Original subtitles

Steed?

Can I have my arrow back, please. It's the only clue I've got.

What clue?

To the death of James Broom.

He was found murdered yesterday, that arrow nearby, something more lethal in his back.

James Broom, the economist? - The brilliant economist.

His plans were revolutionary.

Unite the financial resources of Europe, banish poverty forever.

Europia. It was a nice dream.

Broom was close to making it a reality.

And "was" was the operative word.

This is where it happened.

Steed?

Ah!

Mr. Carlyon?

Yes. - John Steed.

I asked him to meet me here.

Mrs. Emma Peel.

How do you do?

Carlyon was Broom's right hand man.

Working undercover?

I was looking for this, actually, taped up under the back there.

Jimmy Broom was a cautious man, he often carried things that way.

Valuables? - I haven't the faintest idea.

Shall we find out?

Distressing business. - Very.

Yes, it quite spoiled my appetite when I heard.

It ruined James Broom's. - What?

Oh yes, yes, I see what you mean.

Where was he going? - To see someone.

A fellow economist. - Who?

Someone who is in violent opposition to our plan.

Someone intent on stopping it at all costs.

Broom wouldn't confide the name of the man to me.

Too dangerous, he said.

But he did mention something about a university.

That the man was connected to a university.

St. Bodes? - Yes, how did you know?

On these papers here: St. Bodes.

St. Bodes and James Broom. Seems logical.

They have the finest economics department in the country.

Really, my dear?

Isn't it time you furthered your education?

One and one are two. Two and two are...

I think you're right.

What I have tried to show you is the inevitability of history.

What must be, must be,

We... we delude ourselves that we are in charge of history.

That we alter its course by our own efforts.

This must be doubted, in fact refuted.

It cannot be true.

There is no evidence to support such an assertion.

Indeed history itself does not uphold this viewpoint.

All the great events and changes in this world have been the result...

As I was saying, have been the...

Have been the result of circumstance, of chance even.

I hope I have been conclusive.

I ask you to ponder my arguments.

To digest them.

And that is all.

Now, if there are any questions.

Yes, I have a question, Dr. Henshaw. - Yes.

I take it that if someone were to suggest that one man in the right place, and at the right time,

could himself change the course of history, you would disagree?

Mr. Pettit, since I have spent the last hour saying so, you may take it that I would disagree.

But there are other people of course, who hold other views.

I suppose so.

It's not a matter of conjecture. For instance Professor Acheson doesn't agree, does he?

He is entitled to his view, as I am to mine.

One of you must be wrong then, wouldn't you say?

I take that on the whole you disagree with me, and agree with professor Acheson.

I think that what Pettit was trying to suggest, sir,

is that for the past 53 minutes,

you have assaulted our ears with a load of stupid, pretentious old rubbish.

Mr. Duboys,

you have the manners of a guttersnipe!

You are entitled to your views, sir,

as I am to mine.

Hooray!

Dr. Henge?

Dr. Henge!

I do beg your pardon. Isometrics.

Hm?

Exercises without apparatus.

I'm afraid I got carried away.

David Acheson. - Professor Acheson.

That's right.

Oh, you must be Mrs. Peel. Told to expect you.

Welcome to St. Bodes, Mrs. Peel.

Uh, do you mind?

In such a sedentary occupation, one must keep fit.

End of term. Excuse for high spirits.

Yes, well I just attended one of Dr. Henge's lectures.

Didn't seem to me to be all high spirits.

Ah, well, Henge aggravates them a bit, asks for it.

Who is she? Anyone know?

Well? - Nobody knows.

There was one student in particular, a young man named Duboys.

Eric Duboys? Very clever lad.

Very promising economist.

Thank you very much.

I'd like to meet him.

Oh well, up that staircase, take east 3, number 18.

She's coming this way.

Is she now?

Well, well, what have we here?

Steed.

Take a look at this.

Among Broom's papers. An economic thesis.

Economics and a sense of history.

Read it. - I am reading it.

I mean this paragraph here, particularly.

Pretty strong stuff.

So is this.

What do you mean? It's continental roasted.

And there you see it gets progressively more hysterical.

It's not an economical thesis, it's a political document.

