Original subtitles

Albert Campion, born May 20th, 1900.

Name known to be a pseudonym. Education privileged. Embarked on adventurous career 1929.

Justice neatly executed. Nothing

sordid. Deserving cases preferred.

Police no object.

Address - 17, Bottle Street, Piccadilly, London W1.

Specialist in fairy stories.

I'll have to ask you to move on. The Inspector's due any minute.

If you'll...accept this, you'll have visible means of support

and I shan't arrest you. Thank you, Baker. This is very kind of you.

That's all right, sir. You once gave me £5 on Boat Race night. Did I really?

..The Inspector.

(Where the devil can I go?)

Ebury Square. Off Southampton Row. He never goes there.

# If I had a talking picture

of you-ou...

# I would run it

every time I felt blue.

# I would sit there in the gloom

of my lonely little room

# And applaud each time

you whispered "I love you". #

Excuse me! You dropped something.

Everything's off except sausage and mash. There was stew but I'm having that meself.

Is this Hemp's, 32A, Wembley Road? Might be.

This envelope has my name on one side and this address on the other.

I see. You're claiming to be... "Percival...

"St John...

"Wykes...Gy-rth."? Gyrth. I'm not claiming, I AM.

You take...the long road. I-I don't quite follow you. Can you prove it? Prove what?

Prove it's your proper handle. If you'll take my tailor's word for it, my name's on the tab here.

Bit big. I've lost weight recently. Pleased to meet you. My name's Lugg.

I've got another letter for you.

Sit down. I'll get some supper.

Do you have any use for sauce? Have you heard of an Albert Campion who lives at 17, Bottle Street?

Sounds familiar. Can't say as I place him.

Do you, er...recommend the sauce? It's handy for blocking the taste.

You'll be able to take a taxi when you go. When I go where?

Bottle Street. He'll be expecting yer.

Taxi!

Where to, guv? Bottle Street. Off Piccadilly.

SCREE-EECH !!

Bottle Street, off Piccadilly!

You're going the wrong way!

And you're driving too fast! Shut up!

KNOCKS ON DOOR

Mr Gyrth? Yes. I hope you didn't have too much trouble getting here.

Do come through.

This is going to sound frightfully rude but who ARE you?

Albert Campion. Born May 20th, 1900.

Justice neatly executed. Nothing

sordid. Deserving cases preferred.

Police no object.

Address...here. Specialist in fairy stories. Shall I tell you a fairy story?

I'm living THROUGH a fairy story! I'm given an envelope directing me to Hemp's Cafe in Clerkenwell.

There, I get a letter directing me HERE, then in the taxi I was nearly shanghaied!

My mistake. My apologies. Is the balloon part of the plot?

I'd just come in from a gala when Lugg phoned to say you were coming. The balloon is a green herring.

Now, before we start, you should go to the blood and gore department.

This way, next to soft furnishings.

Do you take the long road, Mr Gyrth? The man at Hemp's said that. I don't know what it means.

It's a kind of test. You passed with first-class honours.

There! I think you'll be cured, or your money back. Thank you.

I told you about myself, now let me tell you about you.

Full name - Percival St John Wykes Gyrth. Usually known as Val.

Only son of Colonel St John Gyrth,

Baronet, of The Tower, Sanctuary,

Suffolk. Correct?

Totally. I don't suppose "Society Illustrated" is seen much on the Embankment?

"The Sporting Life" is a luxury.

..Aunt Di.

The Chalice! The first photograph of it.

Are you working for my father? No.

This is sacrilege! Now for the fairy story.

About 50 years ago, there were six wealthy men

who were lovers of objets d'art. As they were so rich, they could buy almost anything they wanted...

ALMOST anything. Some things they couldn't buy.

If they wanted such things, they had to be stolen. Stolen?

Now, wealthy men don't do their own stealing... Wealthy men don't do their own anything.

They hired the best thief to do it for them. Let's call him George.

George was paid handsomely and took the consequences for any mistakes. What has this to do with me?

