder was the fact,
that he didn't mind

that a young man, a friend and war buddy
of the bridegroom,

flirted with her quite openly.

This is Lund,
who had been engaged as steward.

In reality he was a CIC agent though,
who had been brought on board to

observe Mr. Hoopman.

This is Aldo Siano from Trieste,
the piano player.

No one suspected him to be an agent
of a radical party,

entrusted with a special mission.

Conchita's sister and her friend also
were invited to the wedding.

- Is there something I can do for you?
- No, thanks.

I was under the impression that...
Can I at least get you a coat?

- Who are you, may I ask?
- A steward.

Please tell my girl
to bring me the coat.

[French] Madame wants you to
bring her the coat.

- It's past 10 o'clock now.
- True.

- And?
- And?

- … 8 minutes past.
- Yes.

Please get him here.

You've shunned me.
For the whole trip.

Like a newlywed is supposed to.
I don't know what you want from me.

You were the one
who set up this marriage.

I didn't set up a marriage,
I set up a wedding.

- You understood correctly, didn't you?
- Yes, I did.

As far as I've understood anything.

I hate the man you chose.
Why this trip?

The reason is tough and you are tender.
That's why I won't tell you.

That's my way of worshiping you.

Can I talk to you for a minute?

Finally. I've been waiting for a
signal for three hours.

Me too.

[French] Take this to the cabin.

[French] You don't agree with me, Leata?

[French] You're not happy, you cried.
Look at your eyes.

[French] You said you're happy.
That you want to marry him.

[French] It's the truth.

[French] You're still in love
with Hoopman.

He won't ever learn that. That's too
difficult even for me.

Moron. He sings "By the Well
Outside the Gate". All stanzas.

You hear this? He's learning!

- I only hear beep.
- Birds are often smarter than people.

Smarter than you, in any case.

Not all brides need to be sad.

Only where there's no love, one is sad.

There's love without a veil.

For three hours you left me hanging.
Not a single gaze, not a single word.

- Did you have reasons?
- Yes.

- You think we're being observed?
- I'm sure of it.

Who is it? The Crew?
Do you know all the guests?

- Knowing them? After three hours?
- But you did look them over?

- Yes.
- And?

- He isn't even here!
- You're sure of that?

I know him! They pointed him out to me.
I know all the material.

- And?
- And what? Nothing! And it's past 10.

- What do you mean, past 10?
- The bomb will go off in 70 minutes!

You have to defuse it
if he isn't on board.

- I admire your calm.
- Me? Defusing?

Am I supposed to? If I knew where
the bomb is hidden,

I had thrown it into the sea already.

It was set to 11:20.
But who knows if the timer is accurate.

- It's accurate.
- Well, I know a case when it weren't.

Big funeral back then.
Such experiences make you cautious.

- Where was that?
- Avanti.

So let's not waste any more time.

70 minutes are long.
Time enough to get a lot of things done.

We need to find a way to get you
to the bomb without anyone noticing.

We can't both leave the salon
for such a long time.

- I'll do it alone anyway.
- Order from above?

- A command.
- Everybody knows just bits and pieces.

And still the machine works.

Since when are you with us?

What else do you want to know.
Come on, 60 minutes.

You won't need the small camera
anymore.

Or do you want to deliver
pictures of the bride to Trieste?

By the way, is it an acid bomb,
or is there a timer?

Like in 22, or plastic?

And so the steward learned,
that a bomb was hidden on board.

And the piano player feared that
the conversation had been overheard.

But by whom?

Music!

It was wrong to listen to you, Klaus.
I shouldn't have made this trip.

- I know, I was selfish.
- And stupid.

The two of us could be
in a train to Nice right now.

I wonder how your husband
would've reacted to that.

You Europeans and your games of society.

I thought all of this was over by now,
Mr. von Werth.

Old habits die hard. You're correct.

It really is over. Everybody is alone.
Every man for himself.

- That's no relief.
- But I do want to help you, Klaus.

But you lack courage.
You're afraid of a scandal.

You didn't give me enough time.

I misjudged you, Klaus. That's all.

Now I'm afraid South America will be
a disappointment for you, too.

If I'm near you,
there can be no disappointment.

Stop this. Or rather, be more cautious.

My generation still knows about nuances.

Those few years you call a generation,
mylady?

- I'm serious.
- Good. I'll try to believe you.

Thank you.

What do you think about mines?
Floating mines might still be around.

I read about this in the newspaper.
No worries about that, Freddersen?

The route we're taking has been cleared.

We never had problems with this.

And by the way, reverend,
god will take care of you anyway.

Please excuse me.

