All language subtitles for The Avengers s06e26 Homicide and Old Lace

Any sign of him, Harriet?

Not yet.

But he won't come.

Of course he'll come.

I made the most stringent inquiries with
regard to his activity. Of course he'll

come, Georgina.

If you say so, Harriet.

Why, I know it's wicked of me, but I
really am looking forward to this.

So you should, after the trouble it took
planning it.

Here he comes now.

Here.

Here, he's here.

Ready, Georgina? Ready, Harriet.

I will surprise him.

It's really quite chilly this evening.

No, no!

My mother would never forgive me.

Nephew. Dear nephew. A very happy
birthday to you. A happier birthday.

Aunt Harriet, Aunt Georgina.

What a lovely surprise.

We meant it to be. We planned it that
way. We brought you these.

For your birthday. We do hope you liked
them.

Delightful. Absolutely delightful.

Thank you very much, Auntie. Thank you.

Rhonda, some tea. Would you like some
tea?

Please.

And a large whiskey for me.

Whiskey? We're disappointed in you.

Purely for medicinal purposes.

We thought you'd have five fingers of
old red -eye.

What? We read all the spy books, you
know. Five fingers of old red -eye is

conventional thing.

Oh, I see.

Five fingers of old red -eye.

Well, dear nephew, what's been
happening, eh? Are you just back from an

assignment?

Yes, I am.

Then you're healed at the moment.

Healed? Yes.

Are you carrying a gat, a rod? A good
old equaliser?

No, I'm afraid I'm not carrying a gat.

Karate's enough for you, eh? The good
old killing blows. I suppose you

like to chop that table in half for us,
would you?

No, no, the matter of fact, I haven't
been too well recently.

Well, could you arrange a trip for us
round the Black Museum?

Or the morgue?

Either would be equally entertaining.

No, I'm afraid that won't be too easy.
We hoped you'd amuse us.

We really hoped.

Well, I, um... I, uh... What about a
story?

An inside story?

A story?

A true story.

Taunt from the annals of time.

Every fiber of emotion laid bare.

Every gory fact presented in its...

A story.

The real thing.

A true story.

Well, now.

The great, great Britain crime.

The crime of the century.

Wow.

How did it start?

With a killing, eh?

Yes, I'm afraid it did.

See, one of our agents was on the trail
of something inexplicable.

Something big.

He had been lured to a night rendezvous,
but found it to be a trap.

Two arch -villains awaited him intent
on... Running him out?

Intent on engineering his demise.

He tried to make his escape up some
scaffolding nearby.

Why do they always run up?

Because... Because they always do,
that's why.

He couldn't shake his pursuer.

They stalked him relentlessly.

But one of the villains planned to put a
spanner in the work.

Things looked black.

And then, putting all strength into one
last effort, summoning all his reserves,

he made one prodigious leap and gained
safe ground.

But then... But go on, go on. What
happened then?

He fell.

As soon as the news of this agent's
death reached me, I knew I was onto

something big, inexplicable.

You've already said that once.

I was just reinforcing the point.

What happened next?

A second agent stumbled on the same
trail.

He, too, became a hunted animal, running
from an armed villain.

He's the one who put this banner in the
works.

Our man continued his... Desperate run
to get away.

But then he spied sucker.

A prisoner of war camp?

A fire post.

He told to get there, to call
headquarters.

Alas, he was foiled in his indus.

Gosh, you were really having bad luck,
weren't you? It happens.

It happened again.

This gang organization knew no bounds.

They were ruthless.

Utterly ruthless, they struck again.

Catching our man off guard when he was
enjoying a quiet pint in a local

hostelry. But... This time, our agent
managed to contact headquarters

with a message before he was gunned
down.

Convenient. The message consisted of one
word.

Help?

Intercrime. Surely that's two words.

Intercrime.

To the first hint that we had that this
organization was really organized, I put

the word out. Find out all you can about
Intercry.

That's seven words.

Informers were primed.

I was prepared to pay any amount for
information.

Then I sat back and waited and waited.

And waited.

That was when we got our first nibble.

A man named Cartwright contacted Steed
and said he had information we might be

able to use. He would deliver it at
Steed's apartment personally.

But what he didn't know, and what we
didn't know... Was that he was driving

straight into a trap. An ambush.

His car was blocked.

Stopped. And Cartwright himself dragged
from it brutally.

with utter disregard that his suit might
be creased, torn, irreparably ruined.

