All language subtitles for Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy 5

- Jim Prideaux's been shot.

Look, the Czechs haven't got
his real name yet.

They're using his work name:

Ellis.

- Jim?

Shot dead?

- Well, we're not sure.
That was the first flash.

Since then,
the word used is simply...

"Shot ll

The Czechs are saying
that Prideaux, or Ellis,

traveling on false papers

and assisted
by Czech counterrevolutionaries,

tried to capture
a Czech general-unnamed-

in a forest near Brno

and smuggle him
over the Austrian border.

They say that further arrests
are imminent.

- Goon

- Well, according
to our military,

there are heavy
Czech tank movements

along the Austrian border.

Ah, Lacon's been on,
and so's the minister.

They want to know
what the hell and why.

- All right, Sam.

Now...

First thing we do:

you call this number.

It's Toby Esterhase.

Tell him you're speaking for me,

and he's to pick up
the two Czech agents

we've had our eyes on at
the London School of Economics

and lock them up now.

Straightaway, Sam.

Jim's worth a lot more
than those two,

but it's a start.

I'll have a word
with the chief hood

at the Czech embassy.

If they hurt a hair
of Jim Prideaux's head,

I'll strip the entire Czech
network in this country bare.

And he can pass that on
to his masters.

- Ambassador Haydon
was a treat to watch.

I used to find him
a pretty erratic sort of devil.

Not that night, believe me.

He virtually
dictated a press statement

for the Foreign Office
to put out.

And there it was
the next morning

in the Sunday papers:

"Prague Radio's
sensational revelations

dismissed with dignified scorn."

I found it good light reading
over breakfast at the Savoy.

- Sam, listen.

It was too late
for Haydon's club

to be still running ticker tape,
wasn't it?

He was making love to Ann
that night.

You made a guess at that,
and you were right.

You telephoned her.

She told you he wasn't there.

And then
as soon as you'd rung off,

she pushed him out of bed,

and Bill turned up
an hour later...

knowing about Czecho.

But you didn't tell Ann

about Czechs.

[telephone ringing]

I'll find my own way down.

- Mind how you go, George.

[intense, dramatic music]

II

II

[birds chirping]

[foreboding string music]

II

- Smiley.

- Jim.

- If you're not on your own,

I swear I'll break your neck.

- Quite alone, Jim.

[door clicks open]

[door slams]

- God damn you, George.

What the hell do you want?

- I'm sorry, Jim, but I have
to know what happened.

- I'm finished, man.

They told me to draw the line.
I've drawn it.

- How would you like
schoolmastering?

I think you had a spell of it
after the war, didn't you?

Was that at a prep school?

- Don't come round here

playing cat and mouse with me,
George Smiley.

Look at the file.

- Circus file?
Not available to me, Jim.

I'm blackballed.

- Hard luck.

- I've had access
to a few papers,

which Lacon borrowed for me.

Pretty old stuff.

Part of it went right back
to your undergraduate days

when you and Bill Haydon
met at Oxford.

There's a letter
Bill wrote about you

to his tutor, Fanshawe,

Circus talent spotter,

in which Bill named you
as suitable material

for British Intelligence.

I can quote the odd line
from memory.

"He has that heavy quiet
that commands.

"He's my other half.

"Between us,
we'd make one marvelous man.

"He asks nothing better
than to be in my company,

"or that of my wicked,
divine friends,

"and I'm vastly tickled
by the compliment.

"He's virgin,
about 8 foot tall,

and built by the same firm
that did Stonehenge."

- Christ.

Oh, Christ, man.
We were children.

- Yes, of course.

- What do you want to know?

- I thought we could at least
be comfortable while we talk.

It isn't far.

[engine turns over]

[foreboding music]

II

[door clicks shut]

- I came round
in a prison hospital.

Barred windows, high up.

They operated, after a fashion.

Next time I came round,
I was in a prison cell,

and no windows at all.

I tried to work out
a plan of campaign

to meet the interrogation.

I knew I'd never be able
to keep quiet.

No chance of that.

If I was to stay sane,

possibly even survive,

there'd have to be dialogue.

At the end,
they'd have to believe

I'd told them all I knew.

I decided, I'm gonna give them

my version
of Operation Testify first,

the one Control
spelled out for me.

I was head of scalphunters.

I mounted my own campaign

without the knowledge
of my superiors

because I wanted to prove
I was worth promotion.