Oh that's nice. I'd already feared
the well was dried up.

So... any news?

Boy, a radio message
from a Swedish freighter.

They have a man on board
they want to hand over to us.

- Here.
- Thanks, you go first.

So one more... Who is it?

No idea. Take this.

They are sending their thanks.
Polite people.

They're heading our way.
Another one?

No, I have to head back.
See you later.

Hans, I believe we're the only
happy people on board.

I'm not happy.

But you said so earlier. If it's
up to you the trip could go on forever.

Just like one can forget on a swing,
that it is attached to the earth.

You didn't speak one word all evening.

I'm so ashamed.

Because of the returned invitation
with the amiable correction?

So you noticed. How crude it was.

That's true. But I know you can't be
taken seriously in matters of the heart.

I saw you on stage once.

A shame the two of them are separating.

- You saw me on stage?
- Yes, during my time a the seminary.

In one scene, you played an upholsterer,

and you got tangled up in the wallpaper,
in an incredibly funny way.

When trying to call for help,
even my puss was gummed up.

- We laughed heartily.
- Yes, why not.

I'm thirsty!

Something cold.

I almost forgot to tell you
that we will have another guest.

A guest? In the middle of the ocean?

Yes. A Swedish freighter
will bring him on board.

- Who?
- Well, I don't know him.

He asked for a favor.
He wants to return to Scotland with us.

Are we obliged to take him in?

It's customary on the open sea.

I think it's unnecessary for a stranger
to disturb our private celebration.

The radio operator already transmitted
my approval.

May I request your consent
after the fact, ladies and gentlemen?

I won't consent.

I do not wish for the stranger
to come on board.

Eleanor,
you can't exclude him on your own.

I'll leave the yacht
and enter the freighter.

The piano player believed that
Miss Hoopman

had overheard the conversation
about the bomb.

He thought she was the one,
because she wanted to leave the yacht.

The man who was supposed to enter,
was the missing guest

who was to be executed
by the piano player.

This man was one of the big
arms smugglers from the last war.

One who wouldn't let go of his
beloved trade.

Since 1945
he had lived under different names,

in Tanger most recently,

and he was involved in all of the
conflicts in the Middle East.

Mr. Hoopman was the provider
of the contraband.

Reckless behavior.

- Get your act together.
- Why, she doesn't understand German.

She understands the tone.

Come to my cabin, then.

What to do about the woman?
We have to stop her from talking?

- You're positive she listened in?
- Yes.

Her behavior when learning about
Toriani gave her away.

She won't talk.

You think she only wants to save herself
and her gigolo. And everyone else ...

She'll only talk once the freighter
arrives. She'll wait for help.

- What time is it?
- 10:34

- Did you defuse it?
- No.

- Good.
-How will we leave the boat?

- Klaus?
- Yes?

Now you can prove if you
meant what you said.

Back your bags and join me.

But how will me manage
to enter the freighter.

I always managed to get where
I wanted in life.

This here opens any door.

And one hour later, the seaplane
will pick us up.

The chemical heating is automated,
and here's the compressed air.

- Just turn it on.
- Damn, they've improved since the war.

Arms is the only business
that's always booming.

Your miniature camera.
Take a picture once you're entering.

Make sure you get a picture of him
and Hoopman in the salon. Just in case.

All right.

When the freighter has backed off
far enough later on, You'll leave first.

I take care of the rest
before joining you.

You'll signal one hour after detonation.

Flare guns are over there on the left.

If anything should happen to me ...
Cover address Action Group Trieste.

Try it on, because of the seal.
But take of your jacket.

Say, do all of them have to die?

Those who aren't involved, too?

The organization can't afford
an assassination.

Has to look like an accident.

A shame about the girl ... Otherwise,
Toriani could've been killed already.

And the bastard knows this. Therefore
the disguise as a wedding trip.

What does Hoopman want, by the way?

The Swedish one's arriving.
Hurry!

Stop all engines!

Half-speed ahead!

Won't you return my gun?

Your gun? I don't have it.
I only have mine.

Come in.

What do you want?

Excuse me, madam.
You really want to leave?

Yes. No business of yours.

- What do you want?
- One moment!

You want to leave the ship
because you listened in on us.

Listened to what?
What's going on here?

What do you want?
Leave my cabin immediately!

Please excuse me.
Just a misunderstanding.

You're lying! You know exactly
that there's a bomb on board.

You know it's going to explode
in half an hour. You know ...

Hands up!

Now the piano player found out
what he had already guessed:

The steward was a secret agent.

No weapons.

Excuse me madam, but I had to.
The man spoke the truth.