Cartwright was taken away by the murky
minions of Fuller. Who's Fuller? I was

coming to him. Fuller, second in command
of the intercrime England.

Nerve them.

Ice cold.

He cared not for life, limb, or status.

His only joy was money. So imagine his
delight when he found Cartwright's piggy

bank.

Meanwhile...

It was over.

Cartwright was dead.

Things looked very grave indeed.

Or did they?

Well, did they? On the surface, yes.

But... But?

Beneath the surface, Fuller and his
execution squad satisfied that all was

made their getaway. But little did they
know that Cartwright had survived.

Cartwright lives.

Just a minute.

Cartwright was riddled with bullets.

Precisely. Then how could he...
Bulletproof vest.

He was one of those sort of fellows.

Cartwright struggled out of his grave in
his bulletproof vest and

made his way to where Tara King and John
Steed were waiting for him.

What's your information, Cartwright?

You'll pay me? That depends.

You know that Intercrime are after me?
What's Intercrime?

The opposite to Interpol.

Interpol helps the police against the
criminals.

Intercrime helps the criminals against
the police.

That's a robbery that Intercrime has set
up for tomorrow.

Bond Street jewellers? Well, that's not
my line at all. You ought to know that,

Cartwright. It's a diamond consignment
worth three quarters of a million

Well, ask Art and Yard. They'll help
you.

I know something that is for you.

What?

They're planning on a big crime. The
crime of the century, they call it.

The crime of the century. It was our
first intimation that such a crime was

planned. But it was being planned in the
headquarters of Intercrime, the most

powerful criminal organization in the
whole world.

Those against?

The motion fails.

Before our next annual general meeting,
which will take place in Tokyo.

I should like to urge our members from
the United States and the USSR to

reconsider the application of the
Chinese Tong society.

The political differences of our
governments are no concern of ours.

Well, gentlemen, I think that concludes
today's business.

We haven't dealt with the robbery.

I should like to postpone discussion on
that subject for the time being. Look

here, Dunbar, we're all over this
country of yours for one reason.

To see if Intercrime can pull off what
you call the crime of the century.

What I would like to know is what
century?

There are still preparations to be made,
Mr. Jackson.

Look, if you're up to your old tricks
again... Mr. Dunbar is our elected

president. Yeah, and I know how he
rigged that.

The cars are waiting?

Yes, Mr. Dunbar.

Well, gentlemen, your sightseeing
continues today with Buckingham Palace.

Buckingham Palace? Do you think they
could be planning to raid Buckingham

Palace? Well, if they did, how would
they come in?

Several approaches.

This way.

Or Hyde Park Corner, Buckingham Palace
Gardens. I say, old man.

Birdcage Walk and the Horse Guard
Parade. I say, old man, this suit is

well cut. Very well cut. You look
awfully good, Freddie.

Do you really think so?

Don't you, Steve?

Yes, I do.

Oh, good.

I say, old man. The brandy's over there,
old man.

Thanks, old man.

The Queen's Apartments there.

Banqueting Room.

Picture gallery.

Of course, they might have come in from
the embankment along the sewers the back

way. That would mean they'd surfaced
alongside the flamingo pool, outside the

stables, or in the middle of the parade
ground.

Well,

there's always the direct approach.

Sorry. What time is the robbery?

What? Not this.

The Bond Street diamond consign. Oh, 2
.30.

There'll be two men and a woman. The men
will be dressed as window cleaners.

Two men dressed as window cleaners?

Some might have said they looked like
complete fools, but, well, appearances

be deceptive.

Rossi? Yes.

Kruger? Yes.

What's the alarm system?

Thompson Partridge Mark 6 electronic eye
-warning system locked from head

office, two meters from door height, 30
centimeters.

Haven't you verstanden?

All common, verstanden.

The regular window cleaners go in
exactly 1 ,500 hours.

Make sure you're there by 14 .30. Yeah.
Good luck.

Intercrime had planned a dual robbery,
and we'd planned to let it happen.

Why?

A stakeout.

Isn't that it, Hans?

Let the heist happen.

Follow the hoods back to their pad.

Bring up the heavy mob.

Open fire with tommy guns, gats, tear
gas.

That's how it happens, isn't it?

No, no, it doesn't really, no.

Now, where were we? The Bond Street
heist. Ah, the Bond Street heist. Just a

minute. You make Tara King a blonde?

