All language subtitles for Reilly Ace of Spies - 04 Anna-eng

- Yes?

- Good morning.

- Good morning.

- Welcome home.

- Well, you're up early.

Where's Margaret?

- She didn't come.

How was the trip?

- Waste of time.

Got off the ship at Naples.

Should be in Paris by now.

- Why didn't you follow him?

- Got in mind about Margeret.

There's been no mail,
not even a postcard.

- How is she?

- She's taken off.

Left you for some

Bloomsbury type.

I don't even know his name.

- In 1906, Reilly
had been sent to Italy

to intercept William Knox Darcy,

an Australian mining engineer

who was returning from Persia.

Darcy had discovered
vast deposits of oil

in the Persian basin,
and Reilly's task

was to persuade him to sell
his concession to the British.

This was a matter
of some urgency,

for the Royal Navy, with
its new oil-fired warships,

was anxious to obtain a
reliable source of fuel.

Persia seemed the
ideal solution.

But before Reilly had a chance
to talk to Darcy in Naples,

the oil man disappeared.

- See Naples and die.

Is that what's
happened to Darcy?

- No, I think he's in Paris.

- Why aren't you in Paris?

- Hasn't Fothergill told you?

Margaret's disappeared

with another man.

- There's no need to
advertise your misfortune,

my dear chap.

Nobody takes kindly
to a cuckhold.

- I shall need time to find her.

- Reilly, my dear fellow,

you're behaving like
an outraged Latin.

Your talents would
be better employed

in pursuit of our friend Darcy.

- Even if I did find him,

there's no guarantee I
could talk him round.

- But that's not what
you said six weeks ago.

- Six weeks ago he was
on a boat to England,

today he's in Paris
talking to bankers.

Now if you want to
be serious about this

you're going to have
to find some money.

- How much?

- One million.

- Pounds?

- With guarantees
for another four.

- Where would I raise
that kind of money?

- The city, the banks,
other oil companies.

Until we do so, there's not
much point in me going to Paris.

- Your wife's there, you know,
with this Bloomsbury type.

with this Bloomsbury type.

- Would you
like to order, sir?

- Soup and the roast beef.

- The roast beef
rare with a salad.

- Do you mean raw vegetables?

- They're raw vegetables
soaked in oils,

the chef knows how to do it.

- Yes sir.

- They don't understand
this foreign muck here.

And sprouts and roast
potatoes for me.

Fothergill?

- Ditto.

- The same for me get.

And you might send
the wine waiter.

- How long have you known
this about Margaret?

- Three weeks.

- And why didn't you
contact me in Naples?

- I didn't want to put you
off your stroke, old boy.

- You've known about
this for three weeks

and yet you didn't notify me.

- Cummings is right.

This oil business
is very important.

- I give a damn about your oil.

- All right.

Basil Zaharov has
a bureau in Paris

run by a man named Widdemeyer.

I will employ
Widdemeyer to find Darcy

and Margaret in that order.

But with the proviso
that when Darcy is found,

you will do all you
can to persuade him

not to sign with the French

until at least he
has spoken with us.

- And when Margaret is found,

what would you like
me to do about her?

- Your private life
is your own affair.

Is that not so, Fothergill?

- It won't be if he shoots her.

- I just don't want it
to interfere in any way

with this very delicate
matter of the oil.

Is that understood?

- How did Cummings
know Margaret was in Paris?

- From your bank.

She sold your house,
did you know that?

- No I did not.

Is there anything else you
might have omitted to tell me?

Because if so, now
is the time to do it.

- No.

Except no woman's worth it.

- Worth what?

- The guillotine.

Contrary to public belief,

crime passional is a
capital offense in France.

- Thank you, Fothergill,
for that comforting thought.

- Reilly made no
secret of his arrival in Paris,

booking in at an hotel
under his own name.

- Thank you, sir.

- He was still
unsure how to deal with Margaret

once he had found her,

but he was determined
to settle the matter

before he tackled Darcy.

What Reilly had neglected
to tell Cummings

was that while he was in
Naples trying to find Darcy,

two attempts had been
made on his life.

So he had come to the conclusion

that whoever was talking
to the Australian

was prepared to go to great
lengths to protect him,

and themselves.

