Original subtitles

THE PHANTOM OF MORRISVILLE

Detective Novels THE PHANTOM OF MORRISVILLE

It was a dark and foggy night.

In the light drizzle, the guard of the state prison

at Middlesouthborough Stone

Middlesouthborough Stone

half opened a tiny window in the iron door

and bid his sight in vain,

penetrate

the impenetrable fog.

You wouldn't let a dog out in this foul weather.

He mumbled and closed the window again.

Out of the shadow of the prison wall,

two sneaky figures appeared.

The taller one, Dixie, called Beanstalk,

pulled out of his pocket a pistol.

What's up? - Asked the shorter one,

called Rosie.

If it’s anybody but Micky, I'll slay him instantly.

One could hear light footsteps.

The third gang member,

Micky, alias Chicken, was coming.

All right? - The weather seems favorable.

If nothing unexpected crops up,

Manuel Diaz

will be freed tonight. Let's get to work!

Cut it short!

Until the boss is free, I'm in charge and give the orders.

Let's get to work!

Thread.

String.

Rope.

Few men succumb to sleep, when their life is at stake.

One man alone was able to fall asleep on death row.

Your last wish is granted, prisoner.

I wanted a banjo and manicure set.

Prison management forbid the second item.

It contains a nail file.

Pliers.

Saw.

Okay. Roll it up.

This very presence, stop!

Although the moment isn't exactly pleasant.

Unharness time...

Third window from the left. No, fourth!

... and wait for a while.

And make her come back!

Let her be happy with me!

My darling, whom I adore.

Let my flag be in rags,

let tomorrow be lost in darkness.

Let the devil himself hold me in his clutches,

I don't know, DON'T KNOW!, the word fear.

If it has to be,

let the punishment come.

As a bold man

I'll bear it.

Let the executioner come,

let the black wall come,

I'll be only laughing.

Please, just for now,

this very presence stop,

and my star keep shining.

No hurry,

just wait for a while.

I'm terribly missing

that familiar face,

you know, the one I adore,

THE ONE I adore,

THE ONE I ADORE.

Once the day will come,

me being a big boss,

I want to sail a white ship

across the blue ocean.

There nobody has a clue

That I escaped from jail.

There I can hang out at the bar, YEEES!, like a Persian sheikh.

Ho, ho, ho!

Hoa, hoa, ho!

So far I can sing, YIPPIE YAAAY!,

I can live anywhere FINEEE.

Ho, ho, ho!

Hoa, hoa, ho!

Once I'll lose my YIPPIE YAAAY,

devils can take me farAWAAAY.

Now, I understand why he's called Singing Manuel.

He won't be quiet till morning.

Don't you like singing, jailer? - Well, his singing behind bars I enjoy.

... ho, ho! And I'll be having fun.

whiskey by the barrel

and a fine leather jacket.

And I'll regularly sleep, YEEES!, with the sheriff's wife.

Ho, ho, ho!

Hoa, hoa, ho!

So far I can sing, YIPPIE YAAAY!,

I can live anywhere FINEEE.

It's a great voice.

Yes, father.

And even greater crook.

From the luxurious study of M.C. Pelham,

the publisher of LADIES & GENTLEMEN journal, came this announcement:

Allan Pinkerton is called by M.C.

M.C. calls Allan Pinkerton.

Allan Pinkerton is called by M.C.

M.C. calls Allan Pinkerton.

One moment, madam.

Tea?

Whisky?

My dear Pinkerton, tonight at midnight at Morrisville is taking place

the wedding of Sir Hannibal Morris and Clarence Hamilton.

You'll attend as a representative of our journal.

My pleasure.

Thank you, sir.

Do you know each other? Who is the lady?

My mysterious benefactor.

During my studies at Oxford, she always appeared at Christmas.

She had me...

called to the dean's office, and there she kissed me on the forehead.

Then she disappeared again.

How did you get to know her? - She came to me, with a silly request.

I told her I won't send my best criminal reporter to the wedding.

But she insisted.

It turned out she's the majority shareholder of our journal,

so I couldn't say no.

Besides, who could say no to a lady?

I get it.

Sir Morris is entitled to such an honor, however.

We studied together and served in India in the same regiment.

I was even present when he proposed to his first love.