Yes. I've seen her. She's a brunette.

That's right.

Now, look here, aunt.

This is my story.

And if I wish to make Tara King sky blue
pink, I will. Oh, you're so forceful.

Now, let us get back to the robbery.

Simply planned.

Simply executed.

Kruger and Rossi overpowered their
victims.

The spoils were theirs.

But outside, Speed and Tara were waiting
with an equally simple plan.

Little did Rossi and Kruger know what
fate awaited them.

But as they ran from the jewelers, the
robbers were robbed.

They were two complete fools.

Well, I told you appearances could be
deceptive.

Anyway, our plan had worked.

But we made two mistakes.

To continue, we made two mistakes.

The first was to assume that Intercrime
had a sense of humor. They didn't.

Execution department, please. You said
you made two mistakes.

Yes, Cartwright. You remember
Cartwright.

The one with the convenient bulletproof
vest.

Steed had lent him his suit.

Now, he foolishly left Steed's apartment
wearing it. He was followed to a

restaurant by Intercrime's execution
squad. And then...

Well,

well, well.

Forgot his bulletproof vest, eh?

It can happen.

What next?

Another attack on Steed. He was a marked
man.

A telephone call lured him to some
earthworks.

Steed found himself trapped at the
bottom of a pitiless pit.

And the villains planned to fill him in.

Earth cascaded down on our dauntless
hero.

Tons, hundreds of tons of shale and
rubble fell in on him until all that

remained in sight was the last battered
symbol of a very gallant English

gentleman, his bowler hat.

It seemed that intercrime had triumphed.
But had they?

Had they?

No. Our indomitable hero was not
finished yet. With one bound, Steed was

But Steed had proved too much for them.
Another phone call, another lure.

this time to a house in the country.

Another attack.

But the attacker had not reckoned on
Steve's physical expertise, his will to

win.

Time and again he eluded the clutching
hands of his adversary. Steve absolutely

threw himself into the fight. His
ability was starting to tell.

His ability to do what?

To fall so nicely.

His attacker was weakening.

Freaking? The chair was of very inferior
manufacture.

Steed pulled every trick out of the
book. Finally, the attacker made his

mistake.

He made Steed very angry.

Another failure.

Steed survived.

And then?

We had a lucky break.

Ah, I was waiting for one of those.

Dunbar, the European head of intercrime,
took over from the hot -headed Fuller.

He forbade all murder attempts.

On the contrary, he had other plans for
Steed.

The background is right.

We could use this man, Steed. But he
stole from us, sir.

Execute him after.

And what about the girl?

Steed's accomplice.

We've traped her.

Bring her in.

So with Tara now in their clutches,
Intercrime put part two of their plan

operation.

Steve.

Hello?

We want to talk to you, Mr. Steve.

Is it about putting holes into Freddy
Cartwright?

Write down this address, Mr. Steve.

199 Royal Avenue, SW7.

I'll remember it.

Goodbye.

A vital contact had been made.

Intercrime were asking to see Steve.

He hurried to a waiting taxi, but
Intercrime's skullduggery was still at

An armed man planned to escort Steve to
their headquarters.

Steve had other thoughts.

He was alone now and driving straight
into the jaws of Intercrime and untold

dangers.

First hurdle safely crossed.

The second hurdle to be encountered.

Good evening, Mr. Steed. Good evening.
Will you come with me?

The last hurdle lay ahead.

Steed had penetrated the ugly heart of
intercrime.

Now he had to meet the man on whose word
his life might hang in the balance.

Dunbar.

My name is Dunbar.

I'm the head of intercrime in Europe.

Please, sit down.

Thank you.

Mr. Steed, you should be dead.

I gathered that.

You're here because I'm considering
putting you on probation.

We have, of course, checked up on your
record.

And I think we have a job for which you
may be particularly qualified.

There is also the matter of 785 ,000
pounds worth of diamonds which you and

accomplice stole from us. We'll give you
back the diamonds.

You can keep the diamonds, Mr. Steed, if
you make a success at this job.

What sort of job?

The crime of the century.

There it was again. The crime of the
century.

Steed had penetrated into crime.

But... His ploy in pretending to be a
superior thief had worked.

What about?

Steed and Dunbar.

What is it then?

What about Tara?

Yes. What happened to her?

She was in another part of the woods,
under the hot lights.

