Original subtitles

You're all right.

Oh, God.

Sorry.

For what? A nightmare?

THE nightmare.

- What time is it? - Half past six.

Relax. Go back to sleep.

There's no point.

It's Sunday.

I'm wide awake now.

Coffee, Tom.

Tom!

- Sorry. - Where were you?

Whales.

With an H. Remember Moby Dick?

Could I ever forget?

Well, Melville write about whiteness.

The absence of colour.

- The terror of whiteness. - And?

The dream. Everything is white.

Why should I have a recurring dream in which everything is white?

Your drab, colourless existence.

Have you ever thought about recurring dreams?

I mean, do they really recur, or do we just dream they recur?

Mirrors reflecting other mirrors?

Something like that.

What happens in the dream?

Nothing, I just have the...

...feeling of being powerless against something that terrifies me.

Like what?

Unnatural creatures.

A strange perspective

You've been working too hard.

Maybe, but this follow-up series is going to be hard graft compared to the first one.

- Speaking of which... - All right.

All right.

Why do you do it?

In the hope that one Sunday you won't miss them all and actually have a full-length conversation with me.

After eight years you want me to change?

Why are you still using this ghastly photograph of you?

I rather like it. It makes me look... well, interesting.

- It makes you look old. - Thank you.

Is something wrong?

I think I need my eyes tested.

- Congratulation, dear boy. - Thank you.

Full of inaccurancies and egotistical presumptions,

but then, you didn't have the benefit of my guidance.

- I've remedied that now. - I do hate to be a sequel.

However, on this occassion, it should prove superior to the original

- for small remuneration. - We did agree to L50.

And, of course, you pay the libations.

- Same again? - Only bigger.

I'm suprised that readers should still want to read about witchcraft. It's so pass�.

- You're not saying it doesn't go on? - Oh, it goes on all right.

A few so called witches' covens in Chelsea backstreets.

Bare bums and phoney rituals.

And the odd belted earl using it as a bit of an excuse for slap and tickle.

And then one or two of those strange punk persions

playing at being Beelzebub and puffing hashish.

Very bad for the constitution.

And, then, of course, there's that young fellow who bands spoons.

But much claiming phenomenal psychic power,

when one's only achievement is to mutilate cutlery.

Professor Taylor would disagree with you.

Parlour games, dear boy, using minor elementals, that's all.

In my day, certain people could devastate room,

wreck an entire house.

Look at Aleister Crowley.

He tried to raise the great god Pan.

Inclined to think he succeeded.

He was never quite the same afterwards.

Well, I'm not interested in magic this time.

It's mind power I'm concentrating on.

The ability to will things happen.

To controll events by thought transference.

My dear Crane,

to make things happen,

great mysterious things,

you need great mysterious people.

Apart from myself,

and possibly one other,

there's no-one left.

Which is we are talking now.

Who is the one other?

I want to know, Oliphant.

Otherwise there's no point in our meeting and no 50 quid.

And no more lubrication.

Oh, very well.

There's Drexel.

- Is there? Still? - You asked me. I told you.

The man that Crowley wouldn't meet. Just in case.

What became of me?

After this little misadventure in Cornwall...

- A woman died! - Well, it's happened before.

A matter of overenthusiastic ritual.

Do you know where is he now?

Somewhere in the north.

Where?

In some foreign pagan city.

Don't mess me around.

Edinburgh.

Not anymore.

I've checked it out. No sign of him.

What you mean is, no sign of Edward Drexel.

Which he has to changed to?

Dexter.

Common, I grant you,

but not too many antiquarian booksellers at that name perhaps.

Thank you.

You are looking a trifle weary, dear boy.

Not sleeping well?

Julia...

Julia.

Oh, God,

are you off already?

Early start, remember?

You'll need a good breakfast.

I've had it.

Who are you phoning?

Michael

Oh, do me a favour. I forgot to get my rods out.

Oh, so that's what it is.

An excuse to go fishing.

Well, I'll need someone to keep me amused.

Seeing you are not interested.

Give Michael my love.

Tell him he was right. I should have waited for him to grow up.

Wakey, wakey.

- Ah, Tom. - How are you?

Oh, I'm fine. How about you?

We're fine. Julia sends her love.

Ooh, I've been basking in reflected glory.

Your articles are quite a talking point.

What do think of them?

You don't expect me to actually read them? All that occult rubbish.

Thank you for your support.

Listen, I'm coming up to Edinburgh for a couple of days.

First, can you put me up? And second, how about some fishing at the weekenad?

We could go up to Perth. Have a couple of days...

Er... sorry, Tom, but I was just leaving.