- Widdemeyer?

- Up here.

- Don't pry, Mr. Reilly.

- Cummings sent you a
letter, have you opened it?

- No.

First your wife.

She was staying in an
hotel in Mont Panassa

until a week ago,

then she left.

- Was she alone?

- No.

She was accompanied
by an Englishman,

described as being
of a depraved nature.

They left at the request
of the management.

There was some talk of
her going to Munich.

- Have you a man in Munich?

- There's a friend I can
put you in touch with.

- Give me his address.

- I don't want to presume
on our good friendship,

but all this costs money.

- You'll be paid the
moment you locate Darcy.

- That will not be so easy.

Here, however, is
some information

for which I will not charge.

Your half sister's in Paris.

- Anna?

- Yes.

Studying piano at the academy.

You should hear her play,
she's good I'm told.

- Anna thinks I'm dead,
it's best left that way.

- You see, I give you
something for nothing

and you refuse it.

- Is that her photograph?

- Yes.

Taken last spring.

- May I keep this?

- If you wish.

Here's the name of
my friend in Munich.

I'll contact him just to
see whether your journey

is absolutely necessary.

Darcy I'm told is
with the Rothschilds.

- Rothschilds?

- Yes.

- And where do the
French fit into this?

- They're happy to say the
Rothschilds pick up the option.

They don't want to be
seen as interfering

in what the British
consider their territory.

But they're behind
the whole thing.

- Have they agreed terms?

- Not that I'm aware of.

I'm told Darcy needs
five billion francs.

That's a lot of money.

- Come in.

Thank you.

- Thank you, monsieur.

- Dear Reilly,

I would be grateful
if you would contact

Mr. Smalls of the embassy

so that arrangements can
be made to meet Cummings,

who is prepared
to put behind him

the prejudices of a lifetime

to come to Paris.

He is bringing the money.

All thine, Fothergill.

- Good morning, sir.

- Morning.

Can you get me this number?

- Widdemeyer.

- Reilly here.

- I was right about Munich.

Your wife is at the Astoria
sampling the waters.

Suitably distilled, I'm told.

- With regard to my sister.

- Your half sister.

- You said she was
involved in an inquiry.

Is she in any danger?

- You know I can't give you
that kind of information.

- Where can I find her?

- At the École de musique

- It's too quick, it's
too fast, it's too heavy.

It's just too much.

You're making that the
climax of the piece,

this isn't the climax,
the climax is at the end.

Now, calm.

Just take it once again
from the beginning,

and very steady.

Don't forget.

- What do you mean he's
with the Rothschilds?

- Widdemeyer says they've got
him tucked away somewhere.

- Under lock and key?

- Well not necessarily,

Darcy will be as anxious
to lay low as they will.

- Do you mean he's trying
to avoid his fellow Britons

by making this shoddy
arrangement with the French?

- The British have done
nothing to Darcy up to now.

All he can expect
on past experience

is to be bombarded with cheap
promises and patriotism.

- We have always
encouraged his efforts.

- The man has oil
wells to maintain.

His men have been working
110 degrees of heat

up mountains surrounded
by hostile tribesmen.

He's going bankrupt,
he needs money.

- We have brought the money.

- It's not enough.

- Not enough?

We have just crossed
the English Channel

with a quarter of a
million pounds sterling

and he tells us its not enough.

- We're up against the
richest men in Europe.

They spend that on
a dinner service.

- The fact is that's
all we could raise.

- What about the city?

- The city says there's
no future in oil.

- The government?

- Full of colons.

- And what about the banks?

- They display a short-sightedness which
borders on treason.

- However.
Nothing ventured, nothing win.

Fischer, Churchill, and a few other sparks are putting
together a company, but are not quite there yet.

That's why it's
absolutely essential

to find Darcy and to stall him.

- Or shoot him.

- Might be cheaper to shoot him.

- In the long run, you're
going to need the oil.

- At least it'd stop the
damn French getting at it.

- I have no intention
of shooting Darcy.

- Of course, if he'd
slept with your wife

that would've been different.

- That was uncalled
for, Cummings.

- It's just that his
morality is so cockeyed.

