Original subtitles

(music)

(theme music)

(car engine roars)

(gunshot)

(gunshot)

(gunshots)

How's that?

Good morning, Steed.

Good morning, Mrs. Peel.

Like to make yourself useful?

Not at all, but you didn't bring me here

just to be a gun bearer.

No. I want you to meet someone, Willi Fehr.

Used to be a top agent.

Now relegated to traffic control.

Traffic control?

Yes, for incoming spies.

He looks after their accommodation,

money, that sort of thing.

Why should I meet him?

He had an accident last night.

His pram ran out of contr...

- (gunshot) - (beer fizzing)

That was my lunchtime refreshment.

His pram ran out of control?

Hate to see good beer going into orbit.

In the pram was a dead man in full evening dress.

And what does Mr. Willi Fehr have to say about it?

Man: He just isn't saying anything,

not a darn thing.

Well, that's not like Willi,

not like him at all.

Usually quite talkative.

Isn't that so, Willi?

Remember the old days?

Back and forth across the wall

like a game of Ping-Pong.

It's a bit of a comedown

from those days, isn't it,

making you do dreary old disposal work?

Who was he, Willi?

Who was the man you were trying to dispose of?

And why the evening suit?

Of course, it could be delayed concussion.

A case of good old-fashioned stubbornness.

- That's all. - What about the dead man?

Where does he lead?

Completely unknown to us.

Here's the suit he was wearing,

pockets empty, all labels removed,

had been recently dry-cleaned.

No clues at all?

Unless you count the fact that it didn't fit him properly.

The evening suit, not a proper fit for the dead man.

Perhaps he hired it.

Possibly, but where does that take us?

No. Our only hope of identifying him is this,

the only label they couldn't remove.

It was tattooed on the dead man's arm.

Man: Ah, Eros. Hey, that's the one there.

Now, that's one of my most popular designs.

Comes right behind "I love" whoever it is

and "What is home without a mother's loving touch?"

- (laughs) - (needle buzzing)

Hey, a lovely thought is that.

"What is home without..." ah.

Of course, that's only good for the big ones, you know.

Needs plenty of room, you see. Heh.

I... I tried to put it on a skinny one once.

(laughs) Disastrous.

Oh, I ran out of space, you see,

so it finished up, "What is home without a moth?"

- (laughs) - (laughs)

Ridiculous. Mind you,

it spoiled what should have been a lovely sentiment, you know.

Now, which design would you like, miss?

- Well, I... - Ah!

Engraved garter around your left leg.

Hee hee. I enjoy doing them.

No. Actually...

- No, no. Rosebuds. - Hmm?

Pretty pink rosebuds? One on each?

Do you recognize this?

Hey, you wouldn't be his wife, would you,

that one who had "Lucille" tattooed on his arm?

No, I'm not his wife.

Ah. Pays to be cautious, you see.

Very discreet business is this.

Hey, I knew a chap once had to keep his shirt on in case...

Then you do recognize it?

Oh, aye, of course. That's my work, all right.

Lucille with two Ls.

A misspelling can be very tricky in this business.

And the man who had the tattoo,

do you remember him?

Mr. Peever.

Are you sure you won't indulge?

There's a bird's-eye view

of Sydney I've always wanted to...

What was Mr. Peever like?

Oh, he were a funny little chap.

Thinning hair, middle-aged, nervous, glasses.

There we are, then.

Lovely, girl. Lovely.

Thank you.

Ah, he wasn't married, you know.

- Oh? - Peever.

Oh, you get to know a lot about folk

in this business, you know.

(laughs) You, uh...

You get under their skin, so to speak. Heh heh.

No, Peever wasn't married. I'm fairly sure of that.

- What's he done, anyway? - Done?

Well, asking all these questions about him,

he must have done something.

Well, he was involved in an accident,

what you might call a write-off.

(laughs)

(knock on door)

(gunshot)

(gasping)

(groaning)

It's... It's Fehr, Willi Fehr!

Listen.

We had road accident.

They f... they found Peever.

Yes, yes, yes. All identification removed,

but we overlooked the dress suit.

It was hired from Lichen & Comp... Company.

Yes, sir. This is quite definitely one of our suits.

I recognize the cut.

But the wearer must have worn his medals very clumsily, sir.

I mean, these holes.

We'll... We'll never get these invisibly mended.

The wearer can't exactly be mended either.

- Sir? - Do you remember who he was?

Oh, quite definitely, sir. I fitted him myself.