I have spent two weeks finding you because, unless YOU do something,

the Gyrth Chalice will be in

the collection of an illustrious

potentate within weeks. You're mad.

Who tried to kidnap you in the taxi? Why are there two men watching my door?

Why don't they just march in and grab me? You leave your door open.

I live next to a police station.

I have an agreed policy with them. We oppose any breaking of the law.

This isn't amusing. I'm never more serious than when I am joking.

If the Chalice is lost, all our family possessions are forfeit to the Crown. I know.

By warning you, I am opposing a VERY powerful organisation. I am endangering my life.

Those chaps would KILL you? They'd kill anyone. They're working for George? Yes.

But he isn't George. Do you know who he is? No.

I thought you knew everything, Mr Campion (!)

I know the rules by which they work.

George is appointed as an agent in charge of the operation.

He is an expert with knowledge of the job in hand. If George ends up imprisoned or deceased,

that is regarded as the end of the matter. They look out for another family album.

We have to kill George? We have to dispose of George.

But how do we start?

First catch your George. And where?

You have to go home to Suffolk. Mr Gyrth. Home...

You are estranged from your father? Yes. Cut off without a thing.

I'm completely useless on my own. I couldn't even get a job.

Heir to a fortune, and begging.

That's why I asked about the long road. Why?

It's a password among George's friends. If I'd replied correctly,

it would have meant I'd been chosen by George to steal the Chalice?

You could have been appointed as George yourself... But you're not.

And tomorrow we'll smuggle you out

and we'll take the turnpike

to Suffolk!

'We'll find George and the wicked weasels from the wild wood

'and we'll whack 'em and whack 'em and whack 'em!'

Last time I come this way was in a police van.

I got 3 months hard. The joke was on the beak, though. I was the wrong man.

Very clever - fooling the judge. That alibi was worth something!

We're going to a house with REAL servants, so behave. I can handle them. Up to grievous bodily harm.

I got discretion, me...

..in both fists. You should get on well with the butler.

He had a wild youth, I believe. What's his moniker?

..Does he have a name, this butler?

He's called Branch.

First name Roger? Little thin bloke?

Talks with a provincial accent?

That's right. Do you know him?

The Prince of Parkhurst, we used to call him. You ARE a fantastic pair.

We can take our place in any company. We can supply testimonials. We wrote 'em!

Do you anticipate any difficulties with your father? I don't think so.

I could have come back earlier if I'd been sensible. You see...

If it's anything to do with

a woman, you can tell him. He's been

disappointed several times.

Go away, Lugg. I'll be in the pub. You have your Motorist's Lunch.

Seven and a kick - it's a liberty!

He was one of the most promising burglars around, but he can't make the weight any more... Heigh ho!

Tell me about the woman in the photograph.

Your aunt. Aunt Diana. Lady Pethwick is my father's sister.

Since my mother died, she's tended

to boss the show a bit.

Is she...batty?

Not certifiably. A keen amateur.

Wears funny clothes and communes with the stars at night.

And if George were to approach her? She'd scream. She'd kill anyone who tried to steal the Chalice.

Good.

Everything all right, sir? Memorable. Quite memorable.

Now, tell me about the row with your father.

Was it a woman? Yes. I fell

in love with a girl at Cambridge...

I THOUGHT I did. I wanted to marry her. Father didn't approve and said he'd stop my allowance.

"Go ahead, then!" I said.

And he did? Yes. And the girl found another? More or less.

How did you know? A blind, totally speculative shot in the dark (!)

I was too proud to admit that I was wrong.

Since then I've been proving how useless I am at making a living...

Oh, Lord!

I never underestimate the power of prayer. (I'm hiding from a woman!)

Generally a sound precaution.

Who is she? Mrs Dick Shannon.

Owns a racing stable at Heronhoe Heath. She's got a 'personality'.

If she spots me it'll be all over

the county in no time. Hide behind

my fashionable profile.

Val Gyrth!! So you're back, eh? Made it up with the old man, have you?