If it came to losing
half the empire,

butter wouldn't
melt in his mouth.

But if somebody hops
into bed with his wife,

he comes over all
outraged Latin.

I must apologize for him.
He's quite upset.

- No, he's right.

- We will attempt in London to
put your views to the others.

In the meantime I would be grateful
if you did not leave Paris.

Not even for Munich.

Do I make myself clear?

- He's not at Ferrieres.

- You're sure?

- Can't be that sure,
it's a big place.

Nobody but Rothschild
could build it.

You know an underground
railway connects

the kitchen with
the dining hall.

- So where else would he stay?

I don't know.
You can hide a Latin in Paris,

or any denomination of Slav,

but a six-foot Australian mining
engineer, that's difficult.

- What about the university?

Ah.
There I can't help you.

My contacts stop
at a certain level.

It has something to do
with a stratum of honesty

which seems to traverse
society, in a horizontal plane.

- She's being followed, you know.

Why?

- She's a member of a Russian
revolutionary organization

known as the People's Will.

Therefore she's
under surveillance,

both by the Russian
secret police and our own.

She carries messages, now do
you have any other questions?

- Does she have a lover?

- No.

- This is where I live.

I've only been here six
months, but I love it.

Good evening, madame.

- Mademoiselle.

- This is my brother.

- He's very handsome.

- Thank you.

- But
there's no likeness.

- He's a half-brother.

- Half-brother, half-lover,
you remember the old song?

- That's enough, Mary Lou.

You haven't changed.

Not one bit.

I remember it was Easter,
there were butterflies.

A great silence
hung over the house.

A crucifix appeared on the
walls of Mama's bedroom.

Her breasts, so low
beneath her shawl.

We queued to see
her, kissed her.

There was a smell of holy
water, and the priest was there.

And then the next morning
we were all summoned

into Papa's study,

just as you had been when
you cut Grisha with a knife.

He told us that Mama was dead.

For the next hour, we
went around crying,

giving some sort of voice to
the sorrow of the grownups.

We waited for you,

to come home.

I suppose we were more
alarmed by your not coming

than we were by Mama's death.

And then we heard that you'd
drowned yourself in Odessa.

We were outraged.

You were meant to come
home and look after us,

show us how to live without her.

After all, you'd loved
Mama more than any of us.

So we learned to
grow up without you,

and without Mama.

Without love.

- I adored Mama.

It was unthinkable
that she might die.

I left Vienna at once,
and 12 miles from home

I was stopped at a road block,

and I was arrested and
thrown into the castle.

She died while I was there.

A few days later
Father turned up

and threatened to bring
his entire regiment,

and so I was released,

but he took me own to
his own particular brand

of court marital.

He was furious, and
in his obscene anger,

unleashed years of
venom and resentment.

I was, it seems, illegitimate,
I was not his son.

And what was worse,

I was a Jew.

A Jewish bastard.

My real father
was Dr. Rosenblum,

who oddly enough is the
only one of her friends

that I actually admired.

Anyway, I told Father
what I thought of him,

that he was a fraud and
a bigot and a bad shot,

and it was the last that
nearly unhinged him.

That night I escaped to Odessa

and from there I left
for South America.

I wrote the suicide note
to put people off the scent

more than anything else.

In the months and
years that followed,

I experienced a
degree of degradation

which I would not have
thought possible to survive.

My sense of having been
betrayed never diminished.

My childhood became

more and more like a dream,
something I'd imagined.

Until I saw you again.

You know you're being watched.

- It's a feature of
my life in Paris.

- All mixed in politics.

- I carry messages
from time to time.

It's easy for a student.

- I just told you what
happens to couriers,

they get 10 years in the castle.

- Does that matter to you?

- Yes.

- A man answering to
Darcy's description

was seen dining in the restaurant

the Gare de Yar last night.

He paid his bill in
something of a hurry

at 10 minutes to 9:00.

The blue train leaves at nine.

- Why would he catch
the blue train?

- Fastest overnight connection to the Riviera.

The Rothschilds have
a yacht near Antibes.

I think the odds that
he caught it are sure.

So sure in fact that I'm
classifying this information

as grade one and
charging you accordingly.

- Mr. Granier?

