Secret Agent (1964–1967): Season 1, Episode 10 - A Man to Be Trusted - full transcript

Senor Corlander.

No.

Have a nice stay.

Good morning, Senor.

Good morning.

You will be thirsty.

We can refresh you while
the luggage goes to my car.

That one's not mine.

Would you like it?

No?

Whisky?



Coffee, black.

Ah, just coffee.

My name is Grant, Detective
Superintendent Grant.

But of course,

you play your part well,
Superintendent Grant.

Gracias.

Your uncle Colonel Padro
expects me at nine o'clock

at police headquarters.

I'd like to drop my
luggage at the hotel first.

You are not in London
now, my friend, why hurry?

Lieutenant Mora, one of our agents

has been tortured and murdered.

I thought you would want to see this,

a copy of the pathologist's report.



It's most interesting.

All 11 wounds were inflicted
in a very short space of time,

something like 20 minutes, and then.

That means that Corlander talked quickly.

When an agent talks
quickly, he talks a lot.

I'm not here only to
find out who killed him,

but how much he told them.

That makes two.

Yeah.

The other was the April
before last, James Bancroft.

Also one of us?

Yes, mutilated in the same way.

And also?

Corlander was sent down here to find out

what happened to Bancroft, and
now you have been sent down

to find out what happened to Corlander.

And I will.

One of the things M9
sent you out here to do

was to make sure of me.

Investigate Lieutenant Mora,

they said, but discreetly.

In view of the lack of security
you've provided our people

lately, I don't see you
have any need to complain.

Please impress upon yourself,

if at any time you make
me think you can injure

the confidence our department has in me,

I need only go to my uncle,

the colonel,

I shall say to him.

This superintendent from
Scotland Yard is an imposter.

He is a British spy.

Terrible, will say my uncle.

who is the only member of the
family who detests the British

having once failed to marry one.

Arrest him.

You will then be imprisoned for life.

The matter is impressed?

No, but this is.

If Bancroft doubted your reliability,

you might have silenced him

and Corlander for the same reason.

Claro..To remain in confidence

with our section,
I would silence multitudes.

French.

No, American.

How can you tell?

She sat next to me on the plane.

Que suerte...What name?

What hotel?

Forgot to ask.

Oh, my.

Two telephone calls, and then we can go.

Police headquarters are a long way out.

We aren't going to police headquarters.

That was my first phone call.

I canceled your appointment.

What could you discuss openly
with my uncle, the colonel,

without compromising him?

You had a bumpy flight,
you are air sick, you are excused.

I wanted that appointment.

I wanted to get at the
official photographs.

My uncle has authorized me
to give you all the official

photographs you require
without reservation.

Bring them round to my
hotel as soon as you can.

That was my second phone call.

I canceled your hotel.

You will be my guest at my house,

so we can watch one another in comfort.

Is this your house?

No, this is the house
where Robert Corlander lived,

and to which his body was
driven last Friday night

in his own car, at least
that is the immediate theory.

You disagree with it?

It doesn't give my uncle,
the colonel, enthusiasm.

He is constructing another theory,

that Mrs. Corlander put her
husband's body in the car

and waited for his servants
to find it when they arrived.

Mrs. Corlander is an American.

My uncle dislikes Americans.

Oh, why is that?

He once failed to marry a rich one.

He wishes the murder to
have taken place in there.

Could it not have been done in the car?

No, the car did not accommodate violence.

It has been examined with great care.

So he had to be carried
from the house afterwards,

dead weight, all this by a woman.

If she had an accomplice, a lover.

My uncle has requested me to expose one.

In the dry cleaning business?

Who cleaned up overnight?

The police found no traces in the house

of anything consistent with
a remarkably savage murder.

No, but that is not surprising.

Let me show you.

You know the two killings
are impressively similar.

Except that Mrs. Bancroft.
is not an American.

Does your uncle suspect her, too?

But of course, she is an Australian.

What's he got against them?

He married one.

Did your uncle turn up any evidence

that Mrs. Bancroft had a lover?

No, but I did.