If I could believe that,

I could bury
deep inside myself

all thoughts of a traitor
inside the Circus.

No mole.

No meeting with Control.

No Tinker, Tailor.

I was there to turn
General Stevcek,

and just that.

Then I thought

I could throw them the names
of one or two other

Soviet and satellite officials
who'd been turned recently.

I might even give them
the rundown

of my entire Brixton stable,

anything,
so long as I forgot the mole

and Tinker, Tailor.

I kept to myself
our Czech networks.

You know I recruited
the founder members?

- Yes, a fine piece of work.

- That's the joke.

They couldn't care less
about the networks.

Knew it all.
Rolled them up, have they?

They knew damn well that Testify
was my private brainchild.

I began exactly where
I wanted to end:

with the briefing
in St. James's.

All they wanted
to talk about was

Control's rotten apple theory,

Tinker, Tailor, the Circus spy.

- Did they actually know
the address

of the St. James's flat?

- Yeah, they knew
the brand of the sherry.

- What about the charts?

Control's charts
on General Stevcek's career,

did they know abut those?

- No.

Not at first.

Tell me about the networks.

Did anyone get out?

- No.

It seems they were shot.

The story is you blew them
to save your own skin.

I know that isn't true,
of course.

[footsteps thudding]

- [retching]

[water running]

[tense music]

II

They moved me about a lot.

Different rooms,
different prisons,

depending on who was doing
the interrogating

and what methods
they wanted to use.

There was quite a lot
of muscle.

Electrical, most of it.

Yes, movement.

Cars, lorries,

corridors, cells,

once in a plane.

I was hooded for it

and passed out
soon after takeoff.

Punished for that.

[chuckles weakly]

Think I was in Russia
part of the time.

- Would you like
to stretch your legs?

It might help.

[bird calling]

- They went straight
to the heart of it.

Why did Control go it alone?

What did he hope to achieve?

"His comeback," I said.

That got a laugh.

The tinpot information about
Czecho military emplacements

wouldn't get him
a square meal at his club.

So I said

maybe poor old Control
was losing his grip.

That bored them.

Back to the cooler.
Punished again.

[crows cawing]

[engine humming]

You know, I hoped I'd go mad.

And, no,
they knew how to stop that.

They left me alone
for a couple of days.

Got me ready for the long one.

That was when I

Gave--

Gave them what they wanted.

- It's a matter of health
as much as anything.

- Yes, you don't break exactly.

You just run out
of stories to tell.

I'd reached the point

where the things
I'd locked away deep down

were the only things
coming into my brain.

That was when I told them about
Control's charts on Stevcek.

- And also about Control's
rotten apple theory?

- Yes, the mole.

The code names we'd worked out
for Control's suspects.

Tinker: Percy Alleline.

Tailor: Bill Haydon.

Soldier: Roy Bland.

Postman". Toby Esterhase.

Beggarman: George Smiley.

- What was the reaction?

- He thought for a bit.

Then he offered me a cigarette.

- Who did?

- What?

Oh, sorry.

By this stage, there was some
frosty, bearded fellow left.

Seemed to be head boy.

Just him
and a couple of guards

standing back a bit
while he made his kill.

I hated that damn cigarette.

. Why'?

- It was a foul American thing.
Camel, actually.

I remember the packet.

- Did he smoke them?

- Never stopped.

- And was that the end of it?

- More or less.
More or less, yes.

- I have to know
everything, Jim.

- The rest was just gossip.

He wanted to know
a lot of Circus tittle-tattle:

who was going up,
who was going down,

lot of tripe.

- About what?
Who?

- Bland:
how much was he drinking?

Esterhase:
how could anybody trust a man

who dressed like that?

Lot of tripe.

- What did he say about me?

- He showed me
a cigarette lighter,

said it was yours,

a present from Ann.

'With all my love."
Her signature engraved.

- Did he tell you
how he came by it?

- Some confrontation years ago.
Said you'd remember.

- Anything else?

Oh, come on, Jim.

I'm not going to weaken
at the knees

just because some Russian hoods
made a bad joke about me.

- He reckoned that after
Bill Haydon's fling with her,

she might care
to redraft the inscription.

I told him to his face
he could go to bloody hell.

You can't judge Bill
by things like that.

He's got different standards.

- He was certainly never one
for regulations.

- And you were never one
to see him straight.