I remember he was long in the arm, but short in the leg.

It's a most unusual combination.

- Who was he? - Sir?

The man who hired this suit.

But don't you know, sir?

I mean, after all, you are returning the suit.

And with these holes, I'm afraid, sir,

we shall have to claim his deposit.

The deposit is yours.

I made it quite clear to Mr. Peever, sir.

I said, "If there's any damage, sir",

then I'm afraid you forfeit your deposit."

- Peever? - Sir?

Do you have his address?

Well, it'll be in my book, sir,

but that kind of information, it's strictly confidential.

Not between business associates, surely.

Hmm?

Baggypants Ltd.

- Baggy Pants? - Shh!

Top secret work.

Diplomatic corps only.

- But Baggy Pa... - Shh.

You've seen pictures of those visiting Russian diplomats?

- Hmm. - Well, where do you think

they get those terrible clothes from?

Well...

I'll get Peever's address for you right away, sir.

Excuse me.

I wonder if you could help me.

I... I can't fix this at all.

I often thought of buying one of those made-up ones, you know.

Oh, my goodness, sir. That would never do.

- No? - No, sir.

Sir, the mark of a true gentleman

is that he actually ties his tie himself.

In fact, sir, there are one or two places

where I believe they simply won't let you i...

(gasps)

Such a terrible thing, and at Lichen's, too.

We dress the entire nation, you know.

Why, without us, Ascot Race Week would look like a nudist convention.

Heh. This ledger is your only record?

Yes, I'm afraid so, sir.

Tell me. Mr. Peever, now, he must have left a deposit.

Could he have paid by check?

Oh, very likely, and that would be on record.

If he did pay by check, we'd have the name of his bank.

Would you mind checking for me?

Oh, but of course.

I thought the pockets were empty.

Oh, all our suits have a gentleman's secret pocket,

so it must have been in there.

Shoe repair ticket.

Oh, for Piedi's.

No ordinary shoe repair, then.

Well, Piedi's, sir,

the most exclusive shop in town.

Everything handmade.

So exquisitely elegant.

Ah, signora, they are a poem.

They sing. They soar.

♪ Santa Lucia ♪

They're also very useful for, um,

walking on.

(chuckles) You take the Mickey, eh?

But it's true what I say, signora.

Such expressive feet.

Look. They talk to me. (chuckles)

You naughty little chatterboxes, you.

(laughs)

Bernard?

I shall cherish them.

I shall compose a shoe for them.

I shall encase them in the softest leather.

Push off.

Finely tooled, superbly sewn, devastatingly designed.

I shall treat them with delicate care.

(squelch)

Piedi never measures.

He molds.

Ah, twin treasures.

Carissima.

Signora...

I am at your feet.

Yes, Arthur Peever had an account here.

"Had"? Then you know.

Yes. Sad.

Very sad.

Very, very sad.

Quite a shock.

Oh, shocking, very shocking.

When he came in here this morning...

This morning?

Walked right in and closed his account.

- Bad. - Very bad.

Very, very bad.

Did he leave a forwarding address?

Yes. He was rather reluctant about that at first,

but when I explained I'd have to send details of his balance...

Do you have the address?

Yes. Care of Purbright & Company, Mackidockie Street.

(gasping)

It'll soon be there, signora.

Presto.

Ah, an excellent cast.

A truly beautiful reproduction,

right down to the tiniest baby toenail.

(chuckles)

Bernard.

And now we will pour in the wax, huh?

And very soon, we'll have two pairs of foot,

those that touch to your legs

and a duplicate pair for me,

for me to make a pair of shoes

that will be like puffs of air upon your feet.

Now, signora, is there anything else I can do for you, huh?

A pair of slippers for the boudoir?

Wellington boots

in the kinkiest black leather?

I've come to collect these.

A repair?

Mm-hmm. They're for Mr. Peever.

You know Mr. Peever, don't you,

right down to his tiniest toenail?

It... It saddens me to admit,

but these shoes were not specially fitted.

Even a craftsman must corrupt his standard on occasion.

Oh, no, these were part of a job lot that we had delivered,

all different sizes.

Who was the job lot for?

A team of dancers,

you know, ballroom dancers.

Men with tails and women with tulle frocks and... and sequins,

and all of them thrashing their poor arches to destruction.

This, uh, team of dancers,

where do they come from?

The Terpsichorean Training Techniques.

Scusi.

Bernard.

(ballroom music playing)

Slow, slow, quick, quick and back.

Lead, turn and back.

And swing those feet.