- Where are you going? - Wester Ross.

I'd thought I'd get a bit of walking in, blow the cobwebs away.

- What about your work? - Don't worry

My thesis is going to shatter the academic circles of Edinburgh with its brilliance.

- Confident, aren't you? - You could have the flat.

I'll leave the key with the woman downstairs.

There's someone at the door. It's probably my lift to the station.

OK, have a good time. I'm sorry I won't be seeing you.

Treat the flat as your own. Have orgies every night.

And give Julia my love and sympathy.

Look, I have to go. I'll see next time. Bye.

Ready?

Coffe.

You know how I hate that rubbish in the motorway caffs.

- Thanks. - Everything all right with Michael?

Eh? Oh, yeah, I think so.

I won't be seeing him though.

He's off on a walking holiday up north.

That sounds disgustingly healthy for him.

He sends his love.

Look, while you're up there,

why don't you look Anne Reynolds up?

Is she in Edinburgh?

Research fellowship. You can ring her at the university.

Or, here is her home number.

Yes, all right.

- Promise? - Yes, if I've got time.

You're right.

Michael hates walking.

Good afternoon.

I wonder if it would be possible to see Mr Dexter.

Ask the gentleman to wait, Morag. I shan't be a moment.

Ghastly, isn't it?

Never liked Landseer, but it's what my American costumers expect.

Edward Dexter.

Sorry, am I disturbing...

Our cocoa? Hardly, no. Keeps the chill out, you know.

More effective than spirits.

Well, how can I help you, sir?

Well, I'm afraid I didn't come to buy books, Mr Drexel.

I didn't think you did, Mr Crane.

Photograph in the newspaper. Quite a fair likeness.

I'm planning to write more articles, and as you have quite a reputation...

for clairvoyance.

That's all I'm interested in this time.

And I will not, of course, reveal your whereabouts.

How did you find me?

Alfred Oliphant.

You must have offered him money.

He thought you might be of help of me.

I? Oh, no.

No, that's all in the past, all my experiences.

Now I simply sell books.

Oliphant praised your psychic abilities very highly.

He believes you're quite unique.

I was talented in certain esoteric fields of which there is documentary proof.

I'd rather see for myself.

But you do, don't you?

- I'm sorry? - You have your own abilities.

As a journalist.

You're very quick to deny yourself, Mr Crane.

I wonder why.

Well, what do you want of me? Table tappings?

Ectoplasmic manifestations?

- Your own private little black mass? - I'm not interested in sensationalism.

But you want to be impressed, don't you? What was it Jean Cocteau said to the young artist?

"Astonish me!" That's what you want, is it?

If you can, I promise I shall be suitably astonished.

Why should I bother with demonstrations or explanations?

For money?

Or the hell of it.

That interest me more.

But just this moment, without due thought,

it's not quite so simple.

Well, I shall be in Edinburgh for a couple of days.

Did you have any particular demonstration in mind?

Anything involving clairvoyance.

I heard on the radio about a woman disappearing hereabouts.

- How about doing a Hurkos? - Why do you mention that.

It was fresh in my mind. Of course, if that's outside your capabilities...

Nothing is outside my capabilities, Mr Crane.

But I have no interest in locating bodies,

however unusual the circumstances of their disappearance.

Bodies?

A mere figure of speach. I take it she is still on this earth plane.

But you don't need me to find her.

You're perfectly capable of doing that yourself.

However,

if you insist on some sort of demonstration,

I shall need time to consider.

How long?

Come tomorrow evening, eight o'clock.

No cameras, no recorders.

Thanks, Anne.

I'm a practical man, Mr Crane.

I've enjoyed your articles, but come on now,

you don't really believe in that occult mumbo jumbo.

It's not really about what I believe, Mr Gilchrist.

It's about what awful lot of people believe and a lot more want to believe.

I deal in figures. Debits and credits. There's your reality.

Harry saved me from a fate worse than death at the hands of the Inland Revenue

when I first came to Edinburgh.

Their computer went mad with desire when it reached Anne's name.

It shot out demands for impossible sums.

We got it put right.

Excuse me.

Between you and me,

I keep telling Anne it would be just as easy to make out a tax form for two as for one.

But she keeps turning me down.

I think she is very wise.

- Financially speaking. - Ah.

- Hello Harry. - Roy.

Roy Martindale.

- Tom Crane. - Hello. - How do you do?

You surprise me, Roy, you really do.

A practical medical man believing in black magic, witches on broomsticks...

A lot of what Tom has put into his articles is easily credible.

It all depends on your viewpoint.

And you, being a psychiatrist with your own line of mumbo jumbo...