Where are the diamonds?

I don't know what you're talking about.
Miss King, it would go easier if you

made a statement.

I don't know anything. We know you and
Steed took the diamonds.

I don't know anyone called Steed.

Oh, she was brave.

Stoical. She didn't squeal.

Squeal? I sincerely hope not.

Not a mouse, you know.

Now, where was I?

Into crime.

Oh, yes, yes.

Steed had got his feet under the table.

Dunbar was even offering him drinks.

We give our criminals legal aid, pension
schemes, paid holidays.

Everything a good company man can hope
to find on the other side.

Who's my company, you or Orpheus Tour?
The same.

Orpheus Tours will take you on a tour
anywhere.

That's extremely good of them.

To commit a crime.

Where's the one you want me to commit?

Here.

I want you to talk your way into a top
security establishment.

Where? You will be taken.

Colonel Korf is in command.

Corp? You went to the same school, you
belong to the same clubs, the same

background, more or less.

But I don't know him.

Here's a complete file on him.

Read it and use it to gain his
confidence.

Then, without his knowledge, open his
safe and photograph the entire contents.

What's in the safe?

Colonel Corp has a top security
telephone.

The scrambler code is changed every 24
hours. The current code is kept in the

safe. I want a picture of it.

Why?

Dubois from my friend's section will go
with you to open the safe.

Savard Dubois?

He's the best cracksman in Europe.

He's a criminal. He looks like a
criminal. I couldn't get him into a

establishment. I doubt if I could even
get him into a prison.

You must open the safe.

I suppose I could open it myself, but I
prefer to use Miss King.

Well, test her.

Oh, dear.

Test her?

Did they make her sit for an exam or
something?

No, no, dear, dear aunts. They were
putting her up against the brilliant

Dubois, the man with the beret.

Tara was sent for, not knowing, poor
child, what the fates had in store for

but determined to grit her teeth, keep
her stiff upper lip, keep her back to

wall and charge fearlessly forward.

That's anatomically impossible.

She was brought to where Dubois had
opened the safe in 59 .15 seconds,

flat.

Tara King was given the unenviable task
of beating the fiendish Frenchman's tie.

She had to open the safe faster than he.

It was an acid test.

Steed could only stand by, powerless to
help her.

But Tara did not flinch from the task.

She did not turn away from the job
assigned to her. She did not avert her

from the dangers.

She did not... I imagine she agreed to
do it.

Exactly.

She was alone on her own merit now.

Could she be to even equal Dubois' time
of...

59 .15 seconds.

The tension mounted.

The seconds, fatal seconds, ticked by.

Nerves were drawn tighter than a violin
string.

And then, just a traditional last
moment.

Per file.

Sir.

You go with Steed. So Steed and Tara had
achieved their first objective, to be

accepted by Intercry. They made their
way to the security vaults. Now, to dupe

the razor -sharp mind of Colonel Corp.

Please, John Smith, please.

Sorry, sir. I mean, Governor.

Yes? John Steed, your security
inspector. My assistant, Miss King.

Security inspector?

I didn't know we had one. Of course not.
Security.

Ah. I haven't seen any of you chaps for
years.

Changes at Downing Street, you know.
Yes, yes. Well, what can I do for you,

I'd be very obliged if you'd show me
around.

Show you?

Oh, no. No, no. I'm afraid I couldn't
possibly do that. No, I'm awfully busy

the moment, I'm afraid. Awfully busy.
It's nearly time for lunch. I'll tell

what. You come back some other day. Of
course.

You'll like Corfe.

Huh? Bumble, Corfe, St. Justin's House.

Well, yes. There's a picture of you in
the pavilion.

The time you took 10 for 17?

No, 10 for 16.

So, pretending to be an old school chum,
recalling those good old days, Steed

infiltrated the security establishment.

Security establishment?

Sounds more like a dreary old warehouse
to me.

That is the cover.

Down, more than 500 feet down is the
heart of the matter, where Corfe kept

safe. That's why Intercrime sent them
there.

Exactly. To photograph the scrambler
cove that was kept in it. How did they

that? How did they fool Corfe and his
razor -sharp mind?

Tara King feigned a feint, then Steed
took Corfe off, and she

was left there alone.

What feinting?

Great Britain's heritage.

One of my favourites, sir.

I like animals, don't you?

Over there, Gainsborough.

Constables, etc.