I didn't know he had been married. - Only engaged, dear boy.

It was called off, when he introduced his fiancee to his family.

Financial reasons? - Oh, no! Social ones.

Poor Hannibal fell in love with Miss Arabella.

Pardon. - It's likely beyond your field of interest.

But what Sarah Bernhardt was to the stage,

Miss Arabella was to the circus tent.

She was popular on both hemispheres.

She was world famous.

Tamer?

Show rider. - I get it.

That wasn't the worst of it.

Old Lady Morris liked horses too.

Tea, please.

But when she found out Arabella's mother was a noted bearded lady

and father was a clown

she refused to accept the daughter of such socially marginal people.

This story, for some strange reason,

excites me.

What happened next? Did they break up? - Actually, they did.

She disappeared without a good-bye.

And Sir Hannibal?

Desperate.

Later he received a letter.

Not a love letter but an entirely impersonal notification saying

Arabella is taking the first opportunity after her puerperium

to tell him he has become the father of a child

he'd never get to see.

Signature, period, and that's it.

Poor Sir Hannibal.

So, Allan, go there and make out of Sir Hannibal's naivety

at least a column for our Sunday issue.

Yes, sir.

Apropos, Allan,

can you fly a plane?

A bit.

I know your "a bit" means "fair enough".

You can take my personal biplane. Good luck!

Hallo!

Allan's manly,

chisel-sculpted, face

is a sportsman's face which affirms a sole denomination,

a faith in oneself.

There's something of a falcon in his gaze.

However, at the bottom of those two steel gray ponds

await the waggish warm sparks for the significant one

whom Allan Pinkerton

has yet to meet.

The glorious organ tunes in the Morrisville chapel

resounded solemnly into the velvet night.

Sir Hannibal Morris,

do you take Clarence Hamilton as your lawful wedded wife?

I do.

And you Clarence Hamilton,

do you take Sir Hannibal Morris as your lawful wedded husband?

I do.

From this moment on, I pronounce you man and wife.

Congratulations!

This very presence, stop!

Although the moment isn't exactly pleasant.

Unharness time

and wait for a while.

And make her come back!

Let her be happy with me!

My darling, whom I adore.

Hello, Brumpby,

lively, old Scotland Yard slave!

How is it, Pinkerton, you're always there, when something happens?

How is it you look like a cop, even at a wedding?

So far, it resembles rather a funeral.

Advise me, Brumpby, where can I get myself a bit more civilized?

Miss Mabel, let me introduce you to my personal enemy, Allan Pinkerton.

Journalists say he should be a detective.

In my view,

he could be a good journalist, if he didn't worry about Scotland Yard matters.

Please, look after him and disregard his appearance. In reality he's much worse.

Sir Hannibal's secretary.

Excuse me, please.

Thank you, Brumpby.

Where am I?

In your bedroom, my dear,

by your husband.

Forgive me, Hannibal! I feel so ashamed I fainted, but I felt so nervous.

Don't worry, darling. Do you feel better?

I'm fine now.

Is it serious, doctor? - Not at all, it's a normal wedding fainting.

Do you think then,

my wife can attend, without any risk, the upcoming ancient ceremony?

In exactly 8 minutes, she'll be perfectly fine.

Otherwise, she'll be confined to bed for 2 to 3 weeks.

Why are you giving me this? - Not giving, but returning. - Oh, I see.

Then, I could think as well, this was sent...

by you.

IF YOU VALUE YOUR LIFE, LEAVE!

Which one is yours? - You choose!

What will you do?

Well...

Look, I'm already old enough, and I won't spoil my character for a few more years.

How about you?

I'll stay too.

My God, Manuel, you're alive?!

I'm alive. More than alive!

Don't forget I'm married.

I'm not forgetful. But your memory seems short.

When night falls and the smell of violets spreads,

the moon unfolds its nets across the pond.

Then, nothing in the world burns more acutely

than loneliness.

When the sky is sprinkled with stardust,

a nightingale calls in the quiet shrubs.

Then, I think only of you,

my dearest, and it saddens me to have empty arms.

My arms are empty

like the palms of an impoverished man,

empty like an abandoned house.

So, I roam the world,

paying tax to love,

due to which I'm losing my mind.

