Original subtitles

Coffee, sir.

You should go back and sleep, Mr. Leamas.

We'll ring you if he should show up.

Maybe he'll come some other time.

We can have the police contact you. You can be back here in 20 minutes.

You can't wait forever, sir.

He'll come with the workmen. He'll come with the night crowd.

He'll come.

That's what you said last night.

Agents are not airplanes, you know. They don't have schedules.

Didn't they teach you that in the ClA?

He's on the run.

Mundt is after him at this moment.

Let him choose his own time.

Mundt may have caught him like he's caught all the others.

Riemeck's not like the others.

You need some sleep, sir.

Look, if you want to go, go.

You've been very good. I'll tell the agency you've been damn good.

I'll be around.

What's wrong? Why are the Vopos so close?

I don't know.

What are your orders for giving covering fire

to protect a man on the run?

If they shoot into the West, we shoot back. That's all.

We cannot give covering fire. That's the truth.

They tell us there would be war if we did.

I've got a man coming over tonight.

Here? At this crossing point?

It'd mean a great deal if we could get him out.

There are still places where you can climb.

Not that kind, he...

He'd bluff his way through.

He's got papers, if the papers are any good.

A man with a bicycle.

Halt!

Halt!

Halt!

Why has Control called me back?

Control's pretty vexed about Mundt liquidating Riemeck.

Then why doesn't he have sense to let his station head stay in Berlin

and arrange for somebody to liquidate Mundt?

- Pawson. - Yes, sir?

- What section are you in? - Personnel.

- Do you like it? - Fascinating.

You get to know everybody's fate.

- What's mine? - Better let Control tell you that.

It's not my job.

But you do know, of course.

Here.

Leamas.

Control.

Your coat.

Thank you.

Well, do sit down. You must be tired.

Ginnie's away, I'm afraid.

This new girl, she never warms the pot.

She's called Patrice. Imagine.

It used to be two lumps.

It still is.

- And, of course, no milk. - No milk, no.

Simply maddening, isn't it?

One wonders how they catch them all.

Landsor.

Salamon and now Karl Riemeck.

Such a pity we lost him.

Would you like a drink?

I'll wait.

You're still doing that?

I wondered whether you were tired, burnt-out.

Well, that's a phenomenon we understand here.

It's like metal fatigue.

We have to live without sympathy, don't we?

Can't do that forever.

One can't stay out-of-doors all the time.

One needs to come in.

In from the cold.

I'm an operator, Control. Just an operator.

There's a vacancy in Banking which might suit you.

Sorry, I'm an operational man.

I'll take my pension. I don't want a desk job.

- You don't know what's on the desk. - Paper.

I want you to...

...to stay out in the cold...

...a little longer.

Please do sit down.

Our work, as I understand it, is based on a single assumption.

The West is never going to be the aggressor.

Thus...

...we do disagreeable things, but we're defensive.

Our policies are peaceful...

...but our methods can't afford to be less ruthless

than those of the opposition.

Can they?

Well, I'd say, since the war,

our methods, our techniques, that is,

and those of the Communists, have become very much the same.

Yes.

I mean...

...occasionally, we have to do wicked things.

Very wicked things indeed.

But you can't be less wicked than your enemies

simply because your government's policy is benevolent...

...can you?

And what I have in mind for Mundt...

...is a little out of the ordinary.

- You haven't met him, have you? - Mundt? No.

But he was here in '59.

He was posing as a member of the East German Steel Mission.

I was in Berlin.

And...

...how do you feel about him?

- Feel? - Yes.

He's a bastard.

Quite.

Robert Jones.

Smith.

Roberts.

T. Roberts.

Leamas.

Alec Leamas.

John Wilson.

Leamas.

Last time, and the time before, I was seen by a Mr. Melrose.

My name is Pitt. Melrose has flu.

Not much of a stayer, are you? The jobs weren't exactly...

Mr. Leamas, fluent German isn't much use,

even in an experienced sales representative,

if he's frequently speechless by lunchtime.

Vacancies for male nurses at Battersea General...

I think I'd do better as a patient.

Here's one where your languages might help.

The Blantyre lnstitute of Psychical Research in Candahar Road.

Five minutes on an 1 1 bus.

They want another assistant. Librarian's a Miss Crail.

Well, I should gargle, Mama.

Yes. Yes, I know there's a lot of it about.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes. Goodbye, Mama.

Can I help you?

My name is Leamas. I was sent from the labor exchange by a Mr. Pitt

as a possible new assistant.

- You have your qualification form? - Yeah.

You've used a card index?