Down that gallery, you've got your
foreigners.

All these are your Flemish school.

Primitives. I like them.

Yes, well.

More painting?

Sacred objects.

That is really beautiful.

Yes, isn't it? Here, take a look at
that.

Five

forgeries

in the world.

Yes.

Very impressive collection, Colonel.

Thank you.

Thank you. Now then, how do you feel?
Much better, thank you. Good girl.

Good girl.

There you are.

Hotline. Scrambled.

New scrambling code every 24 hours. Keep
it in the safe.

Nothing wrong with our security feed.

No, I'm sure not.

What happens when you get the call,
Operation Rule Britannia?

The faintest notion. Never had it, have
I? Thank goodness.

So you don't know what Operation Rule
Britannia means?

He did... No.

No. I'm not surprised.

He doesn't seem like a young man who
knows anything much.

Hasn't got all his marbles, if you ask
me.

Nobody knew anything about Operation
Rule Britannia.

Nobody, that is.

Except for me.

An impasse was reached.

What's an impasse?

It is... When they run out of plot.

And that's when I made my own
indispensable contribution to the case.

Did you get my message?

About Operation Rule Britannia, yes.

Well, what is it? And why is Colonel
Corfe guarding a heap of forgeries?

In the event of war, Operation Rule
Britannia is the signal to clear all art

galleries and palaces of their treasures
and put them in the safety of Colonel

Corfe's vault.

Colonel Corfe's vault?

Yes, and hang the forgeries in their
place.

Oh, and that will prevent alarm and
despondency throughout the countryside.

Exactly, and to prevent panic. Now, what
would you do if war was looming and you

saw them tucking all the Picasso,
Cezanne's and Matisse's underground?

What would I do?

I'd go somewhere else as soon as
possible.

Right, but...

They are part of our national heritage.

Ah. Something to rally round.

They must be seen proudly, aggressively,
a symbol of our confidence.

And the real ones are all safely tucked
away.

That is to decide the point.

I've got the point. The crime of the
century.

What? Now, what would you think the
chances are of robbing the National

Buckingham Palace, the Tate Gallery, all
in one afternoon?

Nil. But...

Make an all -out, concerted effort on
one area, however well guarded.

Well, I suppose there is a chance.

Yes.

Give the signal.

Operation Britannia. Put all your art
eggs in one basket.

Colonel Corfe's vault. And then... I'm
going back to Enterprise.

Gentlemen.

A scrambler code to Colonel Korff's
priority telephone.

Yes.

Dunbar, now I will have that drink.

Who's taking the phone?

Nagushu, the best in the business.

From the territory of Mr.

Osaka.

Dozo.

Cleverly using a Japanese as the man
most likely to be overlooked in a busy

European street, Intercrime put
themselves in direct contact with Korf.

They now had the link, the scrambler
code, and all that was needed to put

Operation Rule Britannia into effect.

Osaka, no?

You are now in contact with Colonel
Korf, Mr. Dunbar.

Arigato, Osaka -san.

Send in Miss King instead.

Nogushu, get me Colonel Korff, please.
You're doing it now?

The scrambler code changes every 24
hours. I wanted to speak to Colonel

Fuller, a drink for Miss King. Sir.

Tell him it's Operation Rule Britannia.

He can hardly be expected to believe me.
He knows your voice.

You're on his hotline.

He can only believe that you're speaking
from the Prime Minister's office.

Colonel?

Operation Rule Britannia.

Well, I had no idea the situation was so
explosive.

I'm with him now.

There's no alternative.

Right, Steve.

The diabolical plan had worked. The ruse
succeeded.

Colonel Koff was completely taken in
by... I'm not surprised.

I'm perfectly aware of your opinion, of
course.

He was taken in.

He opened his field instructions and
started the ball that was Operation Rule

Britannia rolling. The biggest tickle in
history. The most gigantic robbery in

the annals of crime had begun.

The mighty plan swung into action.

First, our national galleries, haven of
our most revered artists, were emptied.

stripped of their most precious
sculptures and canvases.

The Tower of London, repository of the
crown jewels and of England's history.

Even the palace itself, the very seat of
government, all were denuded of their

art treasures, and forgeries were put in
their place, whilst the real treasures

were dispatched to the safety of Colonel
Corfe's vaults.

But as the gallant colonel personally
supervised the stowing of his precious

cargo, little did he know that the
safety of his vaults was no longer safe.