That's it.

Everything.

[intense music]

II

- Bill made a huge fuss
about your repatriation.

He said any price was fair

to get one loyal
Englishman home.

I remember his verdict on
Control's handling of Testify.

"The most incompetent operation
ever launched

"by an old man
for his dying glory.

And Jim Prideaux
paid the cost of it."

- Proud of your memory,
aren't you?

- Did you see Bill at all
after you got back?

- No.

- Your oldest, closest friend?

- I was in quarantine,
wasn't I?

- Well, yes, but...

Never mind.

Let's just go over
your debriefing at Sarratt

to wrap it up.

Were the inquisitors sympathetic
or not?

- Never appeared.
No questions at all.

I was in limbo:

ate a lot, drank a lot,
slept a lot.

Then Toby Esterhase turns up.

New suit,
full of himself.

Tells me the Circus
had nearly gone under

because of Operation Testify,

and I'm currently
number one leper.

Control's out of the game,

and there's
a reorganization going on

to appease Whitehall.

- They sent Toby.

- Yes, the little charmer.

He told me not to worry.

- About what?

- My special brief,
whatever Control had told me.

- Did Toby spell it all out?

- He said a few people
knew the real story,

and I needn't worry, because
it was being taken care of.

All the facts were known.

- Were they indeed?

- And then he gave me
1,000 quid in cash

to add to my gratuity.

- Who from?

- Didn't say.

- Didn't all this strike you
as a bit odd?

No inquisition?

Toby throwing
loose money around?

After all, through you,
the Russians had discovered

the exact reach
of Control's suspicions

about a traitor in the Circus.

He'd narrowed the field to five,

and no one's
asking you anything.

- The facts were known, man.

Toby ordered me
not to approach anyone

or to try
and make my story heard.

The Circus was back on the road.

I could forget Tinker, Tailor,
and the whole damn game,

moles, everything.

"Drop out," he said.

"You're a lucky man, Jim.

"Forget it, yeah?

Forget it."

- So Toby actually mentioned
Tinker, Tailor to you.

However did he get hold of that?

- That's what I've been doing.

Obeying orders and forgetting.

[distant voices]

[bell clanging]

[glass shatters]

[suspenseful music]

II

[thunder rumbling]

[indistinct conversation]

- [mutters]

- George, old boy.

What an amazing thing.

Trust you,
popping up out of nowhere.

- How are you, Jerry'?

- George, this is terrific.

What are you doing now?

How's the demon wife?
How's everything?

No, damn it.
First things first.

What'll you have?

You don't fancy a bottle
of the bubbles, do you?

Shall we?

- A brandy and ginger ale
would suit me very well, thanks.

- You sure?
All right.

Hey, Linda, sweetheart.

Give us a double brandy,
a bottle of ginger ale,

and another bucket of gin,
will you?

Good girl, lad.
I think I'll marry her.

- How many would that be, Jerry'?

- I'm a divorce addict,
a hopeless case.

Not lucky like you, George.

But there's only one Ann.

Now, I'll do a deal with you,
an offer you can't refuse.

I'll shack up with Ann
and be the envy of London,

and you can have my job
on The Comet.

You've got just
the turn of phrase

for the women's Ping-Pong.

Inscrutable Chinese,
wasn't it?

Do you fancy it?

- Is that the task for today'?

- Oh, much bigger stuff,
old boy.

Footer,
the opiate of the people.

Heap big transfer.

"Scottish Thunder-boots
to Rescue of Ex-Champions

Now on the Slide."

Thanks, Linda, my love.

- Do you want me
to write it down, Mr. Westerby?

- Uh, please, Linda.

Cheers, George.

- Cheers.

This isn't entirely
a chance meeting.

I got the letter you wrote me

last football season.

I burnt it straightaway.

- Right.
Thanks.

Stupid of me.

Talking out of school.
Sorry.

- No, no, no,
you obviously did what you felt

was the best thing at the time,
and so did I.

- Haven't seen many
of the boys and girls lately,

as a matter of fact.

I guess they've put us both
on the shelf.

With me,
I can hardly blame them.

Firewater not good for braves.

They think I'll blab, crack up.

- I'm sure they don't.

I expect they're just
resting you up for a bit.

They do that, you know.

In case you've been wondering,

I didn't tell anyone else
about your letter.

I was out of favour,
indeed, out of work by then.