And watch that balance.

And up, up, up on our toes, and round...

- (chairs clatter) - Oh.

Well, just sit down there for a moment, would you?

I'm Lucille Banks, the principal here.

Can I help you?

Peel, Mrs. Emma Peel.

Oh, yes, and you wish to train

to trip the Terpsichorean light fantastic.

Well, Mrs. Peel, I can...

Actually, I'm looking for a job.

Oh.

Yes. I saw you were advertising for an instructress,

and I thought if the post was still vacant...

Hmm. Well, you're rather tall.

That could be a disadvantage.

Well, we'll just put you to the test, shall we?

Oh, Ivor, just in time.

Now, this is Mrs. Peel. Ivor Bracewell.

He's our senior male tutor.

Would you just take Mrs. Peel around the floor?

Delighted.

Yes, you move quite well.

Have you had much experience?

Of a very limited kind.

My father, he entertained a good deal,

a preponderance of heavy elderly gentlemen.

It was important I made them feel

as though they could dance.

Yes. Yes, well, um,

that'll do. Thank you.

Yes, well, I'll give you a chance

to show what you can do, Mrs. Peel.

We'll give you a week's trial.

Nicki.

Oh, Nicki, would you show.

Mrs. Peel around the establishment?

Yes, certainly.

We'll see how you shape up by the end of the week.

I'd say she shapes up pretty well.

We're expected to take six pupils each

per day at hourly sessions.

It isn't hard work, so long as you have

an unlimited amount of energy,

the constitution of an ox

and cast-iron feet.

As bad as that?

Oh, good afternoon, Mr. Read.

Afternoon.

This is Mrs. Peel. She's just joined us.

How do you do?

How do you do?

Chester Read, our pet bandleader.

Drinks too much.

Hmm.

Dance night's our busiest time.

Every one or two weeks, we have a dance for all our budding pupils.

We finally limp home at about midnight.

Lucille sees to it that we don't rest for a moment.

- Lucille? - Miss Banks,

- Lucille Banks. - Ah.

- (door opens) - Oh.

Our prize toe crusher.

Well, I suppose you have to start somewhere.

It might as well be him.

Well, well, well. Good afternoon.

Good afternoon.

My, we are looking debonair today.

(chuckles)

And just in time to meet our latest instructress,

an unrivaled expert in Latin American.

May I present Emma Peel?

How do you do?

Mr. Arthur Peever.

Peel: Thinning hair, timid, mousy.

Bears a superficial resemblance to the man found in the pram.

Seems we have two Arthur Peevers, one dead...

And one learning to swing a dainty foot.

Trouble is, which was the real Arthur Peever?

What do you think, Captain?

- (muttering) - Oh, you must forgive him.

A slight tightness of the throat.

Yes, this'll help.

I'll let the bank manager have it.

Good idea, don't you think, Captain?

- (muttering) - Glad you agree.

Now you, Mrs. Peel, back to your pupils,

and be quick-quick slow about it.

I intend to. This was made for Arthur Peever,

and if the shoe fits...

Good day, Captain.

(grunts)

(muttering)

(ballroom music playing)

P, P, Peever.

A little out of your territory, aren't you?

I took the wrong door, I'm afraid.

(chuckles) Little girl lost?

Big girl lost.

Oh, don't worry.

I'm just going to lead you back to where you belong.

I can find my own way, thank you.

It pays to be nice to me.

I'll remember that.

(gasps) Mr. Bracewell, I am so sorry.

Ivor.

Mrs. Peel, you have a pupil awaiting tuition.

Yes, Miss Banks, I...

Please attend to it.

Yes, Miss Banks.

What are you doing in here?

I found her looking in the lockers.

Which one?

That one.

Forward, back, step, step, step.

Back, forward, step, step, step.

Forward, back, step, step, step.

Back, forward, step, step, step.

My, you're making enormous improvement, Mr. Wattakins.

So light on your feet.

Thank you.

He's murdering mine.

I think I need a bone graft.

Forward, back, step, step, step.

Back, forward, step, step, step.

Forward, back, step, step, step.

Back, forward, step, step, step.

Forward, back, step, step, step.

Back, forward, step, step, step.

Right, gentlemen. That's the end

of another delightful session.

Now run along,

and we'll see you both again tomorrow.

Now, girls, are we ready for our next session?

- So soon? - (laughs)

Do I detect a tiny note of discontent in the camp?

Certainly not.

She's only teasing you, gentlemen.

You're her favorite pupils.