- Yes?

- Widdemeyer sent me.

- Oh.

Pretty spot, isn't it?

- Your manservant?

- Yes.

Gutier, a glass of
wine for Mister?

- Reilly.

- For Mr. Reilly here.

I let him paint in the sky.

Skies are so boring,
don't you think?

Widdemeyer sent you, you said?

- Yes.

- You're looking for
a man called Darcy,

and you think he's on
Rothschild's yacht.

- Yes, I need you to
go down to Antibes

to keep it under observation.

Unless of course it puts to sea.

- Mm-mm.

I'm acquainted with the captain.

He seldom leaves port.

And he worries about the effects

of salt water on the varnish.

There are acres of it on
the Rothschilds' yacht.

Aren't there, Gutier?

By the way,
Widdemeyer didn't say,

but who are we working for?

- The British.

- And how do they pay?

- By results.

- Ah.

- In return for your
services in setting up

the Anglo-Persian Oil Company,

the British government is
prepared to advance the sum

of one million pounds
to Darcy Exploration

on the understanding that all
concessions belonging to it

will devolve upon
the new company.

- Who signed it?

- Churchill, Prettiman,
Lord Bridgemont.

- Where's the letter of credit?

We the undersigned to
promise to pay the bearer

the sum of one million
pounds upon the presentation

of this note at Glenns Bank,
Whitehall, et cetera et cetera.

- Looks good, doesn't it?

- Yes.

- Cummings has come
up trumps, hasn't he?

- I want you to
meet me in Antibes

at the Vie de Gille in three days.

And don't lose those papers.

- How are we going
to get on the yacht?

- I don't know.

- Yes?

Good evening.
May I leave this here?

- Of course.

- When is your first concert?

- June 13th.

- And what will you play?

- Mozart.

It could be interesting because
the French don't believe

a Slav can play Mozart.

Between June and September
I hope to persuade them otherwise.

Then I go back to Russia.

- And what then?

- Well.

There'll be marriage I suppose.

What about you?

Do you have any intentions
of getting married?

- I am married.

- How very odd.

I mean...

- I know, it does seem
strange, doesn't it?

I was in Paris looking for her

and the people I'd employed
to find her found you instead.

- Looking for her?

She ran away?

- Yes.

- No suicide note?

- No.

She's found someone else.

- So why are you chasing her?

- I'm not anymore.

- What a strange
occupation, being a spy.

That's what you said you were.

- Yes.

- What are the qualifications?

- Well, you must see
life as a bit of a game,

and you have to have the
ability to manipulate people,

I suppose.

Is he still outside?

- Different man.

He might be following
you rather than me.

- Yes, it's possible.

I shall be leaving Paris.

- When?

- In the morning.

- Will I ever see you again?

- Yes, of course.

- How can I be sure of that?

That man,

he's going to be
out there all night?

- Yes.

- Then why don't you stay?

- I was planning to.

- Did Granier get away?

- He left last night.

- See that he's picked
up, by the police, I mean.

- As a decoy?

- Yes.

- It's one thing to
betray one's principles,

it's another to betray
one's employees.

We don't operate a double
standard over here.

- You will be paid.

Handsomely, I trust.

- There's one other thing.

As you know, I spent
last night with Anna.

I want all reference to this
expunged from your files.

- I just hope you know
what you're doing.

- Thank you.

- Oil's up, rubber's
up, tin's up.

Gold's down.

- How's the franc doing?

- Not bad.

- Well then today we
will sign the contract

and then you can go home.

- Good.

- Who is it?

- It's me.

- Come in.

- Sidney?

- Well, what do you think?

- It won't work.

- It's my belief
that a civilized man

would murder his mother
before he's rude to a priest.

He may loathe Rome and proclaim himself an atheist,
but he'd sooner give up a seat on a tram to a man of god

than to a blind woman.

- You're dealing with
the Rothschilds, Sidney.

- The very distillation of
European chic, my child.

Good afternoon.

- Good afternoon, Father.

- Is Baron Rothschild aboard?

- Yes Father.

- Then I should like to see him.

- Very good, Father.

The priest, your excellency.

- You wish to see me, Father?

- To beg a donation.

- If you would be so good
as to see my secretary.