You just apply psychiatry to everything Tom's come across

and you'll find most of it scientifically explainable.

I can't quite let you get away with that.

You may be ably to explain away some of the more bizarre manifestations...

Exactly. We even have names for them.

Schizophrenia. Psychosis. Hallucinatory states.

There you are. What did you say?

Yes, but can you explain away telepathy, clairvoyance, telekinesis?

No, I can't. Not as yet. But I believe, in time, science will.

Research done in that field has yielded fascinating results.

You've only got to look at the work of Ullman and Krippner.

Roy, you're not to lecture my guests.

No, Anne, I'm interested. Please.

There, you see. You know you'll conform what I'm going to say.

I'll wait and hear what it is first. We have been known to disagree.

All right, I stand alone.

You probably know the human brain is in two hemispheres, the left and the right.

The left controls language, logic, conscious thoughts in general.

The right is where creativity, aesthetics have their source.

And the left has the upper hand?

Yeah. What happens when it loses the upper hand?

When you sleep,

under stress conditions or hypnosis,

the left loses its control of the right.

Result, visual, even auditory hallucinations.

And somewhere there are your explanations of telepathy, clairvoyance, what have you?

Yes. With varying degrees of susceptibility or acceptability in different people.

Of course. No two minds are alike.

True sensitivities often deny themselves.

Perhaps through fear.

They shouldn't.

There is nothing to fear.

Well, it's a fascinating subject, but I must go to my bed.

Anne, will you excuse me?

Was it something we said?

It's been a long day. I'm tired. Perhaps another time.

How are you fixed tomorrow? Come to dinner.

- I'm sorry, I've got another appointment. - Somebody interesting?

Yes, very. A man called Drexel. He used to be quite famous.

- Never heard of him. - Infamous, I would say.

Do tell.

He had quite a reputation in the late '40s, an exponent of the occult.

The same.

He used his so-called abilities to impress young people, mostly women.

- A phoney? - Almost certainly.

I don't think so.

Why do you say that?

I don't know.

He must have impressed you.

Not especially. Not yet anyway.

Where is he now?

I'm afraid I promised not to reveal his whereabouts.

Don't leave Anne and me in the dark.

To some people, Drexel was rather lucky.

I won't go into lurid details.

Why not?

On two-three occasions,

people involved in Drexel in some way or another, come to sticky ends.

How sticky?

Their deaths were seemingly self-inflicted or accidental...

Drexel has watertight alibis each time.

So, what are you on about, Roy?

One of them was an old friend of mine.

John Lawson.

He was about to expose Drexel, when his "accident" happened.

Oh, excuse me.

I think old Roy is bored you with his horror stories.

On the contrary, I find them fascinating, but I must get to my bed.

Good night, Harry. Good night, Roy. I hope we meet again.

I shall look forward to it.

Of course, all the local boys were onto it first. Because it was a good story.

A bit of a mystery. Cheers.

Cheers.

But there was no evidence of foul play, no developments, so they lost interest.

Just another missing persion.

Right.

Tell me about the mystery.

Here's a widow, 46, quite attractive.

Plenty of friends.

A couple of Sundays ago, her next-door neighbour looks in,

Would she like her Sunday newspapers picked up at the news agents?

Thank you, says she. 20 minutes later, the neighbour's back and Mrs Christie's gone.

No clues at all?

Nothing. It couldn't have been premeditated. She left the front door open.

A frying pan with bacon and eggs sizzling away on the stove.

A touch of the Marie Celeste's.

Only this wasn't in the middle of the ocean.

A residential area at a time of the morning where they're out cleaning ther cars,

yet no-one saw sight nor sign of her.

Did the neighbour search the house?

Top to bottom.

He took his car and cruised around the streets for an hour before he reported her missing.

Hundreds of people take off like that every year.

O, aye. Which is why we dropped it after a few days.

But here you are.

After you rang, I got this together for you.

It tells the whole story.

And that's the best photograph.

There's some copy here we didn't use. More detailed background stuff.

- I'm grateful, Alistair. - Oh, welcome.

As long as you let us have anything new you might dig up.

You'll be the second to know. Promise.

You've decided not to astonish me, then?

I'm afraid so.

Why the change of mind?

Because in both of our interests, it would not be a good thing.

Of course, I could make something of that.

Edward Drexel today refuses or is unable to give

any demonstration of the psychic ability he has long claimed to possess.

I don't have to prove anything, Mr Crane.

My record speak for itself.

His gift would appear to be simply a confidence trick,

practiced on gullible men and women.

In addition to his false reputation,

Drexel seems to have been something of a Jonah to people who became involved with him.