Now and then.

- Is your handwriting legible? - Except at weekends.

Our books used to be shelved and indexed under titles and authors.

But now Brigadier Blantyre wants them rearranged and additionally indexed

under subjects, with cross-references to authors and titles.

Thus...

,,,Phantasms of the Living by Gurney, Myers and Podmore

has already been title-indexed under P for phantasms,

and author-indexed under G for Gurney, M for Myers...

P for Podmore.

Precisely.

Now it must also be subject-indexed under A for apparitions.

- Have you understood that? - They told me

the job pays �1 1.10 a week.

Excuse me.

Yes, Mama.

Yes, Mama.

Would you like to share my sandwiches?

- Wouldn't dream of it. - Something called "Savory Spread".

- I still wouldn't dream of it. - lsn't a cafe for miles.

Any pubs?

- Yes, but you can't get lunch in them. - I know. I'll be OK.

Thank you.

Bloody night, Mr. Patmore.

Bloody dirty, Mr. Leamas.

Loaf of bread.

A tin of this corned beef.

Let me have some marmalade.

A tin of tomato soup.

That'll be...

...four and six.

Shove it on the bill, Mr. Patmore.

Sorry, Mr. Leamas, I told you last week.

If you want a proper credit account, you need a banker's reference.

You'll get your cash on Friday.

You can have the goods on Friday.

I've got a job.

Very well, sir.

Miss Perry.

Yes, Mr. Leamas?

Montague Summers' The Werewolf. Where would l...?

Oh, under metamorphoses.

It's... It's in the subsection on lycanthropy.

- On what? - Lycanthropy.

A lycanthrope is a man who's been transformed into a wolf.

It seems popular. Quite a lot of people have taken it out.

They're all little Mr. Beamish. He takes it out about once a month.

At the full moon?

What do you do on payday, Alec?

Do?

Do you visit friends?

Go to the cinema?

No.

- Go out to dinner? - No.

- Where do you eat, then? At home? - I suppose so.

Good night.

Would you like to have dinner at my place?

I've got a bottle of wine left over from Christmas.

Could I contribute half a bottle of Scotch?

I keep one at home.

For medicinal purposes.

Candles were new, weren't they?

They just hadn't been used before.

Come have a coffee and whiskey.

Nan, you really shouldn't have.

You know, whiskey is very, very expensive.

- Sugar? - Two lumps.

With your fingers will be all right.

And no milk.

Is the soda medicinal too?

- You're very observant. - I've had to be.

- Why? - Well, I was a scoutmaster.

I don't believe it.

You sometimes have the look of a dedicated man.

Not to that particular cause.

- Me, dedicated? - Well...

What do you believe in?

Well, don't laugh. Tell me.

I believe that a number 1 1 bus will get me to Hammersmith.

I do not believe it will be driven by...Father Christmas.

- That's not a cause. - What'd you like me to believe in?

Peter Pan? Or God?

Oh, no, of course not. I don't believe in God either.

No? What do you believe in?

Me?

History, partly.

Partly freedom, partly...

Oh, Nan, don't tell me you're a... You're a bloody Communist.

Yes.

That's me...

...fighting for peace.

Well, other people just talk. The Party's going to do something.

And what, may I ask, will the Party do for Comrade Nan?

I was once driving down a main road in...

On the continent.

And I saw two gray trucks move out and converge...

...on a station wagon driving down the middle of the road.

I only heard the crash because I drove on.

The last I saw of the station wagon was three small children,

two little boys and a little girl,

Iaughing through the back window.

I...

Communism. Capitalism.

It's the innocents who get slaughtered.

Compassion isn't enough. Nobody wants that.

Why, it's got to be organized, disciplined, to be of any use.

Well, that's what the Party does for us, don't you see? It...

- Well, it organizes our emotions... - Oh, Nan.

- You're too proud for that, aren't you? - Nan...

Don't let's argue, Alec. This evening was meant to please you.

Oh, it did.

It did.

Well...

...thank you for my stew,

and my coffee, and my wine,

and my medicinal whiskey.

Good night, Nan.

And a half a pound of parmesan.

- Anything more, Mrs. Zanfrello? - Will be all, thank you.

All right. That'll be two, five, two, seven.

Seven and seven. Cash or credit?

- Please to credit. - Right.

Let me have... Let me have a tin of that caviar.

Well, it's only mock, Mr. Leamas. It's Norwegian.

I prefer it mock.

Let me have a tin of...

...California Cling Peaches.

- Large or small? - Large.

I've got to keep my strength up.

And a...pound of butter.

And...