Bring hither the fatted calf!

When did this happen? It hasn't yet.

I've just seen your father. Trying to make him sell me two yearlings.

He can't train racehorses properly.

He'll soon be as batty as your aunt. Excuse us. We must go.

Heard you were down and out. You look well, in the circumstances.

Loathsome woman! More of an apparition, really.

Never mind your big words, I've been working. Me - I've been noticin'.

Who do you think I saw in the bar? Robertson Hare? Stanley Baldwin? Aldous Huxley?

George Bernard Shaw? Natty Johnson. I was warm.

One of the dirtiest race-gang toughs I've ever known. The Cleaver gang.

You DO know him. Was he alone? He was talking to a little arty bloke with a beard.

Like that Bloomsbury lot what came to the flat and sat on the floor and sent me out for kippers and Chianti.

Bohemia passed him by in the Scrubs. I ain't finished yet.

This artistic cove and his mates are staying at The Tower, Sanctuary. Friends of Lady Pethwick, it seems.

Arty cove talking to Natty Johnson... Confidential.

That's conspiracy... speaking as one who knows.

MRS BULLOCK: How will this suit you, Mr Campion?

Beautiful, Mrs Bullock. A good view.

I've sent a message to The Tower for your sister. How are they, Bully?

Your father's well, but worried. Miss Penny - that's LOVELY...

Just like your mother. And my aunt?

She's been photographed with the Thing. Yes, I know...

but otherwise? She's right enough,

except that she's filled the place with a pack o' loonies! Artists?

No, not artists. I've had artists staying here.

Quiet, tidy fellows, artists are.

No, this lot - more like Bolsheviks,

I shouldn't wonder!

..I'll get you some vittles.

I always thought your story was incredible, but...down here,

with everything as it always was,

suddenly your fairy story sounds just that - a fairy story.

Look, this isn't some silly stunt to get me back into the bosom of the family, is it? Of course not!

Though you're pleased to be back, aren't you? Yes. ..Where's Lugg?

I expect he's in the bar - noticing.

I brought you a drop o' home-brewed. The company stuff ain't any good.

Home-brewed? Anythin' that's worth anythin' is home-brewed.

And here's the proof. Penny! Val! Hello, old dear! Hello, sis.

Beth, this is my brother. Val, this is Beth Cairey.

We moved in soon after you left. The Caireys are our neighbours.

But Lady Pethwick dislikes strangers especially if they're Scottish. Father won't speak to anyone now.

Perhaps he will now you're home. Ahem... I'm sorry,

I didn't introduce you. I always stand aside during a warm reunion.

Albert Campion, my sister Penny...

..And Beth Cairey. Hello. How do you do?

What do you do? I execute justice.

Really? Part-time or full-time?

Yes... Both of those.

Let's talk about it while we walk up to The Tower. Are you serious?

The sooner you see your father, the better. Yes.

And it would help me considerably

if I could case the joint.

I didn't understand a word of that.

People always say that to me.

..Now do you understand? Yes. Thank you, Mr Campion.

I'm so worried about the Chalice. Why? Because of Aunt Di.

Traditionally, she's guardian of the Chalice - Mistress of the Cup.

It all sounds dotty, but...having her photograph taken with it, and letting weird people draw it...

The arty types? One man has done a whole series of drawings.

That's apart from the chanting and sandals and long white gowns.

This is near enough.

..Not much, but we call it home (!)

Yes. We do.

I know. I'll do my best to keep it nice.

Thank you, Mr Campion.

..I must get back to the village. I left Dr Watson investigating.

What an extraordinary man! Where did you find him?

In Bottle Street. Next to the police station.

Ha!

Are you home to stay? If you'll have me.

Got rid of the nobs? You are a social handicap!

I don't have to go touting for knighthoods.

What have you discovered, then? We should never have come here. It's all hanky-panky, this place.

Have YOU had any hanky-panky?

I saw this bald woman. Not just goin', but gorn.

Almost 'airless.