It was in none of your reports to M9.

It wasn't in any of my
reports to my uncle either.

Similarly on this occasion,
I am not reporting,

Oh?

That Mrs. Corlander has no
more virtue than Mrs. Bancroft.

When did you find that out?

Oh, I knew these things

some months before.

I am responsible for the
security of all our agents

on the island, so I
investigate continuously.

And you continuously turn up the fact

that the wives had lovers.

Oh, it's not unusual for
the wives of English men

in the tropics.

Some people say it is the heat,

but I believe it is
simply the English men.

Nobody appears to be in.

No, therefore --

As you see, designed for tourists.

Note the style, modern, hideous.

Corlander was a conservative Englishman.

Used a fountain pen.

To clean, merely wipe,
and it is as bad as new.

Note the floor. Terrazo.

There is dirt, there is blood,
a bucket of water, forget it.

The Corlander bedroom.

And Mrs. Corlander.

Meet Superintendent
Grant of Scotland Yard.

This is my bedroom.

Would you get out of it, please?

Nobody asked you either.

But, Senora, we rang.

But I didn't answer.

And I'm not answering now.

It's a pity.

I've come a long way to
talk to you, Mrs. Corlander.

I've been questioned.

In a state of hysteria.

Okay, but what I said
is all I've got to say.

Get it from the handsome Teniento.

I'm sorry to intrude on your grief,

but I have some questions
of my own to ask you.

And he must insist, Senora.

In what?

I'm an American citizen, remember?

Your husband was British, wasn't he?

Didn't you change your nationality
when you married him?

I changed nothing, except my luck.

Senora, the superintendent's
here to investigate

the murder of your husband.

Surely you wish to help.

Don't you want to know who killed him?

When your husband traveled so frequently,

did he always buy sugar, invariably?

For instance, can one
buy sugar out of season,

or can one merely be
unfaithful to one's wife?

I tried to demonstrate how you
can help the superintendent,

you see, and yourself.

Perhaps you know of a jealous husband?

Perhaps you know of a
place to go and leave us.

Perhaps, I shall go and see.

May I?

You know there's no habeas
corpus in this country,

so that if the police suspect
you of withholding information

they can imprison you indefinitely,

even if they find no cause to try you.

In other words, 'til they
find the murderer and try him.

Okay, I thought of two
things when Bob started

buying sugar out of season,

but what Teniento said.

It's possible.

You know how I know
he wasn't woman hunting?

You know what it's like to
live with a man five years

when he stops being a husband
after one lousy month?

Unfortunately, I'm
biologically handicapped

in that direction, Mrs. Corlander.

Sure you are.

What's the other thing?

Smuggling.

Smuggling arms?

Does it matter what?

It's not likely to be
anything else in this country.

Who were his associates?

I have no idea.

Then how did you come to
believe that he was smuggling?

I was told.

I see.

Who was he working with?

Look, you go to Scotland Yard with
a bunch of smugglers,

they'll carve you first, then me.

Bob was tortured, didn't you know?

They'd stretch you out and do the same

until you yelled my name. No Thanks.

They did it to another
Englishman called Bancroft, too.

See his wife.

The police still won't
let her off this island.

She makes one move, she's in a cell.

Yes, I am, how charming
of you to recognize my voice

upon so slight acquaintance.

Would you get off my phone?

It's Mrs. Dorset.

Hello, Stella, honey?

Oh, the place is lousy with police.

Oh, do you think so?

No kidding.

They're just about getting ready to leave.

No, I'm glad you called, Sweetie,

I was just sitting around here wondering

whether or not you'd like
to come over or something.

No, I can't go out.

You know what black does to me.

Mrs. Dorset is the wife
of our Mr. Dorset, M9, 164,

When, tonight?

I tell you what, Stella, you do that.

Yeah, you reserve a table, honey.

The night Corlander was killed,

he was supposed to see Mr. Dorset.

And the night Bancroft was killed,

he was supposed to see Mr. Dorset, too.

No, sure, listen I'm
crazy about that voodoo bit.

You kidding?