-...Iet me have some of these scampi. - ltalian. It's very nice.

Madam, I'll thank you not to insult the hot blood of lrish prawns

- taken from the Bay of Dublin herself. - Marcella.

Right, that'll be 19 and 9, please, sir.

Cash or credit?

Beg your pardon, sir?

Cash or credit?

Well, you said Friday, Mr. Leamas. Cash, please.

If a bloody ltalian can have credit, why can't a bloody lrishman?

There's no need for talk like that.

Put that phone down.

Put that phone down!

Marcella, call the police.

SI,

I brought you some sandwiches.

You shouldn't have come, Nan. What'll Miss Crail think,

consorting with an ex-convict during the library's time?

It's 8:.15. I'll catch the next number seven, and she'll never know.

What'll you do, Alec?

Go for a walk. Have a bit of a think. Avoid the pubs.

Visit the labor exchange. Collect my suitcase from...

I've collected it. It's at my flat till you find somewhere decent.

- Nan, l... - Dinner will be at 8

with a Portuguese wine spelt D-A-O with a twiddle over the A

- and pronounced "dang". - Dang.

I made Hungarian goulash.

Well, I thought it'd be tactful to serve a Communist dish

with totalitarian wine.

What's in the parcel, Alec?

- My pajamas. - Good.

Eight o'clock. Don't be late.

Do you like birds?

The ones with the white collars are wild. The others are domesticated.

With people it's the other way around.

Bird watching's one of my hobbies. I often come here.

Do you also often come to Wormwood Scrubs Prison

at 8:.00 in the morning to watch birds?

Yes. Jailbirds.

- They're my other hobby. - Only the young ones, surely.

That's not quite fair.

I'm a member of a charitable discharged prisoners' aid society

called The Link.

My card.

Why pick on me, Mr. Ashe?

Because the governor said that you'd refused prisoners' aid,

and you wouldn't even see a probation officer.

Now, that's proud and stupid.

- So I followed you. - What sort of aid

does your charitable organization dispense, Mr. Ashe?

We try and find your professional qualifications.

Half a bottle of whiskey a day. Or is that a disqualification?

Then introduce you to other members of The Link who might find you a job.

Officially, we're allowed to offer you �5 out of society's funds

to tide you over the first few days.

And...

...unofficially, we're allowed to offer you lunch.

More retsina?

I don't see why not. I've nothing to be clear-headed for.

But you will have, if only you'll stop being obstinate

and let me introduce you to this great friend of mine, Dick Carlton.

All right, all right. But I keep on telling you, I can't write,

except business reports.

And I keep on telling you, you don't have to write.

His agency's always on the lookout for German background material.

Political, economic, social, even tourist stuff.

He services the holiday magazines too.

Now, you, with your business experience of Berlin,

provide the facts, the opinions. His chaps do all the writing.

As a matter of fact, I'm... I'm meeting him myself this evening

at a club in Dean Street, called the Pussy Willow, 7::30 for drinks.

- Care to join us? - No, sorry. Sorry, no. I have a date.

Just drop in for a quick one.

You might do yourself a bit of good.

Anyway, I'll bring a check for 5 quid from The Link to tide you over.

A check?

I'll bring cash.

Pussy Willow, Dean Street.

Seven thirty. OK?

OK.

Well, I have to go now. Finish your wine.

Ciao, then.

You know, thanks for the...

We haven't met. My name's Smiley.

I live here.

So they've made contact.

A man called Ashe.

The way you beat up that grocer was masterly, Alec.

Two small paragraphs down the page in the West London Observer.

But it was enough.

A shark can smell blood a mile off when he's hungry,

and Mundt is hungry for our blood.

Name me a counter-espionage head who isn't hungry for one high-grade,

defecting spy.

So I'm to defect?

Yes, I wanted you to build up the portrait of a man

whom inaction and embitterment had driven to drink,

but not yet to actual treachery.

Don't change the portrait by a brushstroke, Alec.

Just continue to be embittered, continue to drink.

Drink, but never be too drunk to think.

Smiley, give Leamas whiskey and soda.

And what am I to think about?

You're to think about the evidence we've cooked up to incriminate Mundt.

To incriminate him so lethally

that his own second-in-command will arrest him and have him shot.

Yes, we've been cooking for a long time, Alec,

with a great many ingredients and a great many pots.

Remember those two trips you made for us from Berlin

to Copenhagen and Helsinki?

Operation Rolling Stone.

Precisely.

That was one of the ingredients.

They'll interrogate you, of course,

and bit by bit, you'll come across with the evidence that'll kill Mundt.