My arms are empty

like a faded flower

and deserted like a dry savannah.

I sing softly

and can only envy

duvets which count your heartbeats.

I'd like to kidnap you

to who knows where,

maybe to a dew-strewn meadow in the spring,

maybe I'll succeed some time.

But for now, my arms are empty.

My arms are empty

like a desolate sea bed,

empty like a blind man's sight.

I sing softly,

paying tax to love,

and the whole world is just a one big shipwreck,

one big SHIPWRECK,

ONE BIG SHIPWRECK.

Give me that!

You're too late.

Given where I'm coming from and how they treated me there,

I've come just in time.

Did you escape prison?

I escaped death row, darling.

What if I call the police? - It can be done without a phone.

The old cop Brumpby is sitting downstairs.

Call him!

And we'll see

what the law and Sir Morris might say, if I show them this.

Mercy! Don't ruin me.

Leave.

Leave my life.

My wedding gift will be your compensation. - Don't tug at it.

Or you'll damage the clip of the Morrisville emerald necklace.

And what next?

I could send you money. - How much?

To afford a carefree life.

You could hardly get that much. - I'm not saying now.

But in time. Later.

Hannibal made me the sole heir to his vast fortune.

Now, we're beginning to understand each other, girl.

I'd be a stupid fool,

if I was content with a tiny bit, when I could have everything.

How so?

If you belong to me, then so does everything that's yours.

But I'll become rich only after Hannibal's death.

I don't wish his death.

You don't have to.

I'll take care of it.

Excuse me!

I'd like to familiarise you with an old Morrisville ceremony.

Take this cup, which you'll hand to Sir Hannibal.

This man, Sir Elwood George Morris,

was married at the beginning of the 17th century.

His rival in love, Commodore Campbell Putney,

decided, with the help of a bribed servant, that he'd poison Sir Elwood.

Fortunately,

Sir Elwood's favorite hunting dog

jumped onto his master's lap

and overturned the poisoned cup.

On his master's order, the dog had to lick up the spilled wine from the floor.

He licked once,

twice,

and after the third lick dropped dead.

What was the dog's name? - Bahadur.

Posthumously, he was promoted to the peerage.

To avoid a similar case repeating,

ever since 1608, we've a habit in our family

that the wedding cup,

which the bride hands her husband,

is first tasted by the dog,

descendant of the aforementioned Bahadur,

and only then does his master drink.

Thereafter follow the normal wedding festivities.

To your health. - To yours. - To yours.

Barely had Clarence appeared...

Barely had Clarence appeared...

Barely had Clarence appeared,

than there was whispering in the choir,

how beautiful she was.

How beautiful!

How beautiful!

How beautiful!

Seven.

Seven.

Indeed, a lucky number!

Do you know who was born on 7 July?

La Fontaine.

And who else?

Wait...

R. B. Sheridan.

And then?

Well, me.

Call Berry.

Fifty-seventh Earl Berry of Bahadur.

The dog instinctively sensed the wine was poisoned.

Don't touch it! Hands off!

It's a police matter.

Fetch a box!

We must send it off for analysis.

Analysis can be done on site. Is the laboratory open?

We would need to bring one more witness.

There's one. - Let's go.

I'm innocent.

No one suspects you, dear.

Still, I'd like to talk with you alone.

Come with me, please, to the terrace.

Damn, that's too much!

45 calibre,

pistol of Belgian production with a long barrel.

Do you think that bullet was meant for me?

I don't want to jump to conclusions, but someone is striving for your life.

But who?

Do you always make notes?

Recently yes.

There are moments I tend to forget the whole world.

Pardon.

So...

Now we'll see,

if your hypothesis

is correct. - Mhm, mhm, mhm.

This, please,

mix with the wine. - Okay.

Here.

Not yet, please.

I'll tell you.

Now!

Congratulations, Inspector!

There truly was a strong poison in the wine.

Very strong!

Reputation, Pinkerton, wrongs the tigers.

They're not nearly as bloodthirsty as human beasts.

What about that up there? - Well, you know...

Heartless beasts are among the animals too.

The one inside...

was he a friend of yours? - No, a cook.

It's still sad. - Of course.

You can't imagine, what a delicious woodcock in wine he used to cook!