Nor was his personal safe -safe any
longer, if you know what I mean.

Mute with violence.

Right at the back, please.

Careful, man!

Meanwhile, back at the... Ranch?

Back at Intercrime Headquarters, Steed's
desperation mounted.

Watched though he was, he shirked not
from his duty. He attempted to call us,

warn us, but... Who are you going to
call, Mr. Steed?

My bookmaker.

Gambling can be terribly dangerous, Mr.
Steed.

We took a gamble with you.

Get the girl.

I'm not going to lose now. You won't win
without me.

Quoth trusts me. I made sure of that.

But you won't get in without me. And my
fee is £100 ,000.

All right, Steed. You get us in, and
we'll meet your price.

Good. And Miss King comes too.

Oh, no.

Miss King stays here.

You're hostage.

Put her in the cell.

Their villainy knew no bounds.

Steed found himself hopeless to their
ploy.

The countdown had begun.

The final preparations were made.

Anesthetics.

Tranquillizers.

Hacksaw.

Nylon rope.

What's this?

Miniaturized transmitter.

Twenty pounds in gold sovereigns.

Before going on a mission...

Each man would be issued with one of
these survival kits.

Good idea.

Phrase book.

In 15 languages.

I'm on the land from the police.

Kindly direct me to a suitable hideout.

Six.

Drug cigarette.

Cigarette lighter.

Turn the fuel screw round.

The mechanism is now primed.

Flick it.

In three seconds, there will be a
concentrated explosion sufficient to

gap in a prison wall up to ten feet
thick.

Of course, you have to release the
safety catch.

The scene was set.

They were well equipped.

Yes, they were.

The time... Just one thing.

Yes.

What earth did they carry at all?

The time had come.

Dunbar and his nefarious nasties, his
felonious felons, his cronies in crime,

made their final move.

They set out to accomplish their evil
coup.

Steed could do nothing but accompany
them, hoping for a lucky break. You've

your ration of those.

But the break did not come.

Steed's mind was troubled as he and the
top brass of intercrime set off en route

to... Now, hold it.

Intercrime are going to commit the crime
of the century, yes?

Right. And Steed's helping.

Right.

He had no option.

He tried to call us. Why did he give
them Colonel Corfe's scrambler code in

first place?

Good question.

Ah. Well?

Steed had to go along with the whole
plot.

Suppose the theft of the Scrambler Code
was just a test, a test of Steed's

loyalty to Intercrime. Good answer.

It is, you know, Harriet.

Oh, well, I suppose so. But Miss
Christie and Mr Earl Stanley Gardner

leave such loopholes.

May I continue?

Please do.

Intercrime made their move en route to
pillage the vault, and Steed forced to

accompany them.

However, they had overlooked one factor,
the courage and resourcefulness of Miss

Sarah King.

She launched into the attack and
disposed of her adversary, but the game

yet won.

Excuse me, could you help me for a
moment?

Come in, Tokyo.

I'm retrieving you.

Come in, Tokyo.

Hey!

Ah!

You blooded my stocking!

My goodness.

They were an awfully noisy lot, weren't
they?

Awfully. As I told you, they were
ruthless, utterly ruthless.

They cared not who they aroused. They
were unconcerned that little children,

tender babes, might be awakened by the
noise of their shootings.

Dreadful, despicable, beyond the pale.

They certainly were not gentlemen.

They certainly were not.

Now, shall I continue?

Please.

Where was I?

Steed, hoping to penetrate into crime,
set himself up as a thief, achieved his

aim, and was given the task of getting
Colonel Corfe's scrambler code.

Corfe's balls, being the repository for
the real art treasures of Great

Britain... in times of emergency, fake
ones having been put in their place, and

intercrime, holding Tara as a hostage,
forced Steed to accompany them on the

heist. Tara, however, engineered her
escape and was on her way to foil the

Well, dear aunts, you have been paying
attention.

Tara was on her way to foil the plot.

Tara. Brilliant.

Gallant, blonde Tara, the last hope of
foiling the plot, climbed into Korff's

security area, where even now the last
of the forgeries were being dispatched.

She ran pell -mell to find Colonel Korff
to warn him what was afoot. If she

could reach him in time, while there
were still precious minutes to spare

the intercrime mob arrived, she could...
Now, just a moment.

You said the intercrime team left ahead
of Tara.