And it reeks of ideals and dogma.

And the faintest whiff of jackboots.

Good heavens.

No author's name.

But it has the college crest.

A most unfortunate encounter, Mrs. Peel.

Most unfortunate.

Rag Week.

You see, we jump the first year students and persuade them to contribute to whatever charity it is.

But to land a real live lecturer...

I do apologise for the impetuousity of my little band.

Accepted.

We normally wouldn't dream of being discourteous to our betters.

No?

No.

I would have thought differently. I was at Dr. Henge's lecture.

Oh, Dr. Henge.

Dr. Henge. - Dear Dr. Henge.

Poor, dear Dr. Henge.

Poor, dear, sad Dr. Henge.

Why do you despise him so much?

Despise? Who said despise?

No, no, it's merely a lack of admiration.

A negative appraisal.

We call him... Stonehenge.

Why?

Because he's a fool.

A dodderer. He lives in the past.

All his ideas and philosophy come from the past.

Many of his ideas haven't been bettered.

Newton's law of gravity still keeps our feet firmly on the ground.

A succinct remark like that merely points the lack in Dr. Henge.

He would be incapable of reasoning such a...

simple reply.

Yet he's a knowledgeable man.

And he has many distinguished friends who respect him.

James Broom, CPE, for example.

I suppose you've heard of James Broom.

Of course. - A brilliant man.

Brilliant. Quite brilliant.

Or rather he was.

Well, thank you.

For the coffee.

Watch her.

St. Bodes is only a quarter of a mile away.

I'll walk it from here.

Tattered gown, sign of experience.

Of belonging.

Only a freshman would be seen wearing a new gown.

I'll be in touch.

I'm terribly sorry, young fellow.

All in a good cause.

There we are.

Oh, that's the one for the house lights.

If you're taking slides, or a film.

Oh no, I have all I need, thank you.

Well, if there should be something you have overlooked,

just go along to the porter's lodge, they'll fix you up.

Thank you.

Right.

Oh, good morning. - Good morning.

Who was that?

Professor Acheson.

And the, uh...?

Isometrics. Exercise without apparatus.

Can't say I approve.

I like my professors stooped and ven... venerable.

And I like my students to be wide eyed and... innocent.

What on earth are you doing here anyway, Steed?

Advanced research into the co-relationship of the lesser crested newt,

and Mrs. Sybil Peabody.

Mrs. Sybil Peabody? - An aunt of mine, drinks like a fish.

No, recapture my college days, tea and crumpets...

The proctor and his bullfrogs larking about in a punt.

Moments of triumph on the rugger field.

Moments of failure in an examination.

I'm here to find out who wrote this.

Found in Broom's briefcase. Makes very interesting reading.

But it's diametrically opposed to everything Broom stood for.

Exactly. The motive for Broom's murder.

Bound up nicely in foolscap velum with a college crest.

Point is, who wrote it?

Well there should be a record of it somewhere with the author's name on it.

Ah, Dr. Henge, perhaps you could help us.

Dr. Henge, this is Mr. John Steed.

We're trying to trace... excuse me.

We're trying to trace the details of a thesis on economics.

It's called "Economics and a Sense of History". Are you familiar with it?

This university was founded in 1642, Mrs. Peel.

Since then there must have been 5,000 graduate theses.

2,000 doctoral dissertations on this subject alone.

That means that within the university archives, we have...

an awful lot of theses.

And you expect me to be familiar with one particular thesis?

Do you know who wrote it?

I mean to find out.

Try Grindley, the university archivist. He may be able to help you.

Theses, Mr. Stit. - Steed.

Uh, Steed, yeah.

Well, as you can see, we have a surfeit of them here.

You may borrow them either individually, or by the dozen.

This is a particular one, "Economics and a Sense of History".

I don't want the paper itself, just the author's name.

I thought with your filing system...

There is no filing system, Mr. Stit, ah Steed.

No, the system is all here, that is the way we like to work at St. Bodes.

Modern methods just involve rush and tear.

Knowledge cannot be obtained in a hurry.

It must be studied quietly, gently, in the traditional manner.

Of course.

Now then, just the author's name you want, "Economics and a Sense of History".