Just feed them a stray fact here and a stray fact there.

Let them piece the clues and the facts together

into the story we want them to believe.

Yes, there's a man called Fiedler.

- Mundt's second-in-command. - Fiedler, my dear Alec,

is the linchpin of our plan.

Fiedler's the only man who's a match for Mundt,

and he hates his guts.

Fiedler's a Jew, of course, and Mundt's quite the other thing.

Believe me, my dear Alec,

Fiedler is the acolyte who one day will stab the high priest in the back.

And...

...Rolling Stone will provide him with the dagger point.

Yes.

Oh, and by the way,

is there anything we can do while you're away

for that girlfriend of yours?

Miss Perry.

You know, I mean money or anything.

Only when it's over, then I'll take care of it myself.

Yeah, quite.

To do anything now would be very insecure. Very insecure.

Well, I just don't want her to be implicated.

I promise not to.

I don't want her to have a file or anything.

- I promise that too. - I want her left out of it.

I want her forgotten.

She shall be.

And I think until this thing is over, you should forget her too.

Go and meet Ashe's friend.

Go and meet Carlton.

And after Carlton, whom?

Oh, we don't know, do we?

This party's on The Link,

charitable society for the rehabilitation of discharged prisoners.

Bring us a bottle of Scotch and keep the change, if any.

Perhaps you'll tell me what the bloody hell's going on.

- I don't know what you mean. - You followed me from prison

with some cock-and-bull story about prisoners' aid.

You bought me an expensive meal and gave me a fiver

- for services I didn't render. - I was only trying...

I know what you tried and don't bloody well interrupt.

Just wait until I've finished, do you mind?

You're used to waiting, aren't you? On street corners.

Ever since I tried to help you, you've done nothing but insult me.

Drop it.

I want to make it crystal clear that although I'm prepared

to accept insults from him in private, I'm not prepared to be insulted

in front of somebody I admire and respect and...

Get out.

Get out.

OK, Dick.

If that's what you want.

Now perhaps you'll tell me why you let that queer pick me up.

By all means. I told him to.

Why?

As a fellow member of The Link, I'm interested in you.

I want to make you a proposition.

A journalistic proposition.

Journalistic. I see.

I run an agency.

An international feature service. It pays well...very well,

for interesting material.

Who publishes the material?

Oh, international clients.

I have a correspondent in Paris who disposes of a good deal of the stuff.

Often I don't even know who does publish, I confess.

I don't awfully care.

They pay promptly,

and they're happy to pay into Swiss or Scandinavian banks,

for instance, where nobody seems to bother very much

about things like tax.

They'd even make the check payable to your pen name, if you had one.

They'd have to pay a hell of a lot.

They're offering a down payment of �15,000.

The money's already lodged in the Banque Cantonale de Berne.

On the production of suitable identification,

with which my clients will provide you,

you can draw the money,

and my clients will assist you with any resettlement problems that may arise.

How soon would you want an answer?

Now. Of course, you're not expected to commit

all your reminiscences to paper.

You'll meet my client, and he'll arrange to have the material ghostwritten.

Where would I meet him?

We fly to The Hague tomorrow morning at 9:.45.

I'll drive you anywhere you have to go to pack.

No, you won't.

Leamas, at this stage, I can't afford to turn you loose on London.

- I'm afraid you'll have to. - Why?

Oh, well, l... I don't want the girl implicated.

Do you have to see her?

Well, she has my suitcase.

We'd prefer to pick it up ourselves.

You can prefer what you like.

I didn't ask you how many lumps because I remembered.

I didn't ask why you came 40 minutes late,

when the goulash had turned solid, because you came.

There's only one thing I really want to know, Alec.

What?

Whatever happened to your pajamas?

They should be in Gravesend by now. I threw them into the Thames.

Have you come into money?

Well, buying a whole bottle of whiskey instead of your usual half...

...and flinging your pajamas in the river.

I have another pair in my suitcase. Chocolate brown with white piping.

Like a cake.

And not tasting of prison.

No.

Was it awful?

No, no. Just ridiculous.

And why do they have to have disinfectant that smells even worse

than the stuff that it's supposed to disinfect?

And why do they give you back your personal belongings

as if they'd been sanctified by the archbishop of Canterbury?

With this ring I do thee wed.

With this brown paper parcel I return thee to society.

Well, they returned you to me. I'm very grateful.

So grateful I cut tonight's Party meeting.

Well, thank you for putting me above history.

Whiskey or Dao?

Dao.

I have to go away early tomorrow morning.

I could tell.