Where did I leave off? - With human beasts.

As if by magic a gun appeared in Allan's hand.

But the bullet jammed in the barrel.

What's going on?

Did somebody shoot? Oh, sir...

I wanted to, but I didn't shoot.

What if it was a lady?

We can consider it certain that our suspect, he or she...

So far, we can't exclude the crime was committed by a woman.

So, the perpetrator

took a spear from the other room

and tried to kill your Lordship with it.

After an unsuccessful attempt

he or she escaped through the window.

Thus, the perpetrators must be sought (point A) in the garden,

and (point B) due to the speed of the escape also outside the garden.

Well, and if we exclude the other...

Your procedure, Inspector, although strictly logical, won't get you very far.

If you exclude all those who couldn't have committed the crime,

you'll conclude that it could have been committed by anyone else.

Do you know a better method?

Certainly! I already know, f.e., our suspect is not a woman.

May I ask, why not?

Try to pull the spear out of the oak panel and you'll find out.

Inspector, the tip is poisoned!

I think, Pinkerton, you're right.

A woman couldn't have done it.

I'm rarely wrong,

sir.

And what's your opinion, Mabel?

I'm convinced, Mr. Pinkerton is never wrong.

Sir Morris sought happiness, and almost found death.

Allan and Mabel seek nothing,

but it seems they found each other.

It's, however, just the beginning of the trail and clues lead who knows where?!

Hello,

young man, didn't you notice anything suspicious around?

I mean, anyone.

Not at all! Who would hang out here in such bad weather?

This is the private property of Lady White.

Besides the inmates, nobody is allowed to enter this garden.

Good night!

One more question!

What about this ladder?

It's on your side of the wall.

Right.

Otherwise, you could hardly climb up,

sir.

That's also right.

So,

our perpetrator is a man

who is 6 feet 3 inches tall.

His weight is 163 pounds.

He has a short-cut mustache, dark eyes, auburn hair,

and a special sign,

protruding ears.

Now, tell us his name, Inspector, and we'll know all we need to know.

No problem.

He's Hanswana Kakerlak

who was born on 14 July 1897,

in Krimpendam, Netherlands.

Those are just your speculations.

Nope,

those are plain facts.

Did you deduce all of this from clues in the garden?

Well, actually, yes!

If we take as a "clue" the club card of North Wales Weightlifters,

lost during a headlong escape.

I'm sorry, Inspector, to disprove your bold deduction,

but Hans Kakerlak

is my longtime gardener.

Which doesn't mean, he's out of suspicion.

Excuse me, but you're wrong.

Two days ago, before he left for the Netherlands to buy tulips, he told me

he's missing his club card without which he's not allowed

to attend the annual meeting of North Wales Weightlifters.

You've not proceed far, Inspector.

Keep it!

Do you have a light?

What's up, John?

Excuse me, sir, but I noticed Lady Clarence hasn't yet left

her room.

Are you by any chance following me up to Her Lady's bedroom?

On duty, I can even stay by your side the whole wedding night, sir.

Why did you cry out? - Me?

I didn't cry out at all.

Can you

explain to me your strange behavior?

I can't, Hannibal.

I can say only as much as...

that you're in danger, my dear and beloved.

Travel somewhere far away,

or hide in some remote place.

Don't ask for elaboration. If I reveal more, our mutual happiness is over.

Our mutual happiness? - Yes.

Don't try to fool me.

Whom are you hiding here?

Me? Hopefully, you'll soon realize how much you have hurt me now.

Please, Inspector Brumpby, take a look!

Why not me? It's my right!

Because

your single brave step may take you closer to death.

Sorry, I've to carry out my duty now!

Thank you, Allan!

C'mon, men,

I'm in full control of my gun.

You silly!

Inspector,

take this box full of emeralds.

They'll be safer in a strongbox.

Don't you agree, my dear Clarence?

Thank you.

Just for your information, sirs.

These are my last wills.

If anything happens to me,

you two

I appoint as their executors.

Why in two envelopes? - It's simple.

In this original,

I bequeath all my belongings to my unknown descendant.

The other testament cancels the original

and appoints as sole inheritor my wife,

Lady Clarence.

I still hope,

we'll afford irreversible proof of her innocence.

Thus I leave both eventualities open.