This missing woman,

was she another of your unfortunate acquaintances?

Is that why you referred her "body"?

Perhaps, like John Lawson, she was about to make trouble for you.

Nobody makes trouble for me, Mr Crane,

not if they've any sense.

Are you threatening me?

I'm merely suggesting you to leave well alone.

Don't meddle in things which don't concern you and which you don't know enough about.

And if I persist?

Then I should have to stop you.

It'd be interesting to know how.

You want me to show you?

You want me to put fear into you?

I can do that.

Do I sit down and wait or will it happen elsewhere?

You will find out. Very soon.

I'm interested.

One minor demonstration,

one small salutary warning,

and I think you will leave Edinburgh.

Because if you don't,

there will be another demonstration

and I assure you

you will not ignore that.

It seems the appropriate time for me to leave then.

Good night, Drexel.

Go quickly, Crane.

Don't loiter.

You won't like it if you do.

- 3-5-3-8 - Tom, it's me.

Oh, hello, love.

I've found someone to look after Fred for a couple of days

while I take on a red-blooded man.

You mean you're coming up?

- Not a good idea? - Well, I don't know.

Well, you did ask me.

Yes, but that was before...

I mean, I'm going to be pretty tied up.

I won't be any trouble.

Look, I want to see Anne anyway.

I'll keep out of your way, I promise.

But it would be nice if you could meet me at the station.

I'll be on the two o'clock.

I'll do better than that. I'll see you tomorrow.

Bye, my love.

"Fellgate"?

A district in Edinburgh?

No, not a district. A street.

In the old town.

And er... Cochrane?

Doesn't mean anything. Common enough name.

Why the omega symbol?

The end?

A billboard or a...

pub sign or something with a giant eye on it. Does that mean anything?

Sorry, no.

Tom, I delighted to see you.

Even at 8:30 in the morning.

But what's this about?

I wish I knew.

There's something Drexel said about the missing woman.

He said I didn't need him to find her.

I could do myself.

I thought at the time he meant straightforward investigation.

Now I'm not sure.

A giant eye, stairs,

street,

a door.

I saw them.

And the names, in Michael's room last night,

looking at a newspaper photograph of the woman... Margaret Christie.

That's why I came round here this morning.

You know Edinburgh. Just wondered if they meant anything.

Fellgate, yes, the others, no.

But you could have passed a street sign for Fellgate...

I saw it once, Anne. Once only. In Michael's room last night.

All right.

You saw it and the other things in the mind's eye.

And you connected them with the disappearence of a woman you've never known?

Yes, I do.

Right, then.

We'll go to Fellgate.

- Well, you don't have to. - Oh yes, I do.

You've stirred my curiosity.

Anyway, it's easier to take you than describe how to get there.

Seems vaguely familiar.

And yet I'm sure I've never been here before.

No Cochrane.

And no eye.

Tom! Come over here.

There it is.

Well, we got Fellgate.. and the eye.

But no Cochrane.

Only Menzies.

They weren't together.

Tom, what are you doing?

I don't understand this.

I swear I've never been in this building in my life before.

But I know exactly where we've got to go.

She's here.

Behind the door, I know it.

It's locked.

From the inside. The key is still in the door.

Hello.

Now, tell me what's been happening.

You did get off that train, didn't you?

Yes, I course I did.

What makes you think I didn't?

Earlier today, a friend of Anne's called Martindale passed me in his car

and I could sworn you were with him.

Someone like me, darling.

Which shows his good taste.

Either that or you're seeing things.

That's been happening, too

What do you mean?

I'll tell you later.

- First things first. - Mmm, food.

All arranged. Table's booked for 8:30

8:30? I'm starving.

Well, by the time we got to Penicuik...

Oh, Tom, you haven't.

- Where else? - You old romantic.

So, I went back to Drexel's place.

Empty.

Cleaned out. Packed up and gone.

Why?

He didn't want me to find the woman's body?

But it's as if he knew I would.

He was afraid of me.

You don't seem surprised by any of this.

Should I be?

At my sudden psychic talent, yes.

- When have I ever demonstrated any ability... - Those nightmares.

Damn it, those were simply nightmares.

Everybody has nightmares.

Eat a piece of green cheese, dream of giant mice.

Every night when the moon is full, turn into a werewolf, I know.

Tom, you believe that Drexel was somehow responsible

for making those people kill themselves?

Martindale seemed to, because they got in Drexel's way.

Of course, they don't know about Mrs Christie.

But you have thought it could apply to you, couldn't?

You seem to have landed in his way.

Only that I'm not that impressionable.

At least that's what I used to think.