Hey, hey, what about Louise?

Louise being Mrs. Bancroft.

Have you anything more to ask her?

Oh, not her.

Yeah, you know, the merry widows

and all that jazz.

You.

My wife.

Muy guapa.

That picture was taken eight years ago.

No woman is beautiful at that age.

It takes a man to make a
woman beautiful, and children.

You should see her now,

We have five.

Were we not having the sixth,
she would be here to greet you.

She is at the house of her mother.

This time it will be a boy.

It must be after so many daughters.

You don't look like the
father of a large family,

Teniento

A man who does not look like a father,

is a man most often invited to become one.

Now, less pleasant things to look at.

The photographs you wanted.

Bancroft, Corlander.

Mrs. Corlander was able
to tell you anything?

She thinks her husband
was mixed up in smuggling.

She thinks her husband
was mixed up in smuggling.

Oh, yes, she got that from Mrs. Bancroft,

who got it from me.

Rum?

No, explanations.

It is how I make the police
serve M9 without knowing.

When I wish to screen an agent's security,

I tell my uncle,
the colonel, that I suspect

that the man is smuggling guns.

He details police,
who discover that the man

is not smuggling guns, and I get a dossier

regarding him and his contacts.

How did Mrs. Bancroft hook
onto the smuggling idea?

Some months before they moved here,

I discovered that
Mrs. Bancroft had imported

a private detective to follow her husband.

I went to her very promptly.

I questioned her most
severely and officially.

I made it plain to her
that we of the police

suspected Mr. Bancroft of smuggling.

So, she then realized that
his movements were unconnected

with women, and she
sent the detective home.

And after her husband's murder,

she confided in Mrs. Corlander.

Claro

Mrs. Bancroft's lover, who is he?

A man who has never committed
murder, that is enough.

For your uncle, perhaps, but not for me.

I want his name.

It will not help you,
and it would be indelicate

of me to didulge it
because his every movement

can be accounted for satisfactorily,

Comprende?

Including the night of Bancroft's murder?

Particularly including the
night Bancroft was murdered.

Where was he then?

With Mrs. Corlander.

During a convenient
absence of her husband.

And the night that Corlander was killed?

With Mrs. Dorset.

During the convenient
absence of her husband.

Si.

Also one of our agents.
-Si.

So when do you expect Dorset to be killed?

And which one of the wives
of our few remaining agents

do you expect Don Juan
to be with that night?

Amigo mio.

this man you call Don Juan is nothing.

I always know where he is.

Invariably the surveillance is total.

What makes him move to the next wife

before each husband dies?

Clairvoyance?

As you see, in the killing of each,

there are enormous similarities.

Is that not a monumental coincidence?

There is a monumental
coincidence concerning you, too.

Coincidence and innocence are partners.

Normally, you know our agents,

but you don't know who
you are, is that correct?

Si, I break cover only if London orders.

London ordered you to
break cover with Bancroft.

And London ordered me to
break cover with Corlander.

Is this a coincidence?

No, the coincidence is that
they both died the next night.

I can give you another.

On both occasions, Bancroft
and Corlander asked me

to do something for them.

To get them false papers
to cross the border.

I therefore, referred
Bancroft, and then Corlander,

to a British agent who
could help them, Dorset.

Yes, we have that on record
in London from your reports,

but not from Dorset's.

Now which of you am I to believe?

First you must find
out whether he is lying

before you conclude that I am.

That means I must break my cover with him.

Yes, that is a pity.

It means that you are
treading the same path

as Bancroft and Corlander.

And you know where that led.

Arrange for me to meet
him right away, would you?

But if Dorset and I are accomplices.

It'll be all the worse for you.

Tonight our three charming gringo ladies

go to watch the voodoo dance.

I have no doubt Mr. Dorset will be there.

I leave the rest to you.

That is Dorset.

The name of the club is La Calavera.

Stella, your husband hardly
seems to be enjoying it.

Not feeling well?

Fine, thanks.

How's the travel business?

I know who you are.

You represent World Travel out here.

Do I?

And who are you?