Before marriage, she was completely different.

Why did she change?

Why so suddenly?

It's all riddles and mysteries. - Leave riddles to me!

If everything's not clear within 24 hours,

I'll eat my hat.

Looking for something?

It seemed to me, we're not alone.

Do you know the feeling

of somebody staring at you?

Here?

Somewhat lower.

Feelings are deceptive, huh? Nobody is observing us.

What would you say, Inspector,

if I stayed here for the rest of the night.

I'd say, it's a good idea.

I only regret it wasn't my suggestion.

If there is any safe place in this mansion, then it's certainly...

here.

Where does this hole in the ceiling lead?

On the roof. It's ventilation.

Ah, so! It's too tight even for a mouse.

I hope so, at least!

The door will be guarded by one of my men.

Mabel, please, call for John!

John,

step in!

How did you know I'd need those things?

Just anticipating, sir. - It's unbelievable.

What did you anticipate? - Nothing, Inspector.

And what brought you here then? - Just an instinct!

His instinct.

Follow me!

John thinks of anything and everything.

You're too kind, sir.

Thank you, Mabel. Thank you, friends.

Now, all of you, hurry up to the delayed wedding dinner.

Good night. - Good night.

Anything else, sir? - Some whiskey, John.

It's cooled in the thermos flask, sir. - Thanks.

Good night, John.

Good night, sir.

If anything moves,

whistle!

Or just push

this button.

If I'd be a somnambulist,

and you a somnambule girl,

we'd walk hand in hand over the roofs in the darkness of night

like two shadows in the moonlight.

In case,

you've decided

to give me a hot kiss

which has no end,

all I could do then

would be to tell you,

Let's climb together the lookout tower, holding the wire of the lightning rod.

Morris!

What happened, Sergeant?

I can't say for sure. Something exploded inside. I knocked, with no response.

Something's burning there. - What can it be?

The walls of stones or a strongbox of steel?

Or did Sir Morris happen to catch fire?

Dead...

dead...

deadly gas!

Equipment from the world war.

St-p b-k!

Step back!

On the typically British misty morning, Manuel's gang was gathered

in a neighboring shelter for the unreformable criminals.

Her Lady might be looking for us.

You should grab the necklace immediately!

It won't run away. - I hope so.

All your promises...

You rats!

Don't you have in your degenerate skulls even an ounce of brain?

At stake are not a few pebbles, but everything!

I'm the lawfully wedded husband of Lady Clarence and I don't care

that she considers me dead

and has remarried.

She's in my clutches!

That's the word of a bold man, boss!

I dare even to say

each and every word of yours is imbued with a fervent anger.

You damned arse-licker!

The phantom

overheard the scheming of the villains.

Stop it! Give each other a break.

We've to wait until the fuss of Morris's death is over.

Dixie!

Chicken!

Rosie!

Get lost! - Let's go!

Top secret!

It's an unnecessary torment of your inner self. Sir Morris is lost without trace.

He's disappeared as if he'd just evaporated.

He couldn't evaporate, only sublimate.

But even then, the buttons and cufflinks would be left.

From a scientific point of view, it's a mystery.

Please, spare me all this reasoning.

Okay, but I assure you once again the room is completely empty.

Go in!

Dear lady,

it's no pleasure to be a carrier of bad news

but it seems that you're a widow.

Did you happen to find a clue to this mystery?

I've found a tiger hair.

Well, that's nothing unusual. Maybe it got stuck

on Sir Morris's sleeve, while he was passing through

his trophy room.

I might agree, if it'd be a dead hair. But it's not!

The follicle hasn't dried out yet.

Well,

it's nonsense.

The nearest tiger is in the London Zoo.

You're mistaken, Inspector.

Here in the castle, in Sir Hannibal's private menagerie are kept two tigers.

Really?

Is it far away?

Please, follow me!

Doctor,

check it in the lab to find out

what substance was inside.

All of this is such a mind-blowing riddle!

If Morris was killed by poison, how come he disappeared?

And if he disappeared, how come he's back?

And if he's back, how come he isn't back alive?

Damn, where did I put the key?

All these mysteries drive me nuts. - The key is in the keyhole, sir.

But no need to lock the door. I'll stay as guard of honor to my master.