Writing to me
wasn't what put them off you,

if that's what you thought.

In your letter,

you said you were a bit worried
about Toby Esterhase,

felt you ought
to get something off your chest.

- Yes, well, I got
all xenophobe and suspicious.

I thought Tobe had gone
a bit haywire,

as a matter of fact.

I should talk.

- Tell me now.

You'd just come back
from Czechoslovakia, hadn't you?

- Last job I did for Tobe.

Looks like the last
I'll ever do.

- Letter box job?

- Yes.

Well, nothing to it, really.

Telephone kiosk,
ledge at the top.

Dump a little package,
ready for collection.

[chuckles]

No, that was Budapest.

The Czechoslovak thing
I ran into by accident.

I had to go on to Prague,
you see, for the Comet.

Nothing to do with Tobe.

Uh, Linda, sweetheart.

- And again, Mr. Westerby?

- Please, my beauty.

Oh, no, no, no,
no,no,no,no.

You've got time to eat?

- Mm-hmm.

- Uh, we'll go Dutch on that,
shall we?

I, um...
[clears throat]

I was in this bar in Prague-
always use it.

Locals go there, all sorts.

Anyway, I got in with this crowd
at a corner table,

playing the squeeze-box.

We-we're all hugger-mugger
to the music.

Oh, thank you, Linda,
my love.

And there's, um-
there's this kid

with a pudding bowl haircut.

Army.
Obvious.

Anyway, he's on leave,
well in his cups,

and he knows I'm English,

and he suddenly says,

do I want to know the truth
about the British spy

who got himself shot up
by the Russian secret police?

Just like that.
Yells it right in my ear.

I play dumb, of course,
and he goes right on with it.

You know,
the Jim Prideaux shambles.

Well, the kid was bellyaching

about the trials
and tribulations

of being a foot soldier
of the line.

It seems that
on the two nights in question,

he and his mates
were being chased

around the place
till they were dizzy:

make camp, break camp,
move up, move back,

fix bayonets.

But the big point

was the Russian contingent:

full war paint, tanks,

motorbikes, tracker dogs,

and a big carload
of very sinister civilians.

Dirty work afoot in the forest.

Up near the Austrian border,
this was.

So...

my little friend,
being a sassy little devil,

decides to ask his sergeant
what's it all about.

"Look, Sarge," he says.
'What's going on?

Are we being invaded, Sarge?"

"No, son,"
says the sergeant.

"The Russians are after
a British spy

who tried to kidnap a general."

- Are after?
Or were after?

- Exactly.

That's what the kid
wanted to tell me.

The Russians moved in
on the Friday.

It was the day after
when they got Jim.

As the kid said, they were
ready and waiting for him,

knew the lot in advance.

Heap bad story.

Bad for our big chief.

Bad for tribe.

So...

as soon as I got back,
I went and told all to Tobe.

- How did he take it?

- Well, to begin with it was,

"Thanks a million,
Jerry, old boy."

He'd go and powwow
with the top brass.

And then the next morning...

- You're so plastered
these days,

you can't tell fact
from fiction.

You're an embarrassment.

You go on a bender,

drink yourself
into cloud cuckoo land,

and come staggering back here
with a load of tripe like this.

You're pathetic.

- Now, look, old boy-

- I don't want to hear
any excuses!

- I had to report what I heard.

- Yes, and you believed every
stupid word of it, didn't you?

Swallowed it like...

like mother's milk.

A load of half-baked rumors.

You come spreading them
round here...

What you can remember
through your alcoholic haze.

- I didn't forget a thing.

- Well, you will now.

You'll forget the lot.

Don't you see?
The boy was a plant.

Provocateur,
in layman's language.

He was doing a job
for Moscow Center.

Object: disruption.

Make the Circus
chase our own tails.

And you fell for it, Jerry,
that's all.

[telephone ringing in next room]

- Okay, Tobe.
You know best.

If you don't want the story,
that's your business.

I'll do it for the paper.

- You'll what?

- Not the bit about the Russians
getting there first-

of course not-

but the rest of it's
all good stuff.

The story wasn't covered
very well at the time,

just the official statement.

Now, if old Jerry
gets himself a splash

about the day
the Czechs mobilized

for the Third World War,

except it was
one lone Englishman

surrounding them all by himself,

that's a good piece, hmm?

Comet might even
run an ad on the telly.