Oh, I move around keeping an eye

on World Travel representatives.

You had a cable from London today.

Shall I tell you how it read?

Bill, what happened to you?

I was bored.

Well, you look ill.

I hate that stuff.

Really, but it's only a dance.

And a phony one, too.

Hello there, we haven't met.

I'm John Grant.

Louise Bancroft.

Well, voodoo is a profound
and fascinating subject,

but how you can get so steamed up

about this commercialized
vulgarity I can't imagine.

Don't try.

Oh, Bill, really.

Forgive me, Louise, but
profound and fascinating's

a bit of an overstatement.

I was talking about the genuine article.

An excuse for sordid
orgies of bloodletting.

Well, that's a flip way
of describing an ancient

and vital religious belief.

We can do without
religions that strangle birds

and cut animals' throats.

Well, there's nothing
like that gonna happen here.

Oh, come on, Louise darling.

He's in one of his moods.

Well, goodbye, Mr. Grant.

Will you be staying long in Topeka?

That depends.

Oh, well, perhaps we'll meet again.

Perhaps, goodbye.

Sorry about that, Grant.

You were saying something about a cable.

Oh, yes, it was addressed to you.

It read, Our representative 65/L322

will contact you.

Appreciate you would give
him usual cooperation,

signed Hobbs World Travel.

So that's who you are.
-Mm-hmm.

I can't imagine why London
ordered us to break cover.

Perhaps you'll be good enough

to tell me what it's all about.

It concerns two of our associates,

or rather our ex-associates.

I don't imagine it had
anything to do with voodoo,

but they were certainly involved
in orgies of bloodletting.

They ended up with their throats cut.

We can't talk here.

Let's go around to my place.

Stella won't be back for some time yet.

How do you like your drink?

Plenty of rum?

Without in this heat.

How long have you had that?

Oh, rather splendid, isn't it?

Actually, a rich, young oil
man shipped it out here.

Smashed it up late one night driving

with a film starlet, hitherto unknown.

You bought the wreck and fixed it up?

No, my wife did.
-Get rid of it.

My dear fellow, why?

Your cover depends on people thinking

that you're the employee
of a travel agency,

not a millionaire.

Oh, I hope you find this flat appropriate.

My wife detests it.

The rent's quite negligible
as it ought to be.

Do you pay it to your wife,
or does she pay it to you?

I beg your pardon?

According to the local
police, she owns this flat.

Under island law, that's as good as saying

it belongs to you.

I'm not with you.

And it's not only the flat that you own,

but the entire block.

Oh, my dear fellow, I'm quite positive

the police have misinformed you.

I'm quite positive they haven't.

I've checked registers, I've
spoken to the estate agents

who made the sale.

They showed me documents
signed by your wife.

But you must know a foreigner

can't go into business on his own here.

Not unless he takes an
islander as a partner.

By custom, a sleeping partner.

She's never said anything about this?

Nothing.

Ask her about it.
-I can't.

I'm ordering you to.

Look here, I won't accept an inquisition

about my domestic affairs.

Because I'm in M9, it
prevents my bettering myself.

It's hard lines on my wife, you know,

because I can't explain it to her.

So, you didn't give her the
money for the car, the flat,

or the whole block?

You're quite aware that I
haven't got that sort of money.

Who has then?

I've no intention of finding out.
-Why not?

Because my wife's 25
years younger than I am.

I'm very fond of her.

The only way I can keep
her is by not caging her.

You understand?

But someone's been
giving her that much money.

Don't you think you ought
to find out who it is

before he buys you out altogether?

Nobody's concern but my own.

You can't be in M9 and have
a private life, you know.

Then I shall leave M9.

I'm quite serious, Grant.

How would you like to go,
by resignation or liquidation?

Liquidation?

What do you know about Bancroft?

Bancroft?

You mean the man who was
murdered a year ago last April?

Yes.

Well, I know that he was in fruit.

And Corlander who died three days ago?

Well, I know he was in sugar.

To me they were both crashing bores.

And yet your wife is great
friends with their widows.