- You see, I am a missionary.

- He is on the bridge.

- My mission is in
Tahome, or at least it was

until it was burnt down.

- I'm sorry to hear that.

One of my men will
show you the way.

- But there are
one or two aspects

about the situation in Tahome

which I thought you
could clarify for me.

That is, before
I make my report.

You see, I'm on my way to
Rome to see the Vicar General.

- I don't quite
understand, Father.

- Monsignor Phillipe, late
of the Tahome mission,

burned down at the instigation of the
Federación Sindicalista de Rome.

an organization which I
understand you control.

- I have interests
in Tahome, Father,

whether they include this
federation I cannot be sure.

Now you'll see my secretary,
he will reimburse you

for whatever--

- The sum I am looking for

is in the region of
one million francs.

The cathedral will have
to be reconstructed

over the graves of
my fellow priests.

- Graves?

- Cut down protecting
innocent women and children.

The church will
house their relics.

We shall also need a new
cemetery for the others,

built in the gothic
style of course,

it goes down well in the jungle.

- Father, I'm unacquainted as
to what happened at Tahome,

but I would like to assure you

that it cannot be
laid at my door.

- No, no, of course not.

That is just what
I intend to tell

the Vicar General in Rome.

The Tahome massacres
cannot be laid

at the door of the Rothschilds.

- Of course they cannot.

- Then I don't see what
we're arguing about, my son,

when we both agree.

- Wait here.

Get me a detailed list of
our business commitments

in Tahome, and the names
of ancillary companies

which might have been
funded by our bank.

- Yes sir.

- Furthermore,
I want a report

of what is going on there

with specific reference
to the recent massacre.

- Yes sir.

- I'm afraid this business
will take some time.

Will you stay for dinner?

- I would be very pleased
to accept your excellency's

most kind invitation.

- Raleigh here will
show you a cabin

where you may sleep
and refresh yourself.

- But I am quite refreshed.

- Nevertheless, you
have come a long way.

- Excuse me, monsieur.

- It's quite alright.

- Mr. Darcy.

You may find this
ridiculous, but,

my name is Reilly
and I'm an agent

of the British government.

I've been sent here at the
behest of Admiral Fischer,

he wants to break
off your negotiations

with the Rothschilds,

and come to some arrangement
with the British banks.

He appeals to your
sense of duty.

- Always suspected Fischer
of being high church,

but this is ridiculous.

Well.

You're too late.

Full marks though, for trying.

- You've come to
some arrangement?

- No, but there is
no reason to suppose

that we shan't later tonight.

So if you value your life,

you should leave this ship.

- I'm afraid I can't, you see,

I've been invited to dinner.

- You mean to say that
you're to carry on

with this preposterous
behavior through dinner?

- Yes, I'm afraid so.

- Well.

If they do tumble you,

you must appreciate that
my business obligations

will prevent me from
coming to your assistance.

- That is understood.

But before I go, Mr. Darcy,
I would like to confirm

that if you were to go to the
Ville Antibes,

and ask for a Mr. Fothergill,

you would find there a letter
of credit from a British bank

for one million pounds.

There are also other guarantees--

- Matter's closed, Mr. Reilly.

- Gentlemen.

Monsieur.

This is Monsignor Phillipe
of the Tahome mission.

My friend the Count Dogu,

and Mr. Darcy, an
English gentleman.

- Australian.

- I beg your pardon.

An Australian gentleman.

- How do you do.

- Monsignor Phillipe has
been telling me about

the Tahome massacres.

Evidently a number of his
brothers have been murdered.

The good monsignor
believes that the world

will lay it at my door.

- Rubbish.

- How much did you say the new
cathedral is going to cost?

- One million.

- How long do you expect it
will take you to collect that?

- Well, if the radio telegraph
is as fast as they say,

not very long.

- What is wrong?

- Pardon monsieur, but you're
wanted in the radio cabin.

- How long will
it take to decode?

Mind you, the rains that we get in Africa
are nothing like those one sees in say,

parts of the Middle East.

For instance, in a country like Persia--

- You've been to Persia?

- Only once.

I had the privilege of seeing
a tributary of the Tigris

rise a height of 100 meters
in half as many hours.