Well, the day after that,

I was called for by the editor.

The editor, I mean,
not the sports bloke.

He tells me some clown
has been on the phone

with a formal warning.

"Keep that baboon Westerby
off the Czecho spy story."

"Any further reference
against the national interest."

End of message.

So I didn't get
the Reporter of the Year award.

Can't, can you,
when your story's on the spike?

Cheers.

- But you didn't spike it
entirely.

I mean, you wrote to me,

dropped the letter in by hand.

Must have been the same day
you talked to Toby Esterhase.

- Yes, well,
as I said at the time,

it just felt odd.

My mistake, old boy.

When I heard
you'd got the heave-ho anyway,

I felt an even bigger damn fool.

I thought it was you who'd
phoned the editor, you see.

- It wasn't.

- Course not.
Sorry, old boy.

Anything untoward going on
is there, old boy?

I mean-

tribe hasn't gone
on the rampage or anything.

But are you hunting alone?

I mean,
I know I'm not the brightest,

but when you
start asking questions,

there's got to be something.

All I'm saying is,

anytime, old boy.

- Thank you, Jerry.

- Rum chap, Toby Esterhase.

- But good.

- By god, first rate.

Brilliant, my view.
But rum.

Don't forget to give my love
to Ann, will you?

One of the great marriages;
I've always said so.

- Oh, come on, Jerry.
Out with it.

Did Toby say something
about Ann?

- Some story he'd got.

I told him to stuff it
up his silk drawers.

[all yelling]

- Pete!
Pete!

- I suppose
I should have been prepared

for something like this.

Take on a temporary,

the last thing you can expect
is loyalty.

Well done, fat boy!

We're gonna lose this match.

So much for Prideaux's coaching.

I'm absolutely furious
with that man.

He's monstrous to clear off.

- Did he say what's wrong
with his mother?

- No, he did not.

[sniffs]
She is supposed to be dying.

- Well, that's one excuse
for absence

that he can hardly use again.

- Not at all, Mother.
It's quite the reverse.

One false alarm
can easily lead to another.

I shall ask for a full
medical diagnosis next time.

[whistle blows]

[scattered applause]

Those front-row forwards
of theirs look overage to me.

- Did he ever tell you
how he got that awful shoulder?

- Oh, fell off a bus
with a bottle of vodka-

- What?

- Fell off a bus with
a bottle of vodka inside him,

I shouldn't wonder.

I suppose I shall
have to take his French.

- Oh, come on, Thursgood!

Be tough!

- He's gone in the Alvis

because he'd never trust
any other form of transport.

But if he'd gone for good,

he wouldn't leave
the caravan behind, would he?

Stands to reason, that.

[sniffs]

Besides, he'd have said good-bye
properly, Rhino would.

Wouldn't just go, not Rhino.

Not like a juju man.

[intense music]

II

[siren wailing in distance]

- I've come about the furs.

- Hello, Toby.

- Peter.

- It's not exactly five-star,

but then, we are shopping
a bit down-market.

- Safe houses I have known.

- Take the weight off your feet.

Won't be long.

- So we're expecting a Pole,
are we, Peter?

A Pole in the fur trade

you think I might like
to take on as a courier?

- I'd like him on my own payroll
for preference.

Looks useful.

But what's the point?

My lads are underemployed
as it is.

- Very generous of you, Peter.

[buzzer sounds]

- Stay put, TobY-

- Sorry about this, Toby.

- Against the wall, Tobe.

- Did he come alone,

or is there some little friend
waiting down in the square?

- Looks all clear to me, sir.

- Go back to the other room

and don't take your eyes
off the street.

You've seen something?

- Turn the light out a moment.

[engine hums, dog barks]

Just a shadow, I suppose.

Yes, I think so.

I want to put a thesis
to you, Toby,

about what's been going on.

Let's cast our minds back,
say, about 18 months,

when Control is still with us.

Percy Alleline wants his job.
Everyone knows that.

But although Control is sick
and past his prime,

Percy can't dislodge him.

It's a time of uneasiness
in the Circus.

Morale is low.
Activity is low, yes?

- I remember, George.

- Well, Percy's door
opens one day,

and one of our senior men
walks in.

We'll call him "Gerald."

Oh, it's just a name.

And Gerald says, "Percy,

"I've stumbled on a major source
of Russian intelligence.

It could be a gold mine."