Topico Bay is a collection
of small communities.

The British is the most clannish of all.

One tends to meet willy-nilly.

But you learned they were in M9

only shortly before they died.

M9?

No, I didn't know that.

Didn't you?

Do you know who the agent in charge

of security is over here?

No, anonymity is the essence

of his security, too, isn't it?

He arranged a break of cover
between you and Bancroft,

also between yourself and Corlander.

No, nothing like that ever happened.

Then he lied to me.

You might spend your time
more profitably questioning him.

I'm only small fry.

London hasn't asked me to
do anything for over a year.

Unfortunately, you have
information that is of value

to the wrong people at the moment.

Oh?

What's that?

You know who I am.

I didn't seek that information.
You imposed it on me.

Going?

Can I drive you?

No thanks, I'll take a cab.

Drive on, stop further down the road.

Hello again, Mrs. Dorset.

Hmm, hot.

Is the Teniente in?

No.
-Good, then we can talk.

Came to see me?
-Who else?

Drink?
-Thanks.

How did you know I was staying here?

My husband told me.

So you've been home?

How much are you a
Scotland Yard detective?

And how much are you a man I can trust?

In what connection?

In connection that the local
police may chuck my husband

out of the country if they
find out that he's a smuggler.

You sound as if you think they will.

Well, they're bound to.

Unless he's murdered
first like the others.

Look, my husband made a lot of money.

And it isn't through the travel business.

I know, because he puts
everything in my name.

Lucky for you.

Makes no difference.
Under these local laws,

anything belongs to a wife
belongs to her husband, as well.

And you think he's making
his money out of smuggling?

What else?

We live rather uncomfortably
as if he's trying to hide

what he's made.

I see. Have you told Mrs.Bancroft

and Mrs. Corlander about this?

Well, they're my only
real friends out here.

Although I think, perhaps, you might be.

What makes you think that?

All right it's like this.
When Jim Bancroft died,

they wouldn't allow his
wife out of the country,

and now the same thing's
happening to Lorna.

So if my husband's going to be in trouble,

I want to know in time so
that I can get out of this

ghastly little island
before the trouble starts.

Mrs. Dorset, one could hardly accuse you

of being infatuated with your husband.

No. So this is my proposition.

I'll help you find out about my husband.

I wouldn't do it for the local police,

but I'll do it for Scotland Yard.

And in return, you tell me
when I should start running.

It sounds an interesting proposition.

I'll have to think about it.

Well, you do that, Mr. Grant, good night.

Good night.

Oh, by the way, where can I
get in touch with you tonight

if I have to?

At home?

No, no, not at home.

At Mrs. Corlander's?

I said I'd give you
information about my husband,

Mr. Grant, not about myself.

Thank you.

Why don't you have a drink?

Yes.

Did you have a pleasant evening?

Yes, thank you.

Are you interested in voodoo?

Oh, yes, I used to be.

You've got quite
a collection on the subject.

I have sometimes been
to watch their rites.

Unfortunate goats have been
sacrificed, but never a man.

At least, not so far.

Am I still under your
suspicion in some way?

In many ways.

It's too hot for generalities.

Did you manage to meet Dorset?

Yes, he says you lied to me.

You broke my cover to him?

No, of course not.

You are a man to be trusted.

I wish you were.

I am.

Dorset says that you
never arranged a meeting

between him and the other two.

I find if deeply significant

that he finds it necessary to lie.

I find it equally significant
that perhaps he did not lie.

And did you see the lovely
gringo ladies at the club?

Of course, and there have
been a couple of visitors here

since I got back.

So late?

Who were they?

One was a stranger.

He was in the house when I
arrived searching my room.

What did he look like?

I've got a photograph of him here.

The brilliant superintendent,

it will not take us long to find him.

How did they both know I was staying here?

Why should anyone know you are here?

We police have many enemies.

Perhaps he was an Obeah man.

He may have been searching
for a shirt I had worn,

some of my hair, a paring of my nails,

something I had cast off.

What for?

Obeah men believe that the
possession of things cast off

gives them power over the owner.