- That would be the Shatt al-Arab.

- Yes, you're quite right.

You are acquainted with
the country, Mr. Darcy?

- A little.

- This was before
my time in Tahome.

I was writing a treatise
on comparative religion,

and my studies took me to the
temples of Zoroaster

- at Masjed... Masjed?
- Masjed-e Soleymān

Yes.

The temples of Solomon, as they're now called,
where the oil comes from.

Incidentally I'm told that
there is some attempt being made

to exploit this
oil commercially.

- That's correct.

- Yes, it really was the most
extraordinary sight, you know.

When I first saw those gushes
of fire blazing into the night

I could quite
understand why they were

thought of as a manifestation
of the divine being.

What the Zoroastrians then
called the breath of god.

Are you a believer, Mr. Darcy?

- I believe that
there is oil there.

- But not in sufficient
quantities to attract investors.

What do you think,
Monsieur le Count?

- I'm not an oil
expert, monsignor,

but I'm prepared to
back Darcy all the way.

- Such faith.

Only the French are
forward-looking today,

don't you agree Darcy?

- That's the first true thing
you've said tonight, Father.

- Which makes it
even more ironic

that the Shah of Persia should set his face
so resolutely against France, and progress.

- I don't know, we should be
able to deal with the old boy.

What do you mean, by force?
The same way as

the Union Sindicalista moved against the

nationalists in Tahome, because gentlemen, that
certainly did not work.

And oil is particularly
vulnerable.

Rigs set on fire,

pipelines blown up,

power supplies cut.

- There's always
diplomacy, my dear fellow.

- Yes, that is true.

But you must remember
that only two powers

have any influence in Persia,

the Russians and the English.

Now the Russians are
not likely to view

a French invasion
with any enthusiasm,

and as for the English,

they will wreck anything that
is not in their interest.

- This is the view from Tahome?

- It is surprising what
a different perspective one gets in Africa.

- I'm glad you found the
time to visit me, monsignor,

it spurred me into
making some inquiries

into our African operations.

Now, I regret to say that
whoever was the source

of your information has
done us both a disservice.

No Rothschild subsidiary
has been active

in the republic for some years.

And certainly not in the Federación Sindicalista.

Meanwhile, my subordinates,

in their usual overzealous manner,

have checked the list of the missionary fathers,

and your name is not on it.

You are an imposter, monsieur.

- What can I say, Baron?

- Who's Prettiman?
- He's chairman of the oil committee.

- Who are
the oil committee?

Fischer, Churchill, and a few other bright sparks,
also Bridgemont of Burma Oil.

- Burma Oil?

They're solid.

What do I tell Rothschild?

- That you're going to London

to talk to the
British admiralty.

I don't see why it shouldn't
come out in the open.

It'll force Fischer's hand,
he will have to deliver,

or watch the French step in.

- You're sure I'm that popular?

- Yes I am.

- Very well.

I'll go.

- Good.

Fothergill will escort
you, won't you Fothergill?

- Absolutely.

Well, I'm glad we finally caught up with you,
I've been chasing you since Naples.

- Well, now that you
have caught up with me,

I hope you're satisfied.

- What made you
change your mind?

- I calculated the
length of the pipelines.

1000 miles.

Unprotected.

An the number of pumping stations, 50,
equally unprotected.

And then I thought what a bastard Fischer could be
if he couldn't get his way.

- I think you are very wise.

Good luck, old boy.

- Well done.

Padre.

- I'll see you back in London.

- Hello?

- Widdemeyer here.

- The news is good.

We've got Darcy.

- Anna's dead, she
killed herself.

Threw herself out of her window.

Coming back to Paris?

- Yes.

- May I offer my
sincerest condolences.

- Dearest Sigmund,

I preferred it the way it
was with you under the ice,

safe, and dead.

To know that you exist in
the same world as I do,

breathe the same air,

walk the same streets,

for some reason I
find that intolerable.

They say that a man
cannot be hanged twice

for the same crime.

By the same token, why
should a woman be asked

to die twice for the same love?

And yet I find that's
what I'm doing.

I don't understand.

It's an extraordinary
thing, Sigmund.

I never loved anyone else.