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A lost night, doubtless like so many others...

in the midst of strangers who pretended to dance, to laugh...

whose shadows appeared to the step of an uncertain tango...

to vanish later, at once.

I was alone. I was waiting.

I knew not since when, nor for what.

I felt empty, translucent, out of place among these fake dancers.

I'd perhaps drunk too much.

The Organization no longer used me, as if it distrusted me.

I was useless.

I was waiting.

I'd like a tomato vodka, please.

Bloody Mary? Yes, sir.

Watching, thinking of nothing.

A pretty, laughing blonde girl...

who I'd never seen in this club where I often came.

The slightly drunk stranger was being provocative.

I said to myself, "Why not"...

thinking I had nothing to lose.

I have no name.

I'm sorry. I've lost it.

If I find it, I'll tell you.

I have a phone, but it's out of order.

You can't call me.

You'll only hear, "This number is not listed."

Well, I'll find you...

when I feel like it.

Perhaps tonight... perhaps never...

or perhaps yesterday.

Time doesn't exist for me.

What horrible thing are you drinking?

No, she wouldn't tell me her name...

nor would she give me her phone number.

No address, no first name, no surname.

She was having me on.

I was wasting my time. I was wasting my time.

It was then that Sara called.

Walter Naime?

Yes.

You're wanted on the phone.

Yes, boss.

Fine, boss.

Okay.

Okay, boss.

In exactly 15 minutes, usual meeting place.

The crossroads in the cemetery.

No, I'll leave now. I don't need to go home.

I never needed to go home...

nor anywhere since no one expected me anywhere.

I was free.

The main condition required of agents...

however subordinate, working for the Organization.

No ties, whatsoever and free to leave any time.

Yes, boss.

Bye, boss.

While I was on the phone, my partner had gone.

And I had no way of finding her.

Sara Zeitgeist was waiting to give me my orders.

I could not waver.

Hi, Walter.

Evening, boss.

You know Henri de Corinthe?

- The senator? - Yes.

The old majority.

Contact him as soon as possible.

You'll find an excuse, any excuse.

Right, boss.

Tonight if you can. It's a matter of hours.

Is someone in danger?

In a way, yes.

You'll give him this letter.

Be sure he opens it in front of you.

Must he give you a reply?

It would be better for him.

Good-bye. Good luck.

The night road, once again...

and the trees lit by the lights that seemed to absorb one irresistibly.

I put on Quartet No. 15.

Are you hurt?

Can you hear me?

Is something broken?

Can you understand?

If you can't speak, give me a sign with your eyes...

or your mouth.

I'll help you get up.

Can you walk?

I'll take you to a doctor.

What's this?

We'll remove it later.

You're safe now.

We'll get in my car.

A fairly long drive, that passed like a dream.

At last I saw the gates of a lighted house.

Wait a moment.

A fairly long drive, that passed like a dream.

At last I saw the gates of a lighted house.

Wait a moment.

I've an injured lady in my car. May I use your phone?

There, we're safe.

You can lie down until the doctor comes.

Gentlemen, good evening. Excuse me.

I need a phone to call a doctor.

This lady has been hurt.

Sir, do you understand?

A charming idea-

to have brought her here, hands chained and barefoot.

Interesting, don't you think?

Yes, not bad at all.

The most beautiful of captives offered here.

Yes, but what can she do?

Breaking in has its charm.

May I make a bid?

- Is she a regular? - No, she must be a new one.

One must honor first fruits.

How much does he want?

I think he's already found a buyer.

Let him state his price, and you'll do better, I'm sure.

Gentlemen, make way. Let me through!

What is she drinking?

I need a phone to call a doctor.

Well, I am a doctor.

Dr. Morgentodt.

Come, let's find a quieter place.

Wait here. I'll fetch my bag to examine her.

Try and find a pair of pliers to take this chain off her wrists.

Help me, Walter.

Come and help me.

Come closer.

The whole villa seemed ravaged...

as if a hurricane had struck it during the night...

or rather as if a tidal wave had swept between the porticos and columns...

leaving only scattered debris...

as it withdrew like the ocean on the Atlantic beaches.

I vaguely recalled motionless men in tuxedos...

who did not seem to understand me.

Three spoke in a language similar to mine...

but whose meaning I did not know.

Neither did I recognize the sound of my own voice.