Interesting, but he didn't
come here to find nail parings

or dirty shirts.

When we bring him in,

we'll soon find out what he did want.

And who was your second caller?

Mrs. Dorset.

That is a surprise.
-She's a liar, too.

In what way?

I asked her how she
knew I was staying here,

she said her husband had told her,

but he couldn't have done.

I didn't tell him.

Ah, si, an enigma, insisting the question,

who did tell her?

There is another question.

Whom did she really come to see?

I love my wife, believe me.

It grieves me deeply that
my method of investigating

the domestic security of our agents

forces me so often to deceive her.

I confess only because you know already.

Comprende, I am Don Juan.

I rely upon you to guard my secret.

Are you meeting Mrs. Dorset tonight?

Si.
-Where?

At the beach.

It's a bit late for swimming.

I have a bungalow down there.

It is small, but convenient.

You sure she'll turn up?

You think she would break
an appointment with me?

I wouldn't know, but I
intend to tell Dorset about it.

I refuse to believe it.

She's with him now.

I won't listen to any of this.

Do you expect her home tonight?

What?

Do you expect her home?

No, she is with Louise Bancroft.

Louise has a bungalow down on the beach.

Stella often-- She's at a bungalow

on the beach, but not at Mrs. Bancroft's.

She'll be at the bungalow
to which this man

first took Mrs. Bancroft, and
before that Mrs. Corlander.

Now look, I want you to
understand this very clearly,

Dorset, either this man
found out from their wives

that Bancroft and Corlander
were in M9, or you did

when they broke their cover to you.

Look, if you're really innocent,

you'll do this tomorrow
when she comes home.

You'll blow yourself to her.

You'll tell her that you're in M9.

You'll turn yourself
into a piece of cheese,

and place yourself firmly
in the middle of the trap

waiting to be eaten.

Hello.

This is Louise Bancroft.

Good morning, Mrs. Bancroft.

You do remember who I am?

Yes, of course, we met last night.

Well, that's something.

You are interested in voodoo.

Huh, am I?

Oh, I thought you were.

Oh, perhaps I am.

Well, you either are
or you're not, Mr. Grant.

What's your interest in the subject?

I've been writing a book on the islands.

Voodoo plays a part.

I thought you might be interested

in visiting a local museum.

The curator, Papa Camille,
is the great expert.

He'd like to meet you.

The voodoo cult originally
came from the land of Africa.

As you know, Mr. Grant,
our people were imported from there.

And as they left in a hurry,

there was no time to bring much with them.

But there was one thing
your European ancestors

could not stop them from
bringing, their religion,

of which ophiolatrie was the
most distinguished feature.

Ophiolatrie?

Mrs. Bancroft, I see your friend,

Mr. Grant, is no scholar.

Ophiolatrie is?

Snake worship.

Yes, the voodoo sect, they obey
the command of the serpent.

Excellent.

How does the snake convey its wishes?

His commands are
interpreted by the mamaloi,

that is the mama or priestess.

You smile, Mr. Grant.

I'm not smiling.

The whites are always ready to sneer.

But the religion of the primitive peoples

is as vital to them, as yours is to you.

The voodoo drums, the papa,
the boula or baby, the mama.

You see, the mother is the largest,

for in the practice of voodoo,

the ladies take the most important parts.

There is no more powerful way of calling

on the gods than dancing.

They drum, they dance, they
drum, they dance, they drum,

they dance, they drum, and
they dance 'til the priestess

is seized with convulsions
and she lifts her head

and she speaks, but not in her own voice,

but that of the gods.

Is there still any
form of blood sacrifice?

Oh, there is indeed.

Sacrifice is their expression

of the deepest sentiment and emotion.

If the gods are angry,
they must be appeased.

Blood is caught, some drunk,

some sprinkled over the devotees.

But the blood of what, in particular?

There are those who delight in the flesh

of the spotless white goat.
But on great occasions,

they will call for the blood
of the goat without horns.

What's that?

Goat without horns was their
name for a human sacrifice,

Mr. Grant, but that was
in the past, of course.