Yes.

Well, I'll see what I can do for you.

As soon as possible.

In the gentle, traditional manner.

Thank you.

I beg your pardon.

Grindley, that man who just left.

Sted, ah Steed? Oh yes, he seemed a very pleasant fellow.

Asked you to check up on a thesis, did he?

Yes.

But he isn't a member of the college, or faculty.

It isn't done, Grindley, it's not done at all.

We have a tradition to maintain, a position to uphold.

He comes in here, treating this place like a public library.

But he said he used to be a student here.

And you believed him?

It wouldn't matter if I did or if I didn't.

Quite polite he was, and that makes a change these days you know.

A touch of charm.

Nevertheless, making use of our facilities,

putting you, personally, to a great deal of trouble.

Well, it wasn't as difficult as all that.

You found what he was looking for?

No.

But I know just what to do about it.

Well, I suppose you know your own business best.

Indeed.

Well, now I'm afraid I shall have to ask you to excuse me,

I have a lecture to give, I'm late already,

I think I put my notes over here somewhere.

Millerson?

I didn't know you were here.

Didn't you, sir?

Who's this chap, Steed, I've seen around? - An ex-student of St. Bodes.

What's he doing here? - Research of some kind.

To do with newts. Or something or other.

Newts.

We'll have to check up on him. Yes, the big man would like that.

Duboys.

Well, Grindley is late. Keeping us waiting.

Calls for a demonstration, don't you think?

To express our displeasure.

We want Grindley.

We want Grindley.

We want Grindley. We want Grindley.

We want Grindley. We want Grindley.

Yes.

Yes, that's it.

We want Grindley. We want Grindley.

We want Grindley. We want Grindley.

Mr. Grindley.

We want Grindley. We want Grindley.

We want Grindley. We want Grindley.

We want Grindley. We want Grindley.

We want Grindley. We want Grindley.

We want Grindley - yay!

Obviously Grindley found out who wrote that thesis.

And was on his way to tell me.

Poor man.

Well, it can't have been Duboys. He was in the lecture room.

He has his minions, that young man.

And then there's severe Dr. Henge. He was just coming in here as I was leaving.

Dr. Henge is an economist.

He could have written that thesis.

Oh, this is no good. They have absolutely no system whatsoever.

Then, you'll just have to trust to luck.

I?

I have an appointment with Richard Carlyon.

You have to pay a toll to walk these cloisters at night.

Ragweek.

Rather misplaced levity, isn't it?

Oh, old Grindley, you mean.

You think we should put on the sackcloth and ashes bit, eh?

Well, that's not the way we do things at St. Bodes.

We, his students, bore him away, and laid him to rest, as the college tradition demands.

That's the way he would have wished it.

And that's the way it was.

But you should know all about that, shouldn't you?

You are supposed to be an ex-student.

Supposed? You disbelieve me?

Very sharp of you, old man.

Calling me a liar. - Hm, sharper and sharper.

Another incisive mind getting straight to the point.

I object to having my word doubted.

I object very strongly.

Take your hand off me.

Very strongly indeed.

Get him!

What's going on down there?

Ah, Professor.

We were just having a little academic conversation.

All right, well, get away from here.

All of you.

No idea what was going on, Mr. Steed, but I apologise for them.

End of term, you know, this dreadful business with Grindley.

There's hysteria in the air.

Oh please, I understand completely.

You do? That's jolly decent of you.

They're basically a decent set of chaps.

I like them enormously.

Yes, well, if Duboys gives you any more trouble, just report him to the proctor.

I'll do better than that.

I'll break his arm.

Dr. Henge?

Still looking for that thesis, Mrs. Peel?

Well, Mr. Grindley promised he would... - Dr. Grindley, is dead.

I am in charge of the archives now.

Steed!

I'd given you up.

Sorry, I ran into some rather fractious students.

Find out anything?

No, but I read through the thesis again.

Analysed it. - And?

Well, the reasoning behind it suggests a very mature mind.

Fingers? - What?

Oh yes, so sorry.

Almost the work of a senior member of the faculty.

Or an exceptionally brilliant student.

By all accounts Duboys is exceptionally brilliant.

And exceptionally nasty.