In the park, the cataclysm had left little trace-

broken branches and fallen leaves from the storm...

that had sprung up after my arrival.

Nothing else had happened.

I had to face facts. In the night club, I'd mixed my drinks.

Sara's letter suddenly came to mind.

I had a vital mission, a message for the Count de Corinthe.

Well, I'd go now.

I couldn't have woken him during the night.

The Schubert Quartet cassette from last night was still in place.

"The Pretty Girl and Death" or "Young Captive"...

or something of the sort.

I suddenly saw her chained hands, her fair face with its mocking smile.

Had I also dreamed of limbs entwined like seaweed...

this burning body, this insatiable mouth...

carried away like all else by a great night tide?

I no longer knew where I was.

I was puzzled by the streets...

too wide or too narrow...

soon sandy...

in this neighborhood I'd often passed through.

I saw a Café. It, too, looked lost.

Morning, a strong coffee please.

KIDNAPPED ON EVE OF MARRIAGE

HENRI DE CORINTHE'S PRETTY FIANCÉE DISAPPEARS...

WITHOUT A TRACE.

FEARS FOR POLITICIAN'S HEALTH...

STRICKEN BY SORROW AND LONG ILLNESS.

THE IDENTITY OF THE YOUNG WOMAN...

WHO'D LIVED WITH HIM FOR SEVERAL MONTHS, REMAINS A MYSTERY.

Weird story, eh?

Must be a drug addict or a madman, or he's hiding something.

Couldn't tell the police the name of the girl he's living with...

and was to marry today.

Are you sick, sir?

Is anyone there?

Is anyone there?

Despite the sign "Villa Seconde" seen during the night...

I hardly recognized this strange house...

where I'd slept with de Corinthe's fiancée...

this beautiful stranger hunted by the police.

Useless to exhaust yourself pressing that button.

There's been no bell for a long time.

Maybe the gate doesn't even open.

How do you get in?

You don't.

In any case, not for centuries.

I've passed here twice a day for three years and never seen it open.

- But someone lives there? - Of course not!

Who'd want to?

It's absolutely empty.

The windows bang in the wind inside.

It's in ruins, so it seems.

If you want information, ask the neighbor.

But I warn you, he's rather odd.

Well, bye!

And good luck.

Ask the neighbor. But I warn you, he's rather odd.

Well, bye!

And good luck!

Forgive me. The house next door-

Yes. The house next door-

It doesn't exist, sir.

The house next door doesn't exist.

Excuse me. I wondered if you knew a way...

of entering the Villa Seconde which is next door-

They're mad. The people next door.

Mad!

Sometimes you hear them screaming all night.

Screams of hysterical women.

Or they fight.

They also play music.

They must dance, or something.

What sort of music?

Perhaps it's only the wind that you hear.

Or maybe stray dogs...

hundreds of stray dogs howling to death all night long.

Calm down. Calm down.

Who's there?

- Excuse me, the house next door- - What about it?

What are you doing? Who let you in?

The house next door has been empty for at least 10 years.

- If it's for a rental, see the agency. - What agency?

I don't know! I'm not in real estate.

You can see there are patients.

You had no right to come in!

Forgive my insistence, but was it not you last night-

At night, sir, I sleep.

But you're hurt?

Why didn't you say you needed help?

You can trust me. I am a doctor. Sit down.

It's nothing, just a little scratch.

The small amount of blood lost mustn't scare you.

Quick, I must do an examination.

A vast empty beach in the distance...

the sea, breaking in successive sizzling waves.

Quick, I must do an examination.

In the foreground, heavy red, half-drawn theater curtains.

Where from? What were they doing there?

I was worried, in a useless, exaggerated way...

by the memory of this image as by a dream...

which recurs when the eyelids close.

One feels it means something.

Something important. But one doesn't know what.

I recalled that Sara had told me to see de Corinthe at once...

as if someone's life was in danger.

I'd wasted enough time, de Corinthe was understanding of my own story.

Mr. Henri de Corinthe please.

Mr. de Corinthe is dead.

You're his cousin?

Heart attack!

The patient's general state of exhaustion contributed-

Doubtless you collect postcards?

Me, no, why?

You just took one belonging to the late Count de Corinthe.

Inspector Francis.

We're inquiring into the whereabouts of de Corinthe's so-called fiancée.

As his cousin, you can help us.

A misunderstanding. I'm not his cousin.

Exactly as I thought.