Your husband is supposed
to be assassinated.

Name's Bennister, FBI.
I'm here to protect you.

- How terrible.
- I couldn't act earlier.

I had to learn from that guy
where the bomb is hidden.

May I ask you to help me
to prevent the worst?

- But how?
- You can't talk to anyone.

Not even to your husband.
To prevent a panic, you understand?

Here ... Return now, and welcome
your guest as if everything's fine.

When you see me back at the piano,
the danger will be over.

- Can I trust you?
- Of course. But what about him?

I'll take care of him.

Nice of you to help me. My name is hill.

I never miss an opportunity, Mr. Hill,
to promote

international harmony with the help
of small, personal gestures.

One of the few opportunities to do
anything positive at all.

Maybe the only one.

Although I'm not changing ships for
political reasons.

I received a radio message and had to
return. A private reason.

- But crucial to me.
- Just like our trip.

Private, but crucial. We're celebrating
a wedding. Please be our guest.

Mr. Hill - my wife.

I have to beg your forgiveness
for disturbing your trip.

I you can supply me with a room ...

My cabin, no bother at all.

This is the bridegroom, Mr. Jarzombeck.

- And you daughter is the bride?
- No.

Madame Jarzombeck.

steward!

Will be near Norfolk tomorrow.

- That will work for you?
- Sure.

- Allow me, what country are you from?
- Why?

I want the orchestra to play
your national anthem.

Everyone on here is from somewhere else.

But you don't have to commit.
The International!

Where's the orchestra?

The assassin left the ship,

after destroying all escape routes
for the people on the ship.

He destroyed the radio room.

He threw the life-vests and
lifebelts over board.

And he made the lifeboats unusable.

He abandoned the Orplid to her fate.

Siano wasn't a criminal in the
usual meaning of the word.

Rise!

Come upstairs, please.

No.

Hoopman is waiting for you.

Tell him I'm staying downstairs.

Is it necessary that everyone, even
the waiter, knows that you hate me?

I don't hate you, Martin.
I have no feelings for you.

I thought artists stay true
to their contracts.

And what kind of life are we supposed
to lead after this wedding trip?

- Our life?
- Yes, our life.

From tomorrow on, we'll go
our separate ways again.

Nothing in the contract
about a shared life.

- Since you're my wife ...
- I'm not your wife.

Don't leave me. Give me a chance.

I know I ain't worth much
since I lost my way, but ...

You're even more obnoxious when you're
sentimental instead of drunk.

Am I supposed to wear this again,
the dress for this comedy?

Come in and close the door.

Help! Over here!

What's going on?

- I have to talk to you!
- What's the matter?

- The radio ...
- What is it?

I have to talk to you.
This minute, and alone.

He destroyed the radio equipment.

The ship is in grave danger. There's a
bomb. It will go off in 25 minutes.

An attack?

He destroyed the radio equipment.

Leave me alone. Every minute counts.

- Who are you?
- Captain Bennister, FBI.

But is this necessary now?

Arrest him!

Better arrest the piano player,
if it isn't too late already!

- The pianist?
- Listen to me!

- Prepare the lifeboats!
- Shut up!

You, me and the crew stay on board,
to locate the bomb.

One boat stays behind for us.

- What's going in here?
- There's a bomb on the ship.

Where's the piano player?

Please head over to the captain.

- Da capo al fine.
- What?

Once again to the finish.

Yes. Mr. Hoopman should know
why I am on board.

Are you crazy? Involving me in
this kind of a situation?

You were the one who put us
in this situation.

You and your ... business
with this gentleman.

Where's Captain Bennister?

- Yes?
- He's lying. He placed the bomb.

He threatened me. And if Bennister ...

- Your mixing things up.
- Where's the piano player?

- Voila! Over board.
- Over board?

Yes, over board. He had a diving suit.

Did he go over board with this?

There was a second one.

- Where did you find this?
- In the equipment room.

The door was open,
someone had searched the room.

You're lying. This is your suit.
You threw the man over board.

He's not lying!

- Where's the bomb?
- I don't know.

He knows exactly. He told me himself.
At 11:20 the ship will be blown up.

- Up in the air, an air-ship.
- Enough with your silly remarks.

- We have to search the ship right now!
- No!

- Everybody has to search!
- Stop, this is an order!

This is madness!

No one knew were the bomb was hidden.

The only one who knew was the man who
had been replaced

as steward by the FBI agent
at the last minute.

But this man wasn't on board.

The ship was seized with panic.
Exactly what Lund had tried to prevent.

But he couldn't stop it.

Fear and alcohol thwarted reason, logic,

and all attempts at calm deliberation.