That's right.

Then how did she get there first?

They took the pretty route. They wanted
to see the sights.

On their way to a crime?

This is my story.

Go on.

Please go on. I will endeavor to.

Now, where was I?

Tara had arrived at the warehouse.

Oh, yes.

She tried to persuade the skeptical
Colonel Korth that his warehouse was in

danger of a mass raid.

She told him... of how she'd opened his
safe before, and she even opened it

again to prove it.

Now do you believe I photographed your
coat? Excuse me, please.

Yes.

Yes, I do.

And, of course, I know what's going on.
When Steve rang me, I was suspicious.

I read the newspapers, you know, Miss
King. What does that mean?

This country's not in danger of going to
war. That's what I've been telling you.

And it was Steed who gave that false
alarm. Yes.

As a security check on me and my little
unit.

No. Yes.

New room, sweep clean. Oh, I know all
about Whitehall, Miss King.

This is not a security exercise.

This is a plan by a criminal
organisation called Intercrime.

They're going to break in here and steal
all of this.

And what should I do, Miss King? Let
them in.

Once they're here, seal the place off
and make an armed arrest.

Yes, but it's a little complicated for
my taste. But then I suppose that's how

security minds work, eh? This is not a
security check.

One thing I can't understand.

What? This Colonel Corfe. How did such a
fool come to be in charge of a top

security vault?

Oh, Harriet, let him go on.

We're almost at the big fight, aren't
we?

Indeed we are.

Now, Tara hid herself in the vaults
whilst Korth... Did he marry into an

important family? Is that how he got the
job?

Whilst Korth, thinking the whole thing
to be an elaborate exercise, awaited the

arrival of the intercrime team.

He didn't have long to wait.

In the Queen's name, gentlemen, you're
my prisoners, and I must ask you to lay

down your arms. Be your age, Colonel.

You are our prisoner, Colonel.

You can't say that.

I said it first.

Where's the umpire?

These men are criminals. They're trying
to steal the most valuable pieces. But

that's what Miss King said.

Miss King?

Find that woman.

So, whilst armed men were dispatched to
dispatch Miss King to hunt her down like

an airy beast,

Dunbar and co. indulged in a different
kind of hunting, ferreting out our art

treasures, blicking them up amongst
themselves.

And you'd hear a violin there gloating
over the Gainsborough, drooling over the

Da Vinci, sharing the profits of their
ill -starred scheme.

They were worth and fellow signs.

They were villain signs.

Art to them was just loot, cabbage,
spondulics, cold, hard cash.

They showed no respect for anything.

Anything at all.

Ah, yes.

I'm afraid we'll have to break this one
up, gentlemen.

It's rather a pity, isn't it?

Britain's crown jewel.

Go on, go on.

Why have you stopped?

You can't stop now.

I haven't stopped.

But you... Merely pausing. I have run
out... Of ideas?

Of breath.

My throat is dry. I think I'll take a
glass of... Five fingers of Old Red Eye.

Ah, that's better.

I will continue.

It's a double cross, isn't it, Dunbar?

All right.

Check the office.

We'll take the corridor.

Well done.

Look out!

Hold it.

Oh.

Yes.

Bye, Jeff.

Your gun, Colonel.

Thank you. Thank you.

It's the only one I liked.

Game, set, and match.

It all ended happily ever after.

Naturally.

Always end like that.

Couldn't we have a downbeat ending for
once?

Well, as a matter of fact, there was a
slight tragedy.

Really? Oh, tell us.

Deed sprained his thumb and Tara, poor
girl.

A fate worse than death?

Worse.

Worse?

The shock.

Turned her brunette.

Your card, Steed.

It's astonishing.

What?

Rhonda.

She is rather tall, isn't she?

I don't know. I don't mean that.

I mean, after all this time, I haven't
heard a squeak out of her.

I sincerely hope not.

Rhonda, squeaking?

That would mean skullduggery afoot.

No, no, I mean, I've never heard her say
a word.

What word?

Or any word.

She's not the chatty type. I like her
that way.

Yes, but you would have thought, say,
once a month or so, that she'd say a

Bothers you?

Unaccountably, yes.

Ah.

Rhonda.

Say hello to Mr. Steed.

Hello, Mr. Steed.

That's her?

No. It was me.

Rhonda's lost her voice. I was
practising my ventriloquial art.

A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, God
look out, B, D, O.