They tell me she's the local witch. It's her family business -

witchin' and hauntin' and cursin'.

We are not here on a witch-hunt. There's more hanky-panky too.

There's a haunted wood and gyppos living in an hollow. Let's go 'ome!

What about The Tower? The Gyrths? That's the real reason I wanna go.

They've a secret room in the east tower containing a nameless horror.

There's a window but no door. When the son of the house is 25,

his father shows him the nameless horror... He's never the same again!

What sort of nameless horror? They don't know.

It's bound to be some sort of monster!

(Something you feed with a pump.)

You've certainly been having fun. I don't call it fun!

Would you like to hear the truth?

I can take or leave the truth. There IS, in the east tower, a room with no visible entrance.

There is an initiation ceremony when the son of the house is 25.

But remember...

it's nothing to do with us. Good! I just wanna go home!

I can't STAND the countryside! It's full of smells and noises.

When's his birthday? Who? His nibs.

Percival St John Fauntleroy thingy!

Soon, I believe. You check that. Sharp.

I'll check it up. Sharp. Can you hear that?

..I can't hear a thing. What is it?

People...

bein' haunted.

AAA-AAA-AAAGH !!

HAMMERING ON DOOR

Wake up! What time is it?

Never mind what time it is. There's been a murder!

Did you see the look on her face?

She saw something dreadful, Val. She died of fright. She had a bad heart.

She was out last night and died, that's all.

Come on.

I've spoken to Dr Cobden. There'll be no need for an inquest. Everyone knew about her heart.

Something frightened her. Owl? Rabbit? We all warned her.

Val, get rid of your aunt's peculiar friends. Funeral's on Wednesday. Are you trying to hush things up?

I'm trying to observe some decorum. We have to think about Val's birthday too.

HE LEAVES ROOM >

What is he worried about?

Until yesterday it was you.

Mr Albert Campion for Mr Val Gyrth

and Miss Penny Gyrth.

Do come in, Mr Campion.

Be that who I think?

Who do you think it be?

Aye! It be you!

C 749 !

A 631 !

I let myself in. There's an old lags reunion going on in the hall.

..Forgive the levity. I'm sorry about your aunt... What happened?

Some locals found her in a clearing by the woods.

Is it tasteless of me to ask if I may see the clearing? Not at all.

Oh...I have to turf out Aunt Di's Bohemian friends. I'll show you.

Thank you.

You'll ask the Bohemians to go when? Tomorrow? Probably.

Last night Val told me everything.

About you, the danger to

the Chalice. He told my father too.

You can count on our total support. Thank you. Now my aunt is dead, I'm responsible for the Chalice.

Mistress of the Cup. Please don't imagine that I'm weak and feeble. I'll try.

Pharisees' Clearing. It separates our wood from the Tyde Hall land.

Where your friend Beth lives? Yes.

"Or in the night, imagining some fear,

"how easy a bush suppos'd a bear." Sorry?

Shakespeare and I had the same thought at the same moment.

..Is this place haunted? The locals believe it is.

A ghost? Something much worse.

Do YOU believe it? No, of course not.

And where exactly was Lady Pethwick found? Over there. According to Will Tiffin, the man who found her.

I'm told that there's a witch on the High Street. Mrs Munsey?

She didn't leave her card (!)

In the church there's a list of witches put to death in 1624.

Every other name on the sheet is Munsey. Where does Mrs Munsey live?

In a sort of hen-house with her son. They're both simple.

I might pay a call. I just can't get any bat's wool, newt's eyes...

Mr Campion! My aunt died last night!

I'm sorry.

They found her here... under this tree.

I see.

I know you'll think me a fool...

but Mrs Munsey put a curse on Aunt Di at the last full moon. Why?

I don't know. My aunt probably annoyed Mrs Munsey somehow.

Does she curse many people? And how successful has she been before? Last night was also a full moon.

This morning when I saw her face, I'll swear she died of fright. And something else... Yes?