Fear of death is more infectious
than diseases.

- What's with this monkey business?
- We're building a raft!

20 minutes!

When it became clear that all
roads to safety had been blocked,

the search for the bomb turned into
pure demolition.

Please leave the radio room.
Out! Get out of here!

The closer the time of explosion
approached,

the less likely it became that
the hidden object would be found.

In their despair, they thought
that the hidden death had its own life.

And that it holed up more and more
deeply under the debris.

Vainly sounded the foghorn.

The only flare was way too weak,
hardly rose above the deck,

and was devoured by the ocean
and the darkness.

A symbol of hopelessness.

The fog grew heavier.
The Orplid was beyond hope.

By now it was almost 11.

- As we know, the Orplid was then ...
- Hello! Hello!

... exactly as far removed from its port
of origin as from the British coast.

The engine had stopped working ...

Hello? ... Mondial Publishing.
Head editor.

Is that so. One moment, please.

Say, did you offer the story
someone else already?

Yes. Not directly, though. I was
in contact with foreign newspapers.

But no one knows the manuscript.
I only have this one copy.

One more minute ...
And it hasn't been optioned yet either?

- No. Whom are you talking to?
- Whom am I talking to?

- Hello! Hello?
- Who's there?

Answer please. Who's there?

- What was this?
- Can you trace the call?

Too late. What is it?

I already told you that I'm being
watched since I investigate the Orplid.

- And this call ...
- And what?

I might be mistaken.

Let me tell you something, Mr. ...
What's your name again?

- Zabel.
- Mr. Zabel.

Your story is interesting enough.
No need to make it even more so.

I didn't come here to make me
or my work more interesting.

Sorry, doctor, you're not in on all the
background on this. You weren't here.

Didn't mean it like that.

I have to say,
this call was indeed strange.

Was it?
Well, must be some kind of explanation.

Please continue with your story.

I told you how everyone desperately
searched the ship.

Do I understand correctly? The American
wasn't on board because of the bomb?

Of course not. He only learned about it
when he was already on board.

He was sent there
to observe Mr. Hoopman.

- Political reasons?
- Yes.

Clever of you
to only hint at these things.

The readers are fed up
with politics anyway.

No, I only skipped over politics
while telling you this.

In the manuscripts
all details are included.

I know the material well.
I name all names, too.

From the masterminds to the smallest
action groups.

On the day, these revelations
are printed in your paper ...

... I'm done fore.

No politics in my paper. Politics is
always black and white, meaning gray.

My paper is in color.

If we write in our fashion pages that
the length of skirts is

15 inch above ground, even if Paris says
above the knees,

we have all the revolution we need.

And 1000 subscribers less.

Sorry, I hadn't thought
about subscribers. But about truth!

Me too, my friend.
But about subscribers, too.

- One has to compromise.
- Mr. Zabel!

And also it's not a lie if one leaves
out what no one wants to know anyway.

I think I stole your time in vain.

Mr. Zabel, I think this is
a misunderstanding.

Dr. Mannheim told you he's interested.

Indeed, so please sit down.

I'm like that sometimes.
Here, have a drink.

Take a seat.

First, we have to know everything.

So, where were we?
Everyone searches the ship.

The captain hurt himself
when shooting the flare.

- Badly.
- Was the bomb found?

No, and it was already past 11.

- So, 18 minutes left.
. Yes, 18 long minutes.

The yacht wasn't recognizable anymore.
The people had changed, too.

The futile search had stopped.

No one spoke. Everyone was occupied
with their own problems.

Everybody was everybody's enemy.

Only the man who was the target
kept on searching.

He was the only one who didn't quit.

- He won't talk.
- Because he doesn't know anything.

Shut up!

They threatened you.
They even beat you.

Do I have to beg, too?

Someday you'll have to answer for this
before god.

What do you want from me?
I can't help you!

I'm just as lost as you are.

You may be true to your ideals, but
please realize, the life of each ...

Don't bother.
If I didn't get him to talk,

and if her jewelry
didn't do the trick,

then your wholesome speech
hardly stands a chance.

I know his kind.
But let me promise you, my friend,

I am just as tough as you are.

And even if we'll all be saved, there's
one of us who won't make it out alive.

- And that one's you.
- Shame on you, Martin!

No time for that.

I'm to blame.
I wished for all of us to die.

Ermano, what is it?
Calm down, Ermano.

- I wrote about invitation to death ...
- But you didn't mean it like that.

I did mean it. Back then I did.

I wished for it when I wrote it.

I'm to blame ... Never ...
Never did I receive what I wished for.

