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We don't want to buy no lino, nor nothing. - Mr. Dragore, please.|- Oh, him. No sound, please. After two years, I find you. I want the Eternal Light. You've found me too late. It's no longer mine. I can kill with this from the end of the room.|No lies, please. You cannot kill in England, Mahmoud. They get their murderers here|and hang them. I have not come alone. If I hang, there are others. The Eternal Light goes back|to the tomb from which you stole it. - But I tell you, I have not got it.|- Please, I am not a child. - I sold it.|- To whom did you sell it? To Professor Morlant. That robber of the dead? Has he sold it? - He did not buy it to sell.|- What then? - Like you, Mahmoud, he believes.|- Believes? He believes that the Eternal Light|will open for him the gates of paradise? Even so,|he gave the best part of his fortune for it. And, very soon,|he will know whether or not he was right. What do you mean? Professor Morlant is dying. Then you think it will be buried with him? I'm sure of it. We have only got to wait... until he is dead. Anubis... Opener of the way. What's that? - What is it?|- Good evening. I stay in the neighborhood... and, hearing of your master's illness,|I took the liberty of calling. How is he tonight? He'll never see the morning. - He hasn't asked for anyone of my cloth?|- Nor will he. He's set in his ways,|and they are the ways of the heathen. I know he won't see the rector... but though I'm a stranger,|I don't like to leave a man to die like that. He'll die in his own fashion, as he has lived. - Still, sometimes at the end...|- Not with him. He's stubborn and unbending|and will be so at the throne itself. I suppose I can be of no use then. No manner of use. Good night. He's asking for you. Where can I find Mr. Broughton? Who is it? Come in or go out. You'll have to go up soon|if you want to see him again. Curious house, this. Curious owner. Yes, but I suppose a great Egyptologist|can't be expected to be like other people. He'll be like a great many other people soon. That's not a very sympathetic thing to say. I'm not a sympathetic man. Want a drink? - That's across the hall, isn't it?|- I dare say. Thanks. "£75,000... "September 22nd... "1931." "Daily journal." "1922. "The Eternal Light... "mine at last." I want to see Laing. I'm here. Is the door shut? It is. - No listeners?|- None. - The curtains?|- They are drawn. Come nearer. This man, Broughton... Watch... Broughton. You were always suspicious. Have you ever trusted a living soul? Only fools. I trust you. Better to trust in the spirit than in the flesh. I put my trust... in my own gods. And now... when I am dead... my funeral... you will bury me at dusk... in the clothes I told you. You will place the figure of Anubis... at the west of the inner chamber. I will. And on the night... of the full moon... at the first hour... I will make my offering of the Eternal Light... to Anubis... opener of the ways. If I have done well in his sight... those fingers will close over the jewel... and he will open to me|the gates of immortality. The hand of a heathen image|will not come to life. The bandage... Look. This is the Eternal Light. It must rest in my hand. A man will not find peace|who robs his heirs. Bandage my hand. The Eternal Light... must lie with me... in the tomb. You're afraid of me? I'm afraid for you. If this should leave me... then you'll have reason to fear... for when the full moon... strikes the door of my tomb... I will come back. You hear? I will come back to kill. Bandage my hand. Doctor! Window... open... It's all over. Make out a certificate: Heart failure. What was the idea|of bandaging his hand like that? I cannot say. He had many a queer fancy. I'll be round in the morning|to sign the certificate. I'll not be leaving my master's side|till his body is laid to rest. No. Where are you going? To feed the lamp that is to burn inside. Wait! You're leaving the key inside. That was another of his queer fancies. When your master died, Laing... I believe him to have been possessed|of a jewel of great value. Do you know anything about it? Nothing. - I advise you to be very careful, Laing.