Perhaps they take a walk
in the park

or drive in a car,
but whatever, Percy listens,

because what Gerald
goes on to say

is music in Percy's ears.

Some of us, Gerald tells him,

are worried sick about the state
the Circus has got into.

I mean,
look at our operational losses:

agents, networks.

He's careful not to suggest

there's a traitor
inside the Circus,

but he emphasizes
that slovenliness at the top

is leading to failure
all round.

That is to say,
it's all Control's fault.

My thesis, you understand.

- Sure, George.

- Another notion

is that Percy Alleline
was his own Gerald,

that he went out and bought
himself a top Russian spy

and manned his own boat
from then on,

but I don't believe
that's what happened.

I think he'd mess it up,
don't you?

- Sure, George.

- So the next thing
is for Gerald to say to Percy,

"I and a little group
of like-minded friends

"want you to be
our father figure, Percy.

'We're not political men.

'We don't know our way
in the Whitehall jungle,

but you do."

Did you bring
a babysitter, Toby?

- George, why should I?

I came to meet Peter

and some Pole in the fur trade.

- Do you want Fawn
to go down and have a look?

- No.
Need him here.

Can't take the chance.

Yes, well, Gerald says

that if Percy
will handle the committees,

he and his friends
will handle Merlin,

"Merlin" being
the Moscow intelligence source

and 'Witchcraft" the name
of the material he supplies.

And how well it all worked.

Merlin's material
proved excellent,

as everyone agreed,

except Control.

And eventually,
Control was out,

and Percy was king.

- So what's new, George?

- Ever bought
a fake picture, Toby?

- Sold a couple once.

- The more you pay for it,

the less inclined you are
to doubt its authenticity.

Merlin's price
was 20,000 francs a month

into a Swiss bank,

according to the file.

Oh, yes, Toby.
This is official.

There came the day

when Gerald admitted Percy

to the greatest secret of all:

that the Merlin setup
has a London end.

Aleksey Aleksandrovich Polyakov,

cultural attache

at the Russian embassy
in London.

You're on record as grading him
snow-white, Toby,

quite untainted
with the mischief of espionage.

In fact,

he's Merlin's
London representative.

That's the start,
I should tell you now,

of a very clever knot.

Now, everything to do
with Witchcraft

is secret, of course,

but inevitably,
a lot of people are involved:

transcribers, translators,
codists, evaluators,

god knows what.

Doesn't worry Gerald, of course.

He likes it.

Because the art of being Gerald

is to be one of a crowd.

But when it comes
to Polyakov,

that's a different story.

Who knows it?

Only you.

Roy Bland,

Bill Haydon,

and Percy.

Three of you and Alleline.

You're the magic circle.

Who meets him, Toby?

- For god's sake,
let me sweat the bastard.

[exhales]

- You all meet him.

How's that?

Percy represents
the authoritarian side,

asks after his wife,

suggests it's time
he took a little holiday.

Very paternal, Percy would be.

Bill Haydon, I think,

would see Polyakov
much more often.

Bill's a Russian expert,
for one thing,

and he's good
entertainment value.

I'd expect Bill to shine

when it comes to the briefings
and follow-up sessions,

making sure the right messages

went back to Moscow.

Roy Bland's good on economics,

as well as being top man
on the satellite countries,

so he'd have plenty
to chat about.

Then there's you, Toby.

You'd have your solo sessions
with Polyakov

because there's tradecraft
to discuss

and all those little snippets

about goings-on
inside the embassy,

which are very much your field.

And if the magic circle
wanted Polyakov

to do some photography
inside the embassy,

it would be you
who would supply the film.

Replenish his stock
from time to time.

Take him little sealed packets.

[bell ringing in distance]

Toby, you wouldn't be lying,
would you?

Did you bring a babysitter?

- No, cross my heart, George.
I swear to you.

- What would you use
for a job like this?

Cars?
- No.

On foot.

Keep walking them through.

- How many?
- Eight.

Ten, maybe.

- What about one man, alone?

- One?
Never.

Impossible.

- I can call Mendel
to take a look.

- I'm sure Toby's right.

- Listen, George,

I know Polyakov
works for Moscow Center.

Of course I do.

We all know.

But come on.

Think how many other operations
we've run this way.

We've bought Polyakov, right?

He's a Moscow hood,
but he's also our Joe.