And that form of sacrifice
was soon discouraged

by their white masters who
considered it a wanton waste

of slave labor.

By the way, Mr. Grant,
your interest in voodoo,

it is sincere?

I've been most interested
in all you've told me.

Then if you are interested,
perhaps you'd like

to be present at a meeting of the sect?

I could arrange it.

It isn't everyone who
gets the opportunity,

is it, Mrs. Bancroft?

It is not.

I think it's most disloyal of you.

You've never invited me.

Well, Mr. Grant?

That's very kind of you, Mr. Camille.

Unfortunately, I have a very
heavy schedule of appointments.

So, you're not serious.

You have been wasting my time, Mr. Grant.

And in ordering Dorset
to reveal to his wife

that he is an agent working for M9,

on whom are you checking?

All of you.

Then let us consider the lady first.

Mrs. Dorset is the longest shot.

The theory is that now she
knows her husband is working

for M9, she'll sell him to
the man we're looking for.

In which case, after
she sells her husband,

the counter agent will contact
him to arrange a rendezvous.

At a convenient place to kill him,

as he killed the other two.

I find your theory concerning
Stella Dorset unconvincing.

I find your theory concerning
Stella Dorset unconvincing.

So do I, but it's the one
that Dorset wants me to believe.

Why?

To clear himself.

He was only too ready to establish

that she had been receiving money

from a mysterious stranger,
and to make it more convincing,

that she is promiscuous,
which she puts across very well.

So do you.

I find your incessant
suspicion of me depressing.

Now that I've ordered
Dorset to reveal his cover

to his wife, if nothing comes of it,

then she's in the clear.

But if Dorset is the murderer,
he will have to make sure

that something does come of it.

He cannot afford to let you
think that his wife is innocent.

And he will contact me to
say that a mysterious stranger

wishes to arrange a rendezvous.

And he will ask you to go
along with him as his protector?

And I will find myself in a trap.

Then who is the cheese, you or Dorset?

What if you and Dorset are accomplices?

Tsk, tsk, you really must
learn to trust me, amigo.

I'd like to, but if I'm wrong.

In that case, you will
be a piece of cheese,

consumed to the last morsel.

It's Dorset.

Grant speaking.

Is it all right to speak?

Perfectly.

You were right, it's come.

An unstamped letter - in the mailbox.

What does the message say?

Information for sale
concerning the death of Corlander.

When do they want to meet you?

Half past 11 tonight.

I'll give you cover.

I'm supposed to go alone.

Don't worry, they won't see me.

Where is it?

Grant, are you here?

Well, Dorset, thanks for standing by me.

So, you changed your mind.

You decided to come along after all, huh?

Are you laying on some voodoo rites?

Oh, no, not tonight.

You took the wrong path.
The drums are in the next valley.

We have other business tonight.

You see, I know now that you're not really

a Scotland Yard superintendent,
just as I am not really

a museum curator.

We work on opposite sides of the fence.

And my people are very interested

to know what goes on on your side.

So perhaps you'll start
telling me all about it, huh?

Nothing doing.

What's the matter, Dorset?

Grant, for heaven's sake,
tell him what he wants to know.

Had to watch this sort
of thing before, have you?

Tell him now and get it over.

That's why you couldn't take the dancing?

Brought back ugly memories,
Bancroft and Corlander, eh?

Now, please, you will tell
me everything eventually anyway,

so to save Mr. Dorset too much distress,

it would be a kindness
to him to tell us now.

If you find it so repulsive,
why do you work for him?

Good pay master?

He works for me because he has to.

And now, you are going to
tell me all about your friends

in London because you have to.

You took your time, didn't you?

You were getting anxious?

Caramba caramba.

When you get back to London,
you'll be able to tell them

what a splendid man they have
out here. A man to be trusted.

Of course, and now you
will tell your uncle,

the colonel, that Mr. Dorset
and Papa Camille

were involved in gun-running.

But of course.

In that case, you will need the evidence.

Gracias.

And if Mr. Dorset is wise,
he will stick to our story.

Yup.