When Will Tiffin found her, she wasn't lying as she'd fallen,

she was stiff and straight, hands folded, eyes closed.

Will said she'd been laid out as a corpse.

Did you sleep well? Very well indeed.

Nothing went bump in the night. I suggest you should stay here until this business is resolved. Agree?

Thank you, Colonel. I agree.

If you'll excuse me...

We nicked this lot out the Bohemians' traps.

My manservant does tend to steal small items from visitors' luggage. Only when his nibs tells me.

Did you see the geezer with the ginger beard and barnet? Yes. He once worked for me.

Worked for you? Yes. His trade name was Arthur Earle. This was in his suitcase.

He's a jeweller's copyist. He's noted the measurements, look.

He's a good craftsman. Years ago he'd have ornamented cathedrals.

You think he was going to make a substitute Chalice? Yes.

Work the switch and take the REAL Chalice. Natty Johnson's in this.

They're all minnows - Johnson, Earle... No sign of the trout.

A trout called George? Exactly.

Maybe that's him.

Who? Funny old trout having a dekko.

I know who that is! I bet that's your trout called George.

That's Beth's father!

Professor Cairey. He isn't a thief!

He's an archaeologist. I've known some deadly professors in my time.

Mr Lugg, don't you have room in your heart for a LITTLE tolerance? I leave all that to HIM !

Now, I promised the butler I'd help with the family silver.

What do YOU think? Hm? Professor Cairey.

I think he has a VERY charming daughter.

CHURCH BELLS TOLL SOLEMNLY

Good. We have now consulted half the village on the cause of death. What did the public bar say?

Murdered by gypsies. The saloon shared that view. Or else by the Devil.

How about drink, drugs or bad

temper? No. Did anyone think it was

natural causes? Not in the public.

..Nor in the saloon. They reckon that doctor's in the pay of the family.

And what is your considered view? Pick any prize on the stall. The 'orrible beast.

Got to be the odds-on favourite.

Visitors! Tourists on horseback.

Day after the funeral. Not quite the article in the best of circles.

Not quite the article.

Albert, can you come to the rescue?

Someone drowning? Lugg, pop

upstairs and launch the lifeboat.

Very funny (!) The awful Mrs Shannon is here. Wants to see the Chalice.

Good. I'd quite like to look at it myself.

Mrs Shannon, this is a young friend of Val's, Mr Albert Campion.

Major King... and Mr Horace Putnam.

Penny Gyrth,

the guide-book says the Chapel is open to visitors today. Mr Putnam leaves tomorrow.

The Chalice is veiled. It always is, for 10 days.

For 10 days after a death. UN-veil it!

It might be quicker in the long run.

Fetch the keys, Val.

When a death occurs in the family, the Chalice is veiled.

Is there another key for it? Of course.

You really are a damned nuisance. I'm missing a day's racing for this.

Do you play this joke on all your visitors (?)

I must apologise... especially to Mr Putnam. I'd quite forgotten.

The Chalice is away being cleaned. >

Perhaps another time.

Where are the keys kept? In my desk. And who knows that?

Just the immediate family.

< And me, sir.

I know what you're thinking.

I wouldn't dream of accusing YOU ! Can't you send for the police? No.

We've got to solve this ourselves.

Fancy a stroll before bed? I'm not strolling nowhere. You may be right.

Can you give me a lift? It's rather urgent. Certainly.

Where can we drop you? Where are you going? It's a girls' day out in London. Perfect!

I'll join you.

..Forgive me being direct, but are you planning to ride with us all the way to London?

Either that or take me to the police station. What do you mean?

This suitcase - may I open it? I've mislaid my liberty bodice (!)

Don't touch it, please.

Leave it alone.

This is a gun. And when I have read the instructions, I will use it.

He's guessed what's in the case.

No, this definitely ISN'T my liberty bodice.

There's a pub outside Coggeshall. I'm meeting my associate there.

Are YOU his associate? 'Afraid so. Sorry.

It wasn't difficult. The Chapel hadn't been burgled, ergo, it was opened with a key.