Now, he's got to pretend
to his own people

that he's spying on us,

so we've got to give him
one or two goodies

now and again.

Sure, I've passed him
the odd sealed packet.

Chicken feed

so he can send them home

and Moscow Center
clap him on the back

and tell him he's a big man.

It happens all the time.

Now, come on, George.

You know the game.

- So are you Polyakov's agent
inside the Circus?

Someone has to be.

If Polyakov's cover
for meeting you people

is that he's spying
on the Circus,

then he must have a man
on the inside, mustn't he?

Polyakov can't report back
to Moscow Center

after he's picked up a great
load of Circus chicken feed

and just say,
"I got this from the boys."

He's got to have
a whole history.

How he selected his man,

courted him, bought him,

how they meet and where.

The whole paraphernalia
of running a double agent.

And all this
in Moscow Centefs archives.

You, Toby?

Toby Esterhase
masquerades as a Circus traitor

in order to keep Polyakov
in business.

My hat, Toby.

A dangerous job like that

deserves a whole
chestful of medals.

- You're on a damn long road,
George.

What happens to you if you
never reach the other end?

- With Lacon
and the minister behind me?

- Why pick on the little guy?

Why not go for the big ones?

Percy Alleline,
Bill Haydon.

- Thought you were a big guy
these days.

- You're the perfect choice,
Toby.

Resentful about slow promotion,

sharp-witted,

fond of money.

With you as his agent,

Polyakov has a cover story
that really sits up and works.

The big three give you

the little sealed packets
of chicken feed,

and Moscow Center
thinks you're all theirs.

The only problem arises

when it turns out you've been
handing Polyakov

the crown jewels

and getting Russian chicken feed
in return.

If that's the case, Toby,

you're going to need
some good friends,

like us.

Gerald, of course,
is a Russian mole,

and he's pulled the Circus
inside out.

- But Witchcraft material
isn't chicken feed.

It's the best.

- It was good at first.

- Listen, George.
Suppose you're wrong.

. Toby-

- Who told you
to muzzle Jerry Westerby?

The same person who sent you
down to Sarratt

with 1,000 pounds
for Jim Prideaux

and the instruction,
"Get lost"?

- Speak UP-

- Was it Percy'?

- I think so.

Maybe it was Bill, though.

Well, listen,
it was a big operation.

Sometimes Roy.

It never seemed to come
straight from one.

There was a committee.

I took a lot of orders.

- You told Prideaux
to forget about Tinker, Tailor.

Where did that come from?

- I never knew what that meant.

Now, George, that's the truth.

- Poor Toby.

Yes, I do see.

What a dog's life
you must have been leading,

running between them all.

- George,

if there's anything I can do
of a practical nature,

well, you know me, George.

My boys are pretty well trained.

Now, if you want
to borrow them...

I'd have to speak to Lacon,
of course,

but, well, you'd expect that.

All I want is for this thing
to be cleared up,

for the good of the Circus.

I want nothing for myself.

- Where's the safe house

you keep exclusively
for meeting Polyakov?

- 5, Lock Gardens,
Camden Town.

- You're going to be
staying here for a night or two.

Fawn will look after you.

- Fawn.

- You'll have to make
appropriate explanations

to the Circus

by telephone.

You're having girl trouble,

or whatever sort of trouble
you're in these days.

Then there's your wife,
of course.

- Sure, George.
I can handle that.

- If he's any bother, Fawn,
use your own discretion.

- Peter,
I want you to watch my back.

Will you do that for me?

Look for one man, but look.

- We'll join up
at Sussex Gardens.

[Song of Simeon]

- ♪ Lord ♪

♪ Now lettest thou ♪

♪ Thy servant ♪

♪ Depart in peace ♪

II

♪ According to Thy word ♪

II

♪ For mine eyes ♪

♪ Have seen Thy salvation ♪

II

♪ Which Thou hast prepared ♪

♪ Before the face ♪

♪ Of all people ♪

II

♪ To be a light ♪

♪ To lighten ♪

♪ The Gentiles ♪

♪ And to be the glory ♪

♪ Of Thy people ♪

♪ Israel ♪

II

♪ Glory be to the Father ♪

♪ And to the Son ♪

♪ And to the Holy Ghost ♪

♪ As it was
in the beginning ♪

♪ ls now and ever shall be ♪

II

♪ World without end ♪

♪ Amen ♪