That guy's loyalty is quite touching.

Anything similar is hard to find beyond good old Britain. - Mhm.

Shiva bless you, Abu!

Likewise! - Are you busy?

I'm making my bed.

I know, what brought you and the sahib here.

Now, listen to an old tale

about a wise Brahmin.

He always speaks in parables.

In Benares used to live

a Brahmin whose name was Rashid Ali Suhab.

He desired to know

if his young wife would grieve after his death.

Thus he swallowed a herb called Pangha

which means in Hindi

"eyes and ears are vigilant,

while the body seems dead".

In such a body, the spirit is as clear as a cloud mirrored in a temple well.

It's crazy.

Do you get it?

"Eyes and ears are vigilant,

while the body seems dead".

Let's go!

Calm down! We know what happened.

Sir Hannibal,

can you speak?

Let's have a try!

I'll ask questions and you try to respond.

Keeping eyes closed means YES.

Opening them means NO.

Can you hear?

Can you see?

Can you move?

Do you wish to be considered dead?

Do you wish Lady Clarence to know you live?

Is your secret

supposed to remain undisclosed?

The villain used gas which leaves no traces. - Nevermind!

I don't need chemistry or dactyloscopy! I'll use my old proven method.

Your proven method?

Um... well... I mean, questioning!

Asking people!

What or how they know? From where? And if they maybe know something more.

And so on. - What if they don't know anything?

Then I ask why they didn't.

In short, asking, asking, asking, until you know everything.

Be brave, strong...

Someone has been attempting your husband's life for as long

as it takes to succeed.

Let me ask frankly! Do you know something more in this matter?

I do, Inspector. It seems, I can't hide any secret from you.

I wanted to tell it already this morning, but...

What was it?

That she's too disturbed by the present tragic situation

to be able to respond to your harrowing questions.

Who are you? - Doctor Lepierre,

the attorney of Lady Morris.

And based on this document

an administrator of her property.

It's true.

I've no right to intervene into your private matters, Lady Clarence.

I just hope that choosing your attorney was done with

due consideration.

I'll arrange the funeral myself.

Now, let me move the body of the deceased into the castle chapel.

No! Nowhere! No relocation of anything.

The coroner with an examination commission is on the way.

Until then, no funeral! - Of course!

The dead body has to undergo an autopsy.

For such an autopsy to be done correctly, means...

encephalotomia

et

visceratio.

In other words, extraction of the brain from the skull.

And all the internal organs have to...

I strongly object!

If the autopsy proves that Sir Morris was poisoned,

the administration of his assets will be taken over by the court.

And until the whole case is solved, nobody can use a single penny.

Manuel then realized he must prevent the autopsy happening.

Abu was soothing his homesickness by smoking hashish.

His spirit was wandering through the temples of his remote homeland.

Let's go, cats!

Cats with eyes like tacks.

Let's go!

Chh-chh-chh!

Follow my Cat Song.

Let's go, cats!

Put down your paws softly like snow flakes.

Let's chase the mouse,

without being heard.

I'm a cat too, actually.

I love cats.

It was always my pleasure

to bring cats in my room

and there to play with them.

C'mon, let's go!

This world full of cages

is governed solely by the law of the cat jungle.

Every man is a bit like a cat, sneaking through the darkness.

In each of us is a half bucket of cat persona.

It's almost scary!

Deep inside us

Darwin's theory is freshly alive.

My dear cats, the whole world is full of cat tricks and bullshit.

One cat said to the other cat,

"All good things to those who wait."

And thus, chh-chh-chh!

Ho, ho, ho! Let the cats be merry!

Fortunately, Abu was familiar with secrets of the Indian mystics.

By his extraordinary willpower,

he concentrated his mind.

Why is this No. 3?

The keys are three in number.

Sir Morris has No. 1, I have No. 2.

No. 3 is a spare key.

Do you think this is a safe storage?

I bet nobody will look for the strongbox key in the tiger's mouth.

Sir Hannibal's maxim has always been... - Safety first?

Safety first!

Just imagine! His two last wills are recorded on photosensitive paper.

If someone unauthorized took hold of them

and tried to read them, the pages turn black.

It's even beyond your imagination. Am I right?

Mabel, suddenly you sound so personal.