|- I have a careful nature. You may be putting yourself|perilously near dishonesty. I've seen men nearer. You may regret this, Laing. I want you to stay here|and watch that man with the clubfoot. But I'm not a detective. One more word from you, Davis,|and you're out of work. I have reason to believe that he has stolen|a valuable piece of property. He may make an effort to get rid of it. Watch him, and telephone me|at my office if he leaves the house. Very good, sir. "Harlon." "Miss Betty Harlon... "52 Blandford Street." Carrier! From Wrexham. Ten shillings if you'll drive me to Yoxford|station in time to catch the 5:00 train. I'll oblige you, guv'nor.|I was going straight back, as it was. That's a very old carpet. I should be glad|if you will not kick it to pieces. I'm sorry, but when I'm angry, I do kick. - Would you like to explain that?|- Yes, I intend to. By your own statement, Miss Harlon and I|are the sole heirs of Uncle. We were not informed|of his death or his funeral. Your uncle died|and was buried in a certain way... according to his wishes, which... Need I go on? Almost his last words|were a threat to return from the dead. - In my opinion, he was mad.|- Well, that may be so. Miss Harlon and I|should have been consulted. I understood that you and her|were not on speaking terms. So what?|You expect quiet at a funeral, don't you? Yes, I also expected my offer. I'm very sorry,|but this means a good deal to both of us. - I thought he was worth about £4,000 a year.|- He isn't now. What do you mean by that? He spent a good deal, you know. It may surprise you to know|that, some time ago... he drew a check for £75,000. What for? I don't know. You were in charge of all his affairs,|and you don't know? That's what I said. And I advise you to look after|the tone of your voice. I'm not sure I haven't more important things|to look after than the tone of my voice. I don't follow you. I'm going to run down|to Earlsvale House tomorrow morning. Yes, why... I don't think you realize... the conditions that you'll find there. - No, that's why I propose to go.|- You won't like it. You'll be most uncomfortable. You don't advise me to go? I think you'll be making a very big mistake. Then I'll go. By the way, does Miss Harlon know|anything about this will business? No doubt she will have received|a letter from me by now. - Do you know Miss Harlon?|- No. I plan to have the pleasure|of calling upon her this evening. Hello. It's you, Davis. Wait a minute. I have a visitor here,|but I think he's just going. Thank you very much. If you're going to see Miss Harlon tonight,|I shall be there, too. No doubt you will succeed|in making a painful interview intolerable. Good afternoon. Your manner must help|your practice a great deal. Now, Davis. Can you direct me|to Blandford Street, please? Follow the tramlines close on a mile|and then turn right at the church. I'm obliged to you. Hello, Kaney. It's good to get out of that fog. My dear, a most exciting thing|has happened. Don't let it happen again. No, not that. That's a chestnut. It's this. It looks like a solicitor's letter. It's just been delivered by hand. Oh, dear? What haven't we paid? I wonder if I'm gonna get a shock or not. Kaney, that is a silly game. After all we've said about Uncle Henry... what do you think he's done? - Something nice, at last?|- He's dead. My dear, I'm sorry. And his solicitor wants to see me. My dear, I'm glad. He was awfully rich, wasn't he? He may have left you a fortune. If he has, I'll buy you a private cinema. I say, when did this letter come? A few minutes ago. Why? He asks me to telephone him|if I could see him here at 6:00. You don't want to miss the chance|of a fortune for the sake of tuppence. - You'd better run out and do it now.|- You're right. - Miss Harlon?|- Yes. What happened? Somebody attacked me,|and snatched my bag. - Why, good Lord, it's Betty Harlon.|- Ralph Morlant. You would go and get yourself|into some kind of mix-up. - You would arrive when it's all over.|- Thank you. - I'm going home.|- Wait a minute. I was on my way to see you,|strictly on business. You wouldn't be allowed in|for any other reason. That's good. Taxi! Penninghame Garage,|as quickly as possible. So you've brought him. Dear Mr. Broughton,|we're delighted to see you. No, it isn't Mr. Broughton.|It's my cousin, Ralph Morlant. Dear Mr. Morlant, we're delighted to see you. Wrong again. We don't like him very much. Don't we? I didn't realize. - Our two families are not on speaking terms.