And this one wish is the one
that will be granted.

Collect yourself, you wimp!
We need to keep our cool.

This is mine!

- Hand it over.
- Take away the gun!

Hand it to me!

- What is this supposed to mean?
- Jumping ship!

- One person can save himself.
- Only one?

- What's this?
- They found the diving suit.

Hand it over. I'll take it into custody.

- No one touches it!
- Who should get it?

- Only the higher-ups, is that it?
- No higher-ups on here anymore.

I'd advise to put the suit and the gun
on the table, visible to all.

- I don't need your advise!
- Do as he says. He's right!

Martin! Away with the gun.

Death and salvation. A nice still life.

Fly away ... fly away ... fly away ...

All of us need to grow wings!

I don't know who you are and
I don't know who is your employer.

I only know that there's something
important enough for you

to let all these innocent people die
for it.

Isn't it enough that the guilty person,
as claimed by your employers, dies?

- Yes. Will this make you happy?
- Where's the guy?

Yes, where is he?

Here, Mr. Jarzombeck.
Leave that other guy be.

I'm ready.

I offered him my life.

Go on. There's the gun ...
Don't be afraid. It's just talk.

He won't act.
Wouldn't be good for business.

Nothing to win.

Why cover your ears, my child?

I'm not saying anything
you don't already know.

You know him!
Better than I do, probably.

Is your wedding a wedding?
It's business.

He's buying a groom for his mistress.

- Disgusting.
- Yes, disgusting, Mr. von Werth.

Nobody noticed the suicide
of the dancer, and no one missed him.

No brandy left?

Help me! There's the camera on the
table. I would do anything for you, too.

I'll give you anything I've got.
All the jewelry.

Only three of them still had hope.

One hoped to find the bomb.

Tough and obstinate
he fought for his life.

One wanted to kill the guy who he
thought was to blame for all of this.

And one tried to connect with people
able to help.

They sent me to you. I am supposed to
do anything I can to safe us.

Anything.

In know you can't help us.

And why did you agree
to talk to me anyway?

Do I have to say it?

How can you be so upbeat,
so unwaveringly upbeat?

I have to. I know that over there,
I won't have much reason for mirth.

You sparked joy in people. That's worth
more than noble deeds.

Joy?

You want to help me,
so that at least the others ...

- So, now are even allowed to lie?
- Yes.

I sparked joy in people.
Malicious joy.

While searching for the bomb,
the arms smuggler blew the light fuses.

Light! Light! Silence!

Switch on the emergency lights!

- In the lobby, to the right!
- Yes.

Out! Out!

Out! Take this off!

- Not a chance!
- You remember La Rochelle?

- We promised to stay together forever.
- The war is over.

And after the war in the camps?
Did I rat on you?

And what did we say after we were free?
We want to live and now I do.

Both of us or no one.
Off with it!

Help me, mummy.

What is it?

- No more danger.
- Why?

I begged him to help us,
and he promised to do it.

Good idea, nice acting. I'll play along.

You don't know it yet. We're saved!

Look at me!

- You came through?
- Yes, you're saved.

I am? Then I'll come through, too.

And Mr. Hill, faced with death,
kept on searching.

He handled the flood valve,

because he thought the bomb was there.
He opened it,

water flowed into the yacht,
and made it sink.

This happened at the very moment, 11:20,
the bomb was supposed to go off.

The heavyset blonde barmaid told me

how strange the man who had hidden
the bomb had acted at that time.

He checked the time continuously
and got drunk.

Now ... now ...

Now the sinking of the Orplid began.

The ship and the people
weren't the victims of an act of terror.

They died because of themselves.
By their own hands.

In fact, they had been dead already.

Fate was gracious, the ship
sank rapidly, no one survived.

Except for this girl.

A talented young lady indeed.

A lot of imagination.
Let me tell you something.

Write a novel about this case.

Eliminate the harsher parts,
enhance the love story,

and find another reason
for the assassination.

Something straightforward. For example,
some crazy guy placed the bomb.

Does this mean you don't like
my proposal?

- One moment, one moment!
- Let him go, if this is what he wants.

Maybe he has more luck elsewhere. They
might believe in the so-called documents

and the exotic ornaments.

Please! Wait!

One day you will read my epilogue.
The way I wrote it down.

Not as a novel. As truth.
As a factual report.

- Come with me. Bye!
- See you!

Doctor? This was an error.

He'll return.

No, he won't.

THE STORY OF THIS FACTUAL REPORT
WAS WRITTEN BY R.A. STEMMLE AND

HELMUT KÄUTNER WHO ALSO
SERVED AS DIRECTOR.