Now, Mrs. Peel, you will partner Mr. Marsh

the fox-trot, the rumba, and the Black Bottom.

Watch out for flying glass.

Mr. Peever, you... Oh, no, no, no, no.

Naughty Mr. Peever! Now, I've warned you before.

Nails protruding!

You'll absolutely ruin our beautifully sprung floor.

Oh? Oh, I'm sorry.

Yes, well, come along. We'll see if we can

find you another pair, shall we?

Well, get on with the lesson, Mrs. Peel.

One, two...

Cha-cha-cha.

Cha-cha-cha.

1, 2, cha-cha-cha,

1, 2, cha-cha-cha,

1, 2, cha-cha-cha.

1, 2, cha-cha-cha.

1, 2, cha...

- (speaking Russian) - In English.

I've told you only speak English here.

What was all that about?

Nothing that need concern you.

Now, you're just Arthur Peever,

that quiet little English gentleman, remember?

Yes. Now get into these.

Get back in there.

Get hold of the Commander.

It's urgent, very urgent.

- What's the matter? - The tattooist.

We've forgotten about him.

Yes, that's him.

You're sure?

Very sure.

Very, very sure?

Positive. That is Arthur Peever.

I see.

Yes, I never forget a face,

and despite the fact that I only met him once,

my memory has never yet failed me.

You only met him once?

Yes, the day he came in to close his account.

So he may still be an imposter.

After all, the bank may have been dealing with the real Arthur Peever,

but the fake one closed the account.

(muttering)

Yes or no would be more practical, Captain.

Did you phone Mrs. Peel?

Did you get the address of that tattooist?

Good. I'll see what he makes of the photograph.

Oh, by the way, Captain,

it may be a trade secret, but when you

phoned Mrs. Peel, how did you, uh...

(whistling in Morse code)

Heh.

(humming a tune)

(needle buzzing)

- (knock knock) - Come in.

Come on in.

You mind holding on a minute?

Little fad of mine is this.

Garlic sausage.

Helps keep me handy when business is slack.

A very delicate touch is needed.

(blows)

One false move, and the skin is torn.

Oh. Oh, that's nice.

Though it's not mine, of course.

I can always appreciate another man's...

(silenced gunshot)

(needle buzzing)

May I offer you some refreshment, Mr. Peever?

You're most kind.

Nonsense. It's all part of my job.

Besides, I want a chance to get to know you better.

- Have a bicky. - Uh-uh.

Well, if we're to be seeing a lot of each other in the future...

I regret that will not be the case, Mrs. Peel.

I shall soon be passing out.

I beg your pardon?

I'm within a fishtail of receiving my diploma in ballroom dancing,

and when I have that, I shall have

no further need to attend classes.

I shall pass on, Mrs. Peel,

and we will not meet again.

- Excuse me. - Mm.

Put them above your head.

- Hmm? - Oh, these poor abused feet.

If you put them up in the air,

it soothes them to such an extent

that the agony is only excruciating.

Nicki, Mr. Peever's just been telling me

he's about to get his diploma.

- Yes, that's right. - Well, I've danced with him.

If dancing's the right word.

- I know. He's terrible. - Then why a diploma?

Good for business, I suppose.

Take their money, a few lessons, hand them a diploma,

and another satisfied customer.

Funny, though, how Lucille hands out those diplomas.

Mmm.

Isn't everybody who gets one,

just the selected few.

Diploma in hand, and... Puhh! He disappears.

- Disappears? - Well, as far as we're concerned.

I've never known one to come back.

Well, now, here we have our most exclusive dance studio.

It's the most beautifully sprung floor.

- (chuckles) - Heh.

And we have instructresses in attendance at all times,

so you can just see how well equipped we are, Mr. Steed.

Steed: Very well equipped.

Yes, well, shall we just take some particulars, then?

After you.

Oh, thank you.

Jonathan Steed.

Well, that's a fine old English name.

Thank you. Came over with the Vikings.

They were between raids and discovering America at the time.

Then you're British by birth?

Birth, nature and inclination.

I just love the old country.

Of course, I haven't seen much of it lately.

I've been abroad, you know.

Just recently returned?

A week ago.

To see your family?

I have no family.

Oh. Still, you must have many friends here.

I'm afraid I've lost touch.

And you wish to learn to dance?

Brush up more than anything.

If you'll forgive me, Mr. Steed,

isn't your motive deeper than that?

You come here hoping to make friends.

Are you a lonely man?

I have no friends.