Well now, what about a drink?

Thank you.

Here we are.

Now what's the next move?

With Broom dead, what chance is there of his economic plan going ahead?

Every chance. I'll see to that.

I intend finishing off the good work he begun.

Someone is determined to kill the plan.

Impossible.

Not while I'm alive.

Good heavens. You don't think that...

You're the key man now.

Oh, dear.

I'm sorry, but you must forgive me.

The thought that my life might be in danger...

Shh, shh. - What?

It's just an owl. It's been hooting away all evening.

I think there're two of them.

Now look here, Steed, I mean are you really serious?

Do you really think that I need protect...

No, there's several of them.

They're calling to each other.

Really, Steed, at a time like this,

Your interest in the habits of the nocturnal birds...

Listen Steed, I really must make the strongest protest.

They're coming in again.

Marianne, isn't it?

Marianne Grey?

Have a look at it. It's a very good likeness.

Who is he? Who does this belong to?

He's in serious trouble.

Now you be sensible and... - Leave her alone.

Is this yours?

Yes.

That's right.

It's mine.

Get out of here, and keep away from us.

Shall we talk?

I've got nothing to say.

Last night you severely damaged my bowler hat.

Incidently you nearly killed me. Why?

We were just trying to scare you, that's all.

And Grindley? You scared him right out of his archive.

I had nothing to do with Grindley.

There's somebody bigger, isn't there? Somebody you boys are scared of.

I'm trying to be nice to you, you know.

I don't think you're worth the trouble.

All right, there is someone.

But I don't know who.

But you could help me to find out.

How?

I should like to know who wrote this.

Well, it should be on file.

The archives.

The archives are a shambles.

Grindley, poor old fellow, was the only man who knows the system.

Did he tell you that?

He's trying to sound important, that's all.

That shouldn't be difficult to trace.

Anyone that's used to the archives will be able to find that in less than five minutes.

You, for instance.

You're in this right up to your neck.

All right.

I'll do my best.

But later.

Tonight.

When there's no-one around.

Pettit!

Marianne.

Haven't forgotten the Ragweek meeting, have you?

Coming.

Oh, Mrs. Peel, still hard at it?

Well, I seem to have gotten them into some semblance of order at long last.

Rather a big task, isn't it?

Or are you looking for something in particular?

No, I'm just interested, that's all.

Oh, well, let me give you a hand.

I'm most dreadfully sorry.

Coffee?

Thank you very much.

I must say I'm very partial to your continental blended.

I'm not taking any chances, not after last time.

Well,

black or white?

Well, since you don't seem to have any milk, black.

Well, right, here we are, then.

Is that enough? - That's fine, thank you very much.

I hope you don't mind, old chap.

I don't like exposing my back for too long.

I quite understand.

It's not that I'm frightened, you know, it's not that at all.

No.

To tell you the truth, I'm absolutely petrified.

I mean I'm not cut out for this sort of stuff: murder, mayhem.

Lurkings after dark, attacks by young savages.

Not to mention the damp.

The damp? - Yes.

Yes, always gets me here. - Oh!

I do beg your pardon, I thought that was me.

Old wounds, you know.

Really? German bullet? World War Two?

Umbrella. January sales. Darn stupid woman!

Now, what are we going to do about my minister?

I beg your pardon?

He demands to know when I'm going to return to my department.

Oh, I see.

He's a most difficult man, Steed, most difficult.

What am I going to tell him?

Send him a memo.

Engaged in work of the utmost importance.

Utmost importance. Yes, I like that.

I say, do you mind if I make a few notes?

Not at all.

Good. Now file ahead.

That the entire future of Europe is in your hands.

Entire future of Europe... Yes, I like that.

Beyond that, your lips are sealed.

And that in due course, the full account of your heroism will be revealed to him.

And add...

that if he hasn't heard from you within the week, he must presume...

that you have died for your country.

I say, that's very good.

What!

I say, that's a bit strong, isn't it Steed?

Dying for my country?

There's a storm brewing.

I don't mind a little suffering, not too much pain, mind you, but...

I mean, actually dying!

I must get back to the university.

Steed said no more than that.

Look, Duboys, I've told you a dozen times.