May I ask what you're doing here?

I came on business.

Quite natural, you were in business with the deceased.

Did you know his fiancée?

No, I saw her for the first time in the papers today.

Perfect.

By the way, the photo's a mistake.

It's not the vanished fiancée...

but a former friend who played a major role in the Count's life.

The confusion is due either to a resemblance between the two...

or to the patient's state last night.

A final question, and you're free.

May I see the object deforming your right-hand pocket?

I hope it isn't a revolver.

Don't worry. It's a woman's shoe.

You're a fetishist, like everyone.

Quite natural.

A friend asked me to take her shoe to the dry cleaners...

to have some stains removed.

Blood stains.

You see, these shoes were worn by the lady we're looking for.

It's not enough to accuse you of kidnapping.

You'd not walk about with such a compromising object.

You just picked it up in some corridor.

You're a private eye carrying out your own inquiry.

It's all most normal.

I must, however, confiscate your find.

In compensation, this is for your collection.

Mr. de Corinthe had a whole pile.

Billowing waves at rising tide.

Shoe on the sand... painter's easel...

red curtains, urgent message... for a corpse.

Sand, shoe and blood.

"My dear Count, does this make you recall anything? Sara Zeitgeist."

Symbolic exchange.

Curtains... from a theater.

What could I do with your letter? I couldn't give it to de Corinthe.

So I came to receive orders.

Why take the postcard on his desk?

Why show me this silly picture?

What has it to do with your mission?

Is it a possible lead?

It brings back a memory, or what?

No, nothing. I don't know.

I brought it, as the Inspector had many copies.

It seemed strange, and I thought you might know why.

But I took the postcard without thinking...

for no real reason... for no reason.

Be careful, Walter. You're hiding something.

No. Hiding what? And from whom?

It's true. I don't feel at ease since last night...

as if I'd been drugged in that club.

I don't know what I'm doing. It might be better if you-

Now what's happening?

Here I am.

Here I am, Walter.

What do you want of me? How did you get in here?

What a way to welcome me on my return from such a long journey.

You seem afraid.

Afraid of me, your fiancée.

You said you wanted so much to see me again.

Here I am.

Don't you know me?

Do you no longer see the eyes... the arms...

and the mouth you so desired?

Don't you feel how I'm burning?

Devil in a wedding gown...

for what ancient crime are you pursuing me?

What is it? Are you mad?

Why bolt the door? I couldn't open it!

The door wasn't- I hadn't-

You're bleeding.

Are you hurt?

I must have scratched myself... fighting.

Fighting? Against whom? You were alone.

What did you see?

You seem afraid.

Like a child pursued by a nightmare.

No, I saw nothing special.

I only felt... I was choking, as if something was grasping my throat.

Is it frequent?

No. Sometimes, since last night.

See a doctor.

No! No doctors! No!

Calm down.

To see a doctor is quite normal.

What is it, choking fits?

Yes, something like that.

A sharp pain in the neck as if I was being strangled.

Then I fall, I'm drowning.

But don't worry, boss, it'll go.

I must go to the Matchu Club.

What for? I don't want anything.

Now de Corinthe is dead...

your mission is ended-

Ended by default.

Our plan failed.

I must go back.

There is still one thing I must know.

- What? - I'm not sure. But I must go there.

Could you do me a small favor, man to man?

I danced here last night with a pretty blond girl...

wearing a very transparent black dress.

She laughed a lot.

I must find her. Do you know her?

Was she a regular?

There were a lot of people last night.

I had other things to do than see who was with who or who wasn't.

I didn't see any girl...

particularly blonde or transparent dancing with you...

or with anyone.

Here is her photo in today's paper.

It's to do with some silly story.

Her. I know her. She often came here.

But she couldn't have been here last night.

Why?

It must be six or seven years since she died in an accident.

She's the daughter of Professor Van de Reeves, a crazy old man.

The old man experiments in spiritualism.

An accident?

Rather weird.

Killed by an underwater fishing harpoon on a deserted beach.

Her body was never found.

She was with Count de Corinthe on a honeymoon or something.

Gossip says the investigation was fixed.

Strange you never heard that story.

Yes, it vaguely rings a bell.

Well, the lady last night so resembled her, it was confounding.

There were a lot of people.

It was found by the cleaner.

A client must have hopped home!

I'd like to keep it as a souvenir.

One of your colleagues asked the same thing.