Well, I hope you'll be very happy

joining our little group, Mr. Steed.

Now, you may have your first lesson whenever it's convenient to you.

Why not right now?

Very well.

I'll just make the necessary arrangements.

If you'll excuse me.

♪ Dee, dee dee, dee ♪

♪ Dee, dee, dee dee, dee ♪

♪ Dee dee, dee ♪

(door opens)

What are you doing here?

Looking for a killer with a rose tattoo.

What?

Read it, and then destroy it.

Oh, Mr. Steed.

- Destroy? - Eat it.

Yes, dear lady?

I've decided to undertake

your tuition myself personally.

An honor.

(ballroom music playing)

Slow, slow, quick-quick, slow.

I'm surprised you're still a bachelor, Mr. Steed.

You are still a bachelor?

I had a girlfriend once,

but, alas, she is no more.

Oh, how tragic.

Eaten by a crocodile.

One of those Amazonian treks.

Lunch.

Oh.

Psst. Psst.

Is the coast clear?

Yes.

Where's Nicki?

I don't know. I'll go find her.

No. Just see that she gets this.

Seen you before somewhere, haven't I?

I don't think so.

Sure I've seen you before.

Only to Nicki. No one else, see?

Mm-hmm.

Very familiar.

Not in here.

You mustn't open that in here.

If Lucille saw what we were doing,

we'd both get the sack.

I suppose Bernard told you about our little arrangement.

No.

Well, I suppose you'll have to know.

I'll let you in for 1/3.

1/3 of what? What little arrangement?

Well, Bernard works for Piedi, the shoemaker,

and Piedi supplies our pupils

their first pair of dancing pumps.

Well?

But only their first pair, you see.

After that, Bernard sells them on the side,

cuts out Piedi, cuts out the middleman.

Bernard makes his profit.

There's something in it for me.

Everybody's happy. Nobody suffers.

But isn't it rather dangerous for you,

I mean, approaching the pupils right here?

Oh, Bernard sees to that.

He waits for them after school

and buttonholes them then.

I see. So Bernard gets to meet

all the pupils at one time or another.

- Yes. - Including Mr. Peever?

Of course.

I think we better get inside.

Ah, there you are.

I just heard the funniest thing, Lucille,

the funniest thing.

So that's the time, is it?

Mine must have gained a bit.

Tsk tsk tsk tsk.

Steed.

He's an imposter, man who calls himself Peever.

No tattoo lovingly inscribed to Lucille.

Trouble is, the tattooist, our chief witness, is dead.

Well, there may be another,

a man at the shoe shop named Bernard.

He might be able to help.

- Right, now! - I'm going to see him.

Oh, Miss Banks, uh, the heel of my shoe has come loose.

It's liable to break at any moment.

- Could I go out... - Yes, yes.

Well, go and get it attended to, would you?

- Oh, and hurry back. - Yes, Miss Banks.

Aah!

(ballroom music playing)

Come now, Mr. Steed.

There must be someone in this big city that you know.

I've been away for a long time.

All my friends have gone away.

1, 2, 3.

And I have no family at all.

Oh, you poor, poor man.

You mean, if you disappeared tomorrow, no one would know or care?

Goodbye, Mr. Steed.

You'll be on time for your next lesson,

won't you?

Couldn't keep me away, madam.

Easy. Nothing to it.

Good. The Commander will be pleased.

I'll tell him.

You can also tell him about John Steed.

- Who's he? - He's our next victim.

So Bernard got himself plastered.

- (muttering) - I do so agree.

So we've lost our last witness.

- And now we go... - Back to square one.

To the heart of the matter.

Peever is an imposter.

The dancing school is conniving at the deception, so...

Carry on dancing.

Oh, well. The same mixture as before.

Gala dance, happens once a fortnight.

Dance to Chester Read.

Couple of currant buns,

half a glass of lemonade,

and they all go into an ecstasy of rhythm. Ho-hum.

Is this when the advanced students

receive their diplomas?

Yes. Only one this time, Mr. Peever.

Nicki, have you noticed any changes

in Mr. Peever since he came?

Hardly, but then I wouldn't.

He's more Lucille's client than mine.

I remember when he first enrolled.

She really kept him to herself.

Does she do that often?

Mm, once in a while,

but nearly always the mousy, anonymous ones.

Keeps them under wraps.

Sometimes three or four weeks

before I'm even allowed to see them.

See you.

Bye.

(ballroom music plays)

Lucille: Now remember, it's got to be absolutely smooth.