|- Oh, dear. As far as I can make out, it was started|by my late uncle as a Christmas joke. - Won't you sit down?|- Thank you. But now he's dead. The trouble's all over. I'm not sure it hasn't just begun. Where's Mr. Broughton? He won't come, because I didn't telephone. I nearly got throttled instead. There was a man with a limp.|He pushed a note into my hand. I just put it in my bag... when somebody snatched the whole affair. What was in it? "There's something of value at Earlsvale. "Others are after it, so come." And Broughton was doing everything|he knew to keep me away from there. There's a fox in the cover somewhere. Goodbye. Why "goodbye"? I'm going there right away.|I'll let you know what happens. You're wrong. I'll let myself know.|If you go, I go, too. You can't do that. Alone in a house with a man|you're not even on speaking terms with. Don't be so absurd.|It's not as if I even liked him. If another woman was going, perhaps. - I suppose you want to come, too?|- Obviously, it's my duty. And suppose I object? I'm not so broke I can't hire a car. All right, you win,|but for goodness' sake, hurry. Girls, just get in as best you can.|There you are. - You first!|- No, you. Hurry up. This is an unspeakable car. - There's no room for my legs.|- All right. - It looks as if I'll have to walk.|- You might do worse. There's a grand moon. It's full. I'll see if there's a name on this gate. There's nothing to show this is the place. But there aren't any other places,|and I'm frozen. It's no use going to the wrong place. Wait. Here's someone on a bike.|Hi there, cocky, wait a minute. I'm sorry. I didn't see you were a parson. That's all right. - Any trouble?|- No. We just want to get to Earlsvale House. This is it. As a matter of fact, I'm calling there myself. - Did you know my uncle, Professor Morlant?|- Slightly. Perhaps I ought to introduce myself.|My name's Nigel Hartley. - I'm down at Raveley. The vicar's ill.|- How do you? I'm Ralph Morlant... and this is Miss Harlon. We're the heirs... Couldn't we have the rest|of the introduction indoors? Of course. You must be cold. It's straight down this drive.|You go along, I'll follow. All right. Here we are. The car will be all right here. I'll show you the way. What a horrible house. I wish I was back home in bed. I can hear someone coming. Don't stand about. Come inside. We'll go into the library. I may be old-fashioned, but I feel awkward|when I'm not introduced to people. I'm sorry. I forgot you didn't know|your clients by sight. - This is Miss Harlon.|- How do you do? I was expecting|a telephone message from you. I was on my way to call you up... when the most extraordinary|thing happened. This is Miss Kaney. How do you do? You're a surprise, Broughton. I have a great deal of business|to clear up down here. This house has needed a woman|for about 25 years. Now I've blinded myself. You haven't wasted much time|in getting here. No, just a little too much, perhaps. Whatever do you mean?|Really, you're the rudest man alive. Oh, pretty pussy! How horrible! It's stuffed. I dare say, you know|your own business best... but why you should want|to bring a parson in... - A pure accident. We met at the gates...|- So you brought him in. - I can stand a certain amount, but no more.|- Don't let's make a battle of it. - You stay here in the car.|- No. I shall be among the trees, watching. You may say I have no right|to express this opinion... but to my mind,|it's a scandalous and disgraceful burial... which may have disastrous consequences. It'd be very disastrous|if he came back, wouldn't it? - I quite see Mr. Hartley's point.|- You make friends quickly. - And enemies quicker.|- Need we have these childish squabbles? We all know that dead men don't come back. I wish I was back home in bed. - Hadn't somebody better answer that?|- Certainly. - It's your house.|- Very well. I'm sorry to disturb you. But I was an intimate friend|of Professor Morlant. You'd better come in.