So tell me again.

He just asked me a lot of questions about the university.

He wanted to know how their attitudes had changed since he'd been here.

He was never here, we checked.

Oh.

Well, that's what he told me.

And that's all he told you? - Yes.

You're sure?

Look, for Pete's sake, how many times do I have to tell you!

Just asking, dear fellow, just asking.

You're a bit on edge, aren't you?

Yes.

Little tired of all these questions.

Too many late nights, old chap.

Well, come along now, have an early night.

Perhaps I will.

That was all Steed wanted to know.

Marianne.

Marianne you better run along now, too.

Before the Proctor finds you.

Run along, my dear.

He's lying. - Yes.

Well? - Oh, no. Not this time.

I've had my share of the dirty work.

Come to that, so have you.

What are you driving at? - The big man.

Well, he's in charge, isn't he?

He keeps finding nice little tasks for us to do.

Well, now it's his turn.

We're committed, why not him?

Let him get his hands dirty for a change.

Millerson, that is a very real contribution.

A very astute idea.

Hello sir, Duboys here.

Look out, you fool!

There's been an accident.

A terrible accident.

I doubt if we'll have any luck.

The thesis will probably have been destroyed by now.

Carried on the shoulders of four stalwart students, laid to rest, mourn no more.

Shouldn't blame yourself, Steed.

It goes back to the days of the plague, old college tradition.

Bury them quick, forget them quick.

I should never have let him go it alone.

He must have known the risks he was taking.

In that case, so should I.

What did Dr. Henge have to say for himself?

He found the archives door open, went in to investigate, found Petitt.

That's all he saw?

That's all he said he saw.

Ah, there you are. Been looking for you.

Rag Committee asked me to deliver these.

Thank you.

You will come I hope? Tomorrow night?

It's going to be quite mad, a rave.

Anything can happen, and probably will.

Great fun.

They certainly do, don't they? Bury and forget.

Anything can happen.

And probably will.

I wonder who else has been invited.

Gentlemen, we are on the very threshold of shaping history.

I ask you to reaffirm your vows.

Yes.

With blood, we bind.

And in blood we advance.

Well, Marianne?

This just arrived.

Thank you, Marianne.

It's from Carlyon.

He's bit. - He accepted?

He has accepted.

He will arrive tomorrow night.

And this will taste blood again.

It occurs to me that the one person we've omitted to talk to is the principal.

Ah well, he's on extended leave.

Really?

Oh, my goodness, I'm most dreadfully sorry.

There might have been the most dreadful accident.

There might, indeed.

Foolish, isn't it?

One would expect it perhaps from one of the students, but from a professor of the faculty?

Well, the truth of the matter is that I couldn't resist trying it out before tomorrow night.

Tomorrow night?

Rag Night. It's an integral part of the whole affair.

You don't mean to tell me that you didn't know?

I thought that everybody knew. It's fancy dress.

And this is to be the theme.

Bows and arrows?

Yes, of course. The central theme is Robin Hood.

Has he arrived yet? - No.

Well, when he does, stay close.

And remember, the lecture room.

You must lure him to the lecture room.

Steed.

So you finally decided on your costume.

The sheriff of...

Bashful Ben?

Nottingham.

Well, I hate to mention it, but in all the books I read,

the sheriff is a baddy.

Beneath this doublet beats a generous heart.

That looks a bit droopy.

Wait lit it's challenged.

After you, Robin Hood.

Here he is.

Mr. Carlyon, so very glad you could make it. Duboys.

Oh, how do you do? - Have some punch.

How is the plan going, Mr. Carlyon? - The Plan?

Oh, the plan. - The plan, the Europia plan.

We all admire your audacity, Mr. Carlyon.

Audacity?

Well, that you should think it could succeed.

That it would be allowed to succeed.

Why don't we discuss it further.

In greater detail.

It'll be much quieter in the lecture room.

Ah, Dickie! Dickie Carlyon.

Haven't seen you for ages.

Do you remember Mrs. Peel I told you about, Dickie?

We were just going to show him the lecture room...

We must talk over old times, come and have another drink.

Mrs. Peel, we seem to be in competition.

Two Robin Hoods. That will hardly do.