You must glide into it.

No hesitation, mind.

Are you ready?

1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3.

1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3.

1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3.

1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3.

1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3.

1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3.

1, 2, 3.

1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3.

1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3.

1, 2, 3. 1... like that.

And 1, 2, 3, twirl.

Oh, yes, that's much better.

That's splendid.

You'll be absolutely perfect

for the takeover tonight.

Now, 1, 2, 3.

- 1, 2, 3. - (door opens)

1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3.

1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3.

I was looking for another door.

The door was locked.

Hmm?

- Locked... - Hmm?

The door.

Oh. Oh, uh, Lucille's rehears...

Um, Lucille is rehearsing.

Rehearsing?

Rehearsing for...

- For... - the...

- the... - gala night.

Gala night.

(band playing ballroom music)

Good evening, Mr. Peever.

Oh, I'm so glad you could make it.

I wouldn't miss one of your little soirees

for the world, Miss Banks.

- (chuckles) - (chuckles)

Oh, hello. Oh, I'm glad you could make it.

- Hello. Nice seeing you again. - Hello. Thank you.

Thank you.

Mr. Steed. Oh, how resplendent you look.

Thank you, Miss Banks.

This is your very first visit to one of our little events.

I do so hope you'll enjoy it.

- I'm sure I shall. - Heh.

Would you excuse me?

Black coffee.

Excuse me.

It's bigger than we think, Steed.

Some kind of swap system, a takeover,

another man's personality.

I saw a whole dress rehearsal.

Lucille was dancing round the ballroom.

Quick swirl out of sight.

Whht. Change of partner.

Perfect.

After an extraordinary one-way conversation with Captain Noble...

(mutters, whistles)

I found out the real purpose of this school.

It's for infiltrating foreign agents into the country.

First select a lonely, anonymous bachelor...

Whom no one will miss.

Get rid of him. Replace him with a highly paid agent.

Off with the old. On with the new.

Marvelous method.

I don't want to do anything right away.

Want to catch them red-handed.

You'll get your chance soon. They're planning another swap tonight.

- Any idea who? - I don't know who yet, but...

Watch it.

No, no, my dear lady.

Not even if you went down on your bended knees and begged.

I'm not free, I'm afraid, until the 12th dance.

I may be able to fit you in between the Sir Roger DeCoverly and the Lancers.

Oh, Mr. Steed, we're just going into the ballroom now

if you're ready.

Any time you say, Miss Banks.

Excuse me.

- (claps hands) - Ladies and gentlemen.

Ivor: I'll see if it's clear now.

All right.

You go through that door there,

round to the back of the studio.

Now, you know what you have to do.

He'll be wearing a number 9 like you.

And no slipups.

The Commander doesn't like slipups.

All right, off you go.

(ballroom music plays)

And now competition time.

Chester Read has kindly consented to do the judging,

and, as usual, the contestants will be masked.

Oh, I must just mention to our new members

that this is to avoid any possibility of favoritism.

Chester will be judging you

purely on your dancing ability alone.

(applause)

(ballroom music plays)

I've located the next victim.

Who?

He'll be wearing a number 9.

Mrs. Peel. Mr. Steed.

And this is your card, number six.

Thank you, Miss Banks.

(chuckles)

Well, that eliminates me.

- Mrs. Peel. - Hmm?

I understand you have been chosen to partner me.

Oh.

Mr. Steed, we are dancing together.

- Oh. - Allow me.

Oh, Miss Banks.

(yelps) Miss Banks.

There.

Something wrong?

Oh, are you attempting

the reverse double flip, Mr. Steed?

With you, Miss Banks, I reach for the rainbow.

(chuckles) You mad, impetuous man.

Oh. (Laughs) Miss Banks.

You're number 9.

And you're dancing with garlic sausage.

Good evening.

How do you do it?

I nerved his soissons.

Shall we dance?

To the door?

- I thought you... - But I thought you...

It was that last reverse turn takeover that did it.

I did this.

When I should have done this.

Commander! Commander!

Keep 'em coming.

Whoops.

Sorry.

(groans)

Excuse me, Commander!

Tsk tsk tsk tsk.

You'll lose your deposit.

(groans)

Steed.

Mrs. Peel.

Did you know they just arrested a bandleader

for being drunk in charge of a pram

containing a man in full evening dress

with a plaster cast on his head,

tattooed on his right wrist,

clutching a dance diploma in one hand

and a garlic sausage in the other?

Shall we dance?

(ballroom music plays)

(theme music)