But keep in mind I'm mainly here as a reporter

and only then...

Then what, Allan?

Mabel!

Excuse me!

The Coroner's Commission has arrived to examine Sir Hannibal.

Now, we're all present.

Doctor Lepierre is missing. - That's his hard luck.

Who has the key? - Me.

Take it.

I hope, everything was left intact.

Of course.

Let me go in first alone!

What's up?

He almost jumped on me. - Sir Hannibal? - Tiger!

Two tigers are inside. - And Sir Hannibal? - He's inside them.

No more feeding today!

The two last wills are key to the riches.

The key to the last wills is inside the tiger's mouth.

And Manuel knows it.

No need to apologize, Doctor. Choose whomever you want!

Thanks.

All of them are reliable. Thanks to a systematic approach and psychology!

Education by play, mutual trust and kindness! I expect you know what I mean.

Upon arrival, they suffered with neglect.

Now, see the difference!

It's a pleasure to behold. They're like kids.

None of us would like

to be permanently reminded of the past and be subject to constant criticism.

These poor boys keep hearing they committed deeds against the common good,

they shot or stabbed people, did grenade attacks, have no manners whatsoever.

Could you bear it, Doctor?

Well, Lady...

Such a one-sided standpoint is totally unjust towards these poor darlings.

They strove to do their best...

Lady,

this tall boy!

Dixie!

Here everyone has a nickname just like we all had in school.

Dixie, go with Doctor Lepierre to do a little job. No need to change dress!

Didn't you drop your watch? - Oh, yes, yes, thanks!

I'm so distracted and keep losing things.

Take the suitcase.

Damn!

This is your share.

And thus we're done.

What's in the suitcase?

None of your business. Get lost!

Why would I take the necklace which I've given you?

Do you think I'm hiding your suitcase in my pocket?

Get lost!

Get lost!

What's going on here, Doctor?

I scared a thief away. He choked me and is gone.

Where are the last wills?

I've no clue.

But Lady Clarence doesn't need them.

As a spouse of the deceased, she's the sole heiress.

It's within the jurisdiction of the legal department of the House of Lords.

Oh, of course.

We can't attach our signature,

but each and every line is the sheer truth.

Manuel's misdeeds described below are only a tiny part of his criminal record.

His wedding with Lady Clarence was feigned...

Don't use rare words. What's "feigned"?

It's a hoax, or scam. - Mhm.

... as he has already been married twice before.

His marriage certificate was issued by Mr. Thompson

who can forge pounds or other papers.

Just to illustrate his characteristics,

instead of consummating his wedding night, he went to rob the bank.

What are you writing boys?

It's a letter to his sister.

She became acquainted with a rascal, so we're trying to warn her in time.

It's so nice of you!

However, it's full of typos.

"Murder" is written with D and not T.

You were maybe misled by the word "mortuary".

But it's a mistake.

And the word "villain" is written with double L,

as there is BB in "robber", or FF in "ruffian".

The seconds were ticking away

in an unrelenting rhythm.

And fate was proceeding

upon its winding road.

Mail, sir.

Good news?

Interesting.

But there is a word I don't understand. - Which one? Let me check!

It's "integrity".

How would you define "integrity", Doctor Lepierre?

We speak about "Integrity", when two things hold close together.

Like this?

Manuel Diaz, I'm arresting you!

Wait a minute!

Where is the word "integrity" mentioned?

It was an old proven police trap.

Bravo, Allan!

Lady Clarence!

This power of attorney of Doctor Lepierre alias Manuel Diaz is not valid.

An enclosed letter proves it.

I recommend to burn both. - Thanks, gentlemen!

So, let's go and no tricks!

I respect fair-play

and I admit a lost game.

Each song has its last stanza.

Let me sing it, Inspector.

Keep it short!

John!

Your banjo, sir.

Thanks.

This is the confession of a desperado.

He can hardly resist becoming emotional.

In his youth he liked very much

to sing in the temple

of the Lord.

Hallelujaaah!

Hallelujaaah!

Hallelujaaah!

Hallelululululuuujah!

Hallelujaaah!

Hallelujaaah!

Hallelujaaah!

Hallelululululuuu...

He's in the lab.

From the lab there's no escape.

Did you catch him? - No.