One will have to be eliminated, don't you think?

I don't think we need bother.

In a situation like this, a gentleman would bow to a lady.

Well, what do we do now?

I see Carlyon has been thoughtful enough to provide us with a target.

Honestly, Steed, aren't you carrying this faithful watchdog business a bit far?

I mean these young chapter boys... - helped to murder Broom.

Huh?

Oh...

You, you, you don't think they might attempt, I mean...

They might try to...

Me? - You.

That's why you're here, old man.

We want to bring the top man into the open.

And you're just the live bait to do it.

What? - Don't worry.

Circulate, move around, keep your eyes open.

Mrs. Peel.

They killed John, didn't they?

They killed him.

It might have been an accident.

No, they killed him, just as they did the others.

Do you want the man behind it all?

The big man.

Well, he'll be here.

They're going to meet him in the lecture room.

Marianne.

Look for Friar Tuck.

What were you saying to Mrs. Peel?

It must have been important.

You don't often have much to say for yourself, do you?

She asked me where I got this dress.

There you are, old boy.

Thank you. - Excuse me.

I don't know how they ever wore these things, it's killing me.

Friar Tuck. - Eh?

The man we want is Friar Tuck. - Who told you that?

Marianne. He's due here soon.

There's to be a meeting in the lecture room.

Friar Tuck. Of course it would be.

Well, he was the real brains behind the Robin Hood setup.

I can't hear a word. Is anything wrong?

Some sort of trouble, is there?

On the contrary, your troubles are almost over.

My dear friar.

We'd like a word with you. - A private word.

What do you want, Historical Memoirs or Encyclopedia Erotica?

Memoirs, they're heavier. - Right.

Dr. Henge.

Back to the party? - Back to the party.

Ah, my dear chap, as I said your troubles are over.

You can relax now, enjoy yourself, have a drink, have fun!

We have the top villain under lock and...

key?

Take cover.

My dear, dear friar.

Mmm...

The Erotica.

Professor Acheson!

So much for isometrics.

They can't both be the man we want.

Just stroll along with us, Mr. Carlyon.

Somebody wants to meet you.

Quietly, please.

Thank you for your assistance we've bagged two of them,

but could you point out... - which one is the right one.

Well, it's neither of them.

And they've taken Carlyon to the lecture room.

This is an historic moment, Mr. Carlyon.

I... I don't understand.

I should have said perhaps,

we are about to create an historic moment.

To change the course of history.

Hence the small ceremony of the occasion.

Now.

We have followed you this far, sir.

The triumph, and the coup de gras, belongs to you.

Grindley. D.B. Grindley, M.A.

But, you're dead.

Steed told me.

A small piece of pantomime, staged managed by my worthy students here.

Things were hotting up. We thought it better if Grindley was no more.

After all, he was only an archivist.

Just a small man of no consequence.

Only an archivist, a sort of glorified librarian.

And yet one tends to overlook that such a man spends his entire life

surrounded by thoughts committed to paper.

Ideas. Wisdom. I am a voracious reader, Mr. Carlyon.

And in the end I wrote a modest thesis myself.

"Economics, and a Sense of History."

I've read it.

The you appreciate its genius.

The pure simplicity of its basic premise.

That history could be created to order?

Yes, well, an understatement, but quite near enough.

Poppycock!

Disagree!

I'm afraid we shall have to.

You see, we are going to manoeuver the course of history.

Here and now, in this very room.

With your death, Mr. Carlyon, we shall create a small economic snowball.

We shall then guide it downhill.

Charting its progress, watching its growth,

And changing with it the entire economic face of Europe.

Well, do it! Do it now!

You shall have your immortality, Mr. Carlyon.

You shall have your rightful place in history.

Mrs. Peel was right.

You said you'd look after me.

I'm terribly sorry, old chap.

I wonder if history will be kind to him.

Ahoy for the open road.

Marvellous day, an invigorating nip in the air.

Ah, the air is so fresh.

Open her up, Mrs. Peel, and let's feel...

What was that?

I said, let's feel the wind in our faces!

Steed, you're a fraud.

An unmitigated fraud.

Subtitles by rick@peoplesguidetothecosmos.com