Your investigation seems to be advancing rapidly.

Now we have three shoes of the same pair.

Doubtless, we'll find more.

In my opinion...

someone wanting to confuse us is putting them in our way.

You are, dear collector...

directly involved in their discovery.

From there to participating in their discovery...

Contrary to what I said this morning...

you've turned out to be our main suspect.

And how is Sara Zeitgeist?

You know Sara?

Naturally. The paths of parallel organizations constantly connect.

You are also in close contact with Dr. Morgentodt.

Strange man.

Perhaps we'll arrest him too, just in case.

Now you seem to be interested in Professor Van de Reeves.

With his moving tables, he may well reveal the secret of all this.

To avoid useless searching...

I've written down his address.

So, without daring to say it to me frankly,

you think you danced with my daughter, Marie-Ange, last night.

Personally, I'm not surprised.

Last week I was at the cinema...

and in the intermission, I saw I was sitting next to Marcel Proust.

You look pale.

Several people have met Marie-Ange since her death.

She changes little, it seems.

Proust had not changed, despite his illness.

That evening, he was with an elderly lady, my grandmother...

who sadly, drowned in 1927.

You see, my dear sir...

most of the people you see in the street are dead...

which explains the crowd everywhere.

So as not to cause a scandal...

they dress like you and me, more or less.

Are you sick?

No, it's nothing. Just an empty stomach.

Empty stomach, head too full!

You'd better eat here, before leaving.

You could sleep here.

I've a spare room nearby... waiting for you.

Otherwise you may lose your way at night in this damned suburb...

badly lit and lacking signposts.

That's true. I'm exhausted.

I'll accept your offer with relief.

The door at the end.

With relief or with apprehension or with hope...

On your right.

Or with the worst of anguish.

Good night.

Or with suddenly recovered calm.

Is it you, Walter?

Is it you, Walter, come to spend a night in my house?

You're so far away.

Walter, so far away.

Come closer.

Where is he?

The last scene...

with the soldiers on that empty beach.

There's a noise, interference, like a roaring engine...

disturbing the results.

Finally. I thought you'd be here.

Yes. I wasn't sure. You told me-

Would I be here if we were to meet elsewhere?

Of course.

Unless another power is controlling us...

manipulating us.

What's all this?

I feel...

I'm going through the same places as if in a bad dream...

or along a road.

You're mad, my poor Walter.

I don't know whether you worry or exasperate me.

Where did you spend the night?

I called you everywhere.

I slept at a madman's. But nothing interesting happened.

That's all I know.

Forget about it.

I can't.

Why show the Count de Corinthe a photo of a bloody shoe?

To refresh his memory.

A political enemy thinks, six or seven years ago...

he murdered the mistress he introduced as his fiancée.

He then disguised his crime as an accident.

It happened on an empty beach in the South Atlantic...

on the coast of Uruguay.

Now he's dead too, it doesn't matter much.

One never knows what matters or not.

You should rest.

That's right. I'm going to sleep.

Always punctual!

Your mission is ended. Ended by default.

What a nightmare!

You led the firing squad that was to shoot me.

It was on the beach, once again, at rising tide.

Always the same beach with fine sand...

and the waves breaking regularly...

one after the other.

You were parading in black leather on a huge motorbike.

I must have heard street noises in my dream.

There was a mad doctor.

Trying out parapsychological experiments on me...

or trying to find secret ways to reach the beyond.

I don't know, that sort of nonsense.

I also recall...

vaguely-

I don't know.

I don't remember.

Are you tired?

No, in great shape!

Well, I did sleep rather badly.

On the beach, large red curtains, half-drawn.

It could have been a stage.

You screamed.

It frightened me.

You screamed for a while, like a child pursued by a nightmare.

That's funny.

In my dream, I tried to shout, but no sound came.

Invisible hands grasped my throat.

Now I imagine... that I too was dreaming.

Your long shout was in my dream.

I think it was.

But you never dream.

There's no such thing as people who don't dream.

Sure you're all right?

Want me to get up?

No, what for?

I'll have a coffee downstairs.

- I'll call you later. - Fine, as you like.

You have a tough day. When do the movers come?

They said at 9:30.

If you need me, call me.

The angel of death-

No one knows in advance what face he will have.

When he first appears, no one can recognize him.

It may be a gentle and tender face.

When one discovers what it hides, it is already too late.