I'll be back.

Thank you.

How long are you staying in Holland, Mr. Thwaite?

About two weeks, until the conference finishes.

You know your passport lapses in 18 days?

I'll be back.

There you are.

Thank you.

Welcome, Leamas.

- You had a good voyage? - It was all right.

Thank you, Carlton. You can take the car.

- How about you? - Just coffee.

Is it always just coffee?

What are you, anyway? Who are you?

What's your name?

I'm a professional man.

All right. They've sent a professional. Fine.

So we can cut out the tricks and games. We both know our job.

You've got a paid defector on your hands. That's me.

Date of birth?

August the 25th, 1924.

In Sawley, Derbyshire.

Sawley, Derbyshire.

Parents?

Ronald Arthur, born 1901.

Kathleen Olive, maiden name Cantley,

born in lreland, 1905.

You're unmarried?

Yes.

What was the date and method of your recruitment?

1943, September the 14th.

The War Office advertised for linguists. I applied.

First appointment.

Yes.

Banking section.

That's where I began. That's where I ended.

Bastards.

So you came back from Berlin, and they put you in Banking.

What were your duties?

Signing checks for other people, concealed payments, paper.

What were your exact duties?

Paying agents. A letter would come from Finance.

The payment of 5,000 Swiss francs to such and such an agent

is authorized by so-and-so.

I'd sign the check or get the bank to make a transfer.

- Which bank? - Blatt and Rodney.

A chichi little bank in the city.

There's a theory in the service that Etonians are discreet.

So you knew the names of British agents all over the world.

No, I signed a blank check. The name of the payee was secret.

Who knew, then? Who kept the names?

Special Dispatch.

They added the name and mailed the check.

So you just provided a signature.

A false signature.

After 18 years in the service, my sole contribution.

Did you make regular payments from Banking Section?

A Rolling Stone. That was all. Quarterly.

Rolling Stone.

What did that involve?

Opening accounts at two foreign banks.

Where? On what dates?

Copenhagen, the second week in April.

The 12th, I think. Yes, the 12th.

Where else?

Helsinki. That was earlier. February the 29th.

What kind of money?

Oh, it was big, very big.

Fifty thousand dollars to Copenhagen, 100,000 deutsche marks to Helsinki.

You opened the accounts in false names?

Yes.

You called the operation "Rolling Stone". That was a cover name.

Yes.

If it was a clandestine payment, why did it have to have

- a cover name as well? - Orders.

- Whose orders? - Control. He chose the cover name.

Shall we continue indoors?

Want to write it down, don't you? Don't know what you're looking for.

Scratching around in the dust.

I'll start again.

One,

Leamas crosses Danish border on his own passport.

Two, Leamas collects cash from innocent bank.

Three, Leamas goes to second bank with a false passport

under the name of Woolrych. Four,

Leamas opens joint account, same as married couple does,

in two false names.

One was my own alias, Woolrych.

The other was the alias of my partner.

Your partner was the agent who would later collect the money.

- Brilliant. - What was the agent's alias?

- Werner Ziebold. - Werner...Ziebold.

How did you get a specimen of Ziebold's signature?

Special Dispatch gave it to me.

All right. Go on, please.

There's nothing to go on about. That was it.

The joint account was opened. Only two people could draw on it.

Within a week or two, no doubt, the mysterious Mr. Ziebold

went to the bank and drew his money.

I never knew when. I never knew why.

I never damn well cared. By that time I hated the lot of them.

Control, those damned old pussycats chewing their wine gums. I hated...

Come in.

Excuse me, Herr Peters, this came by special messenger.

Thank you.

They're looking for you in England.

They don't say anything. They just want you.

You're missing, and the police want information.

I shall have to make a telephone call.

Wait here.

We have to leave.

Holland is not safe for you anymore. We have to go at once.

The discussion will be continued later.

What do you mean, go? Go where?

East. Where else?

My passport lapses in 18 days.

|

Your passport is an embarrassment already.

You did it, didn't you?

Your people leaked it in London.

You want to get me out of Holland to some cozy workers' paradise

where you can keep me safe and warm. I don't want that.

Give me my money. I'll go now. Just give me my money!

You have not yet earned the money.

Besides, if you go now, you will be caught within 48 hours.

So precisely what do you propose to do about it?

- Yes? - Miss Perry?

My name is Smiley. I am a friend of Alec Leamas.

A close friend. We worked for the same firm in Berlin.

Here's my business card.

I assure you, I am quite respectable.

- You mean you want to come in? - Please, if it's not too late.

No.

Tired?

Aren't you?