Do you want me drive for a bit?

It's OK.

Man that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery.

He cometh up and is cut down like a flower.

May the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God,

and the fellowship of the Holy Ghost,

be with us all ever more

Amen.

When are you coming back to Edinburgh?

Sometime.

The sooner you get back to work...

I'll need something.

There's this awfull...

...gap now.

Emptiness.

Christ, what a waste.

- It's no use of blaming yourself. - Why not? It was my fault. She'd be here now.

Stop it. You're just feeling sorry for yourself.

Tom.

Come back to Edinburgh today.

With me.

Michael will be back soon.

Oh, God, how am I going to tell him?

No, I...

First, I've got to get away for a while.

Right away. Another country.

Then?

Then Edinburgh.

I'll come back and look for Drexel

Ah, Mr Crane.

My name is Scott-Erskine.

May I come in?

- I'm afraid I'm leaving shortly. - I shan't keep you long.

Look, you are you?

I did introduce myself. Andrew Scott-Erskine.

My I express my condolences on the death of your wife.

Thank you.

Inadequate, isn't it? The things one says.

No matter how sincere, no meaning really.

I knew Julia very well.

She never mentioned you.

She worked for me, Mr Crane.

At Algon Computers.

She did work there, yes.

Other times she worked for me.

I think you'd better tell me who you are.

"Department 7"?

Experimental unit.

Goverment euphemism.

Ah, my favourite malt.

May I?

- Help yourself. - Thank you.

We find your articles on the occult most entertaining.

But the next series of articles should prove of far greater interest and import.

How do you know?

Following up the work of Russians and Americans

are doing in investigation of the paranormal, ESP, psychokinesis, clairvoyancy and so on.

Actually, we were first in the field some years ago.

That is what Deparment 7 is.

We experiment and investigate such phenomena.

And now I'm involved, because I propose to write about it.

You are involved, because you also possess certain abilities.

You are a comparatively rare creature, Mr Crane.

A genuine psychic.

A good sensitive.

If I'm, it's something I've developed recently...

I don't think so. Neither does Roy Martindale incidentally.

Oh, yes, he works for the department also.

In fact, he heads our Edinburgh team.

Of which your friend, Dr Anne Reynolds is a member.

Anne?

Yes. We've known of your abilities for some time, Mr Crane.

How the hell could you have known?

There is a part of your early childhood which your memory has rejected.

So, how do you know about it?

Your mother confided Julia.

She never told me.

I did say "confided".

But she told you?

For the best of reasons.

What did my mother tell her?

Oh, about poltergeist phenomena.

Psychkinetic ability at the age of eight.

Predictions of events which subsequently occured.

I don't believe it!

It was natural that as you grew up, you would reject such memories.

Very frighting for a small boy.

We felt we had to see if they could be revived. We convinced your wife...

- But... - She was concerned.

But it was for your own good

No man is whole until he understands himself.

Let me pour you a drink. Do you good.

The dreams you were having...

Julia told you.

Our test operation.

Your brother in Edinburgh in that white room. Voluntarily.

Alpha wave pulses, monitores, controlled.

He was able to communicate the target images to you asleep in London.

A confirmative of how receptive you are.

You've really been playing games, haven't you? What right have you to try...

The right of goverment to utilise every asset it has for the protection of the nation.

You've become a national asset, Mr Crane.

You'll be giving me Land of Hope and Glory next.

Not quite.

Forget the patriotic rationale, then.

Think of the exploration of vast areas of unknown territory.

The omega factor in life, if you will.

The ultimate potential of the human mind.

Mysteries of the undiscovered country.

Adventure stories now.

We are able in Department 7 to provide

every scientific method of exploring those territories.

We have physicists, biophysicists,

chemists, psychoanalysts,

every kind of experts.

And we need you in Edinburgh.

That is why I have come personally to persuade you to return there.

And this arrangement reciprocal?

Can I use the information in my articles?

Sorry, this work comes under the Official Secrets Act.

And suppose I told you to go to hell?

We would... persuade you.

We wish you to join our unit in Edinburgh

and work with Dr Martindale and his colleagues.

Events, occurences of a certain nature that...

Was Drexel one of these colleagues?

Good Lord, no.

Drexel is a kind of rogue elephant.

Oh, he has power, we're aware of that.

Power we know too little of.

He's a dangerous man.

He recognised your ability,

he saw you as a threat to himself, so...

So?

He decided to remove that threat.

You're telling me,

Drexel was responsible for my car crashing?

How?

That is the kind of thing we want to find out.

All I want is Drexel.

So,

it would make sense for us to join forces.

Yes?