Nothing. No trace.

No clue. Let's go.

Manuel is free of ties again.

Good night, ladies.

Good night, Mabel.

And lock the door!

We'll catch him. Sleep tight!

Shouldn't we at least leave them a pistol?

Well, a pistol under the pillow can't hurt.

Mabel?

Mabel!

Take a look!

But be silent!

Otherwise, I'll make a signature on your pretty cheeks.

Did you find a clue?

I did, Brumpby.

It also makes me realize what I've just lost.

That's life!

If I don't come back,

you'll be buried alive here.

Two tender throats were choked by fear. This is the end!

John!

Yes!

Isn't some secret passage here in the castle?

Plenty of them, sir! This place is full of hidden shortcuts.

Why didn't you tell us before?

Because only Sir Hannibal knew the details.

What's this?

Pardon!

Some old plan, sir.

Let me do it!

That's terrific!

A map of the maze!

Really, sir?

I never thought of that. Even though I dust it every day.

Let's load!

What was that?

A slap! I was slapped on going inside.

Serves you right! Now, we're without the map and doorway.

Everything is fixed now. The villain might secure the doors.

Let's use another entrance. - But how to find it?

Based on natural law!

Candlestick, John! - Yes!

Where there's a gap, there's a draught, i.e. a door.

Experience is valuable, but education counts no less.

Watch out, sir!

Some years ago, a plumber was here.

He said a waste pipe needed to be fixed and entered.

We never saw him again.

Maybe he's still trying to get out.

Terrible!

It might also explain the slap. Terrible force!

The beat of my heart

is one big echo.

Hallelujah! - Hallelujah!

Hallelujah! - Hallelujah!

Hello!

Hallelujah! - Hallelujah!

Hallelujah! - Hallelujah!

Hallelujah! - Hallelujah!

Hallelujah! - Hallelujah!

Hallelujah! - Hallelujah!

Sir, I heard someone has found my weightlifters club card.

Ask Miss Mabel.

Mabel.

Mabel!

Mabel!!!

Hallelujah!

Hallelujah!

One of Allan Pinkerton's merits was his ability to intervene at the right time.

Now, you're my hostage!

Bravo, my boy!

But don't you think

you overreacted rather?

Anyway.

Let's go!

This outfit has become obsolete.

For 20 years I've roamed the castle through the night.

But now,

I'm redeemed.

Take care of the fireplace!

I beg your pardon! A certain lady is awaiting you, sir.

What can I do for you?

For me?

Nothing.

I'll do you a favor myself.

Pardon?

Let me reveal a secret!

It concerns your offspring.

Tell me more! - He's getting married.

Personal pronoun suggests it's a son.

You're as bright, as you've ever been.

Did you know me?

Sure.

As a student.

Shorten the suspense, please. Where is my son?

Here.

Allan!

Father!

It was her!

Miss Arabella.

Your mother, Allan!

I'll give it back!

Emil! - Mhm?

Let's go home. - Yes, Clarence. - What?

Yes, Helena!

This is the confession of a desperado,

relieved of ties and myths.

He still likes to sing Hallelujah,

but he also likes another tune.

Everybody Hallelujah! Everybody...

Hallelujaaah!

Hallelujaaah!

Hallelujaaah!

Hallelujah!

While I'll be standing near a crooked pasture fence,

the horse with mane fluttering is gonna pass by at full gallop.

I'll jump on his saddle and his hooves will raise the dust.

Thus I'll disappear right out of sight, YEEES!, beyond the bluish horizon.

Ho, ho, ho!

Hoa, hoa, ho!

So far I can sing, YIPPIE YAAAY!,

I can live anywhere FINEEE.

Ho, ho, ho!

Hoa, hoa, ho!

Once I'll lose my YIPPIE YAAAY,

devils can take me farAWAAAY.

Ho, ho, ho!

Hoa, hoa, ho!

So far I can sing, YIPPIE YAAAY!,

I can live anywhere FINEEE.

Ho, ho, ho!

Hoa, hoa, ho!

Once I'll lose my YIPPIE YAAAY,

all the devils can take me farAWAAAY,

farAWAAAY,

FARAWAAAY,

farAWAAAY,

FARAWAAAY,

farAWAAAAAY.

THE END