Ergo, it must have been you two. I couldn't see your father do that.

All right. Where were we taking the Chalice? The Chancery Lane Safe Deposit?

So you're going to make us take it home again? We ought to split up.

Penny and I will take the case. And we'll ride shotgun. Will you ride shotgun with me?

I don't know what it means, but yes. What are you expecting?! An armed attack.

You've been conspiring with Albert behind my back! Where else could he conspire? Come along!

Shouldn't you slow down? Why?

I want to give the chap a run for his money. Which chap? That one.

Hang on tight!

BRAKES SQUEAL

Where is it? I'm sorry, I don't wish to subscribe. I'm not a music lover.

Nothing in the front.

A case...

Don't take that!

This has got to be it!

Scarper!

Well, I think that went rather well, don't you?

Oh, my Lord...

There, there...

CAR APPROACHES

Having trouble, guvnor? Clearing up nicely, ta. Is this the missus?

Yeah. I'm the ole lady. You got the doings? Yeah.

Lemon time's over. Time for the second half.

How many of the gangsters did you identify?

Natty Johnson had the gun. Fingers Hawkins took the suitcase, an associate of Sanderson -

also known as Horace Putnam, who wanted to see the Chalice yesterday. I see.

In London we are going to visit Mr Melchizadek of Aldgate. Are we?

We could visit Mr Aldgate of Melchizadek, but London's nearer.

Val, how far back does the Chalice date? Oh, impossible to say.

It's certainly pre-Conquest. Over 1,000 years old. It's worth going to a bit of trouble!

He may call me Christopher Twelvetrees, but since Campion's a pseudonym,

try not to let it confuse you.

If you'll come into my office, Mr Twelvetrees, we will not be overheard or interrupted.

Now... You wish me to make a copy, perhaps?

Perhaps of a very famous chalice? Taking the long road, perhaps?

No. I have too many clients to follow any road but my own.

Thank Heaven for that. This will be a delightful experience for me.

In the last 200 years we've been privileged to handle many treasures,

but even so, this...

is a...is a memorable occasion.

Pre-Conquest. Over 1,000 years old.

Ah-ha...

It's exquisite.

The workmanship's magnificent.

But it's not medieval.

Not medieval?! I don't understand!

Would you let me ask for a second opinion?

I happen to have in the next room one of the most famous experts on this subject.

What do you think? You may rely on his discretion. Good.

Campion, is this another fairy story? Probably. They usually have happy endings.

How can you guarantee that...?

Professor Gardner Cairey.

Mr Gyrth. Mr Christopher Twelvetrees.

Their design is Renaissance...

The workmanship...much later.

I'd say about 150 years old.

If you'll permit me, I think I can prove that to you.

"I. M." Israel Melchizadek.

"1772." 1772 ?!

This was made by my great, great-grandfather.

He signed every piece that he made, although at times he had to hide his signature.

But this is what we have always believed to be the Gyrth Chalice! Therefore the world believes that.

We must hang on to it like a pair of bull pups.

I had my doubts about the Chalice the moment I saw the photograph.

So I consulted my old friend Professor Cairey. Your old friend?

I rarely lie, but I can be picky with the truth. My theory is this.

That is known as a 'mock chalice'.

Historically, there are plenty of marauders south of Hadrian's Wall.

The real Chalice has always been hidden away

while the showpiece appeased nosey-parkers, thieves and Thursday sightseers.

Then why don't we let the thieves have it and get a replica made?

Because they will discover

it isn't genuine.

They can afford the best advice...

Or, at least, the second best. They will want the REAL thing.

But where IS the real Chalice?

As an outsider, I would suggest that the point will be made quite clear to you on your 25th birthday.

Oh, the room in the east tower...

I'd suggest that the real Chalice, which is made of English red gold,

and is no bigger than a man's hand,

has a very terrible and effective guardian.

Oh, my Gawd!!

Subtitles by Gillian Spence - BBC Scotland 1989 -