|We seem to be giving a party. Thank you. My name is Aga Ben Dragore. An Egyptian? An Arab. I don't remember having heard your name. I did not flatter myself that you would... but I knew Professor Morlant|some years ago in Egypt. I heard of his death... and of his burial in my own faith. I hoped, as I'm leaving England tomorrow... that I might be allowed to visit his tomb. I must protest against anything of the sort. Why shouldn't the poor man|look at his friend's tomb? I don't mind him going. I can't believe|that you'd willingly encourage paganism. The Egyptians were not pagans, sir. As no doubt you know, Miss... Kaney. I think you're all being very unkind|to Mr. Dragore. I don't think you people realize quite|how far Morlant's queer ideas took him. He believed that after his death,|at a certain hour... the image of Anubis would come to life|in his tomb and receive his soul. It's horrible. Well, I can't see that it matters. After all, if that sort of mumbo jumbo|gave him any comfort... It matters a great deal. If my suggestion is likely to hurt|anyone's feelings... please forget it. I think that's very sweet of you, Mr. Dragore. Your sympathy is more than charming. Well, what about a cup of coffee,|after your cold drive? I dare say, we should find some|in the kitchen. May I offer my services as pantry man? Quite sweet of you. Come, Mr. Dragore. Her sheer speed! She'll not let him out|of her sight for a moment, now. Perhaps that's just as well. Come along, Betty,|how about making a fire in the library? Yes. I'm sorry there should be|this sort of atmosphere. After all, we're only ships|that pass in the night. Do you want a drink, or will you pass now? Well, thank you very much. There you are. If you build it that way,|there won't be any draft. It'll be the only place in this house|where there isn't one, then. Don't you think you carry|those snappy retorts a trifle too far? Since we met, I can't remember you|saying a kind word to anyone. Perhaps you're right. I'm sorry. Six cups. That's just... four too many. Tell me about Egypt. Have you ever seen a sheik? I am one. Thank you. Then how should I address you? I'm cutting sandwiches for a sheik. I don't feel quite well. Don't be alarmed. We're not quite as uncivilized|as people think. Don't say that. Do you ride a white stallion? Sometimes. Down the path of the moon... the noble animal,|plunging and frothing at the nostrils... till it founders at your feet,|faithful unto death. Well, not very often. You see, it's rather too expensive. I know it's not your fault.|We were taught to hate one another, but... You don't think I hate you, do you? I can't somehow feel I'm your dearest friend. You never did have a great deal of sense. That's nice. Ralph, I have a woman's intuition|that you and I are up against things. - I'm pretty sure we are.|- Well then, let's cut the quarrelling. Shoulder to shoulder? All right. Partners. Well, what a wonderful night.|It's a full moon. Scared of a dead man in his tomb? Shame on yourself. Are you a child, that your knees|should rattle at the talk of a madman? Look your enemy in the face. It's the fear of the big door has got you... and will hold you fast till you stare it down. Do dead men walk? I'm not thinking a dead man|will cross my path tonight. I was dreaming. Now I will show you|how we make coffee in the desert... underneath the stars. You don't make it yourself, do you? No, of course not. A Circassian slave... Iovely as sin, cooks it for us, kneeling. - And if it is not to our liking...|- I know! She's stripped to the waist... and lashed for miles across the Sahara. Where she is finally eaten by locusts,|and rightly. Now, take this canister,|and do exactly as I tell you. And if I fail? The Yorkshire moors are just behind us. Six spoonfuls. One! Two! Three! Four! Five! Get off, you! Get your arms away from me! What's the matter with you? Are you mad? What was the matter with him? Was it drink? No. Terror! Stark terror! Then I've caught it. You stay here. I'll look after him. If you must look after somebody,|why look further? Come on, then. Ralph! That limp! I'd swear to it anywhere. That's the man. - Did you give a note to this young...|- Get your things and get out of here! The master, I've seen him! - Who screamed?|- I did. That's the last time I'll ever try|to make coffee in a strange house. That man with the limp, who was he? Laing, your uncle's servant. Well, he seemed mad to me. Yes... and probably dangerous. Go into the library. I'll have a word with him. Yes, come along.|Mr. Broughton understands the man. It would do no harm|to warn my man to stand by. Your man? Is he a sheik, too? No, he's a chauffeur.|He's outside now with my car. You're not leaving us, are you? My dear lady. Not a very courageous person,|our foreign friend. You think he's run away? Absurd! I'd like to see you riding your bicycle,|with a Circassian slave, lovely as sin... across the handlebars. - What on earth are you talking about?|- Listen, good people. Don't you think we're allowing this thing|to get on our nerves? Don't you think if we took a grip|on our self control... Now, listen, good parson... this is our show, and our nerves|are probably as good as the next man's... so keep that sort of talk to your pulpit. I have no wish to interfere|where I'm not wanted. Then don't. This is not a Sunday school. After that, I think I can say good night. As you please. I'm sorry I was offensive. Good night. The tongue is an unruly member, is it not? Yes. I was tempted... but I did not fall. I did not fall. The thing's safe, I swear it. When you told me|you'd come back from the grave... how could I believe you? I never knew such things could be. I have not got it! The girl, she has it! I swear it. What on earth's the matter with you?|You look as if you've seen a ghost. I have. I saw Morlant as plainly as I see you. I'm gonna mix myself a drink. Betty, just a minute. Well? I think they're trying to scare us|out of this house. There's no use blinding ourselves|to the facts. There must be something big at stake. Something that depends|on getting rid of us? That's how it looks to me. But what are we going to do? Who's there? - I'm going down to that tomb and find out...|- What does... It's the only way to find out|what's going on here. I don't want to be left here alone.|Can I come, too? There's nothing wrong with your nerve.|Come on. - I'll put on a pullover and thicker shoes.|- All right. - Is this yours?|- Yes. I'll keep an eye on Broughton. You have every chance of seeing things|if you lower Scotch at that pace. Mr. Dragore! There you are. Mr. Dragore, I'll come up to you. Wait, I'll come down. - What do you want?|- There was somebody in the library. - Who?|- I don't know. The door, it shut! Don't scream. That's what I need! The command in your wonderful voice. Come with me. I think you've gone far enough|with your insinuations. Yes, and I may go a great deal farther. - What is it? What's the matter?|- I've seen him. Now perhaps you'll believe what I told you. Get me a glass of water! Thanks. I wasn't hurt, only frightened. Broughton, see if you can find Miss Kaney,|will you? It's wonderful to be with a man|who isn't afraid. I am afraid. You, who have ridden bareback|over the desert... If you don't stop chattering,|I am afraid I shall have a knife in my back. When I'm with you, I have to talk. It comes, like poetry. Are you prepared to obey me? In anything. Then close your eyes... and don't speak for 10 seconds. - We all panic sometimes.|- I felt his hands on me. - That's why I know it was no ghost.|- It was no ghost. Look at the clock. It's nearing the hour. I know where you'll find him now. He's gone back to the tomb,|to his heathen gods. You and I will follow him there. Wait a minute. - What's his doctor's telephone number?|- Yoxford, 72. Look! The door's open, and there's a light. I'll go no nearer. I can see a shadow moving. - I'll go no nearer.|- Well, then, go back. What about it, Betty? Do we go on? Yes, of course. Thought you'd say that. Look! Hartley! So you're not a parson.|Just a dirty crook. You'd better get out of my way. Your hand! So that's how it was done. - I wouldn't come any nearer.|- I don't have to. Look! If you please. Thank you. Come on, now. Door. - It's too late. Are you badly hurt?|- No, it's nothing. Come and sit down. - Where's the key?|- He threw it away. When I phoned the doctor,|I told him to bring the police. They ought to find us somehow. Even if they do come,|how can they break down that door? They'll find a way. I'll make a bandage. The doctor in charge|didn't understand the case. - I'm afraid of catalepsy.|- Meaning? Morlant was buried alive. Mr. Dragore, what were those shots? - Out of my way.|- Where are the others? Leave me alone. I thought you might be leaving in a hurry... with something in your pocket|that doesn't belong to you. Hand it over. You win. That woman! There she is! - Come now.|- Put down that gun, you fool. I tell you, she's got it. Come on, then! Stop! - Now, Miss Kaney, if you please.|- I don't think so. You fool. If either of you two horrible men|so much as move... in it goes. - You don't know the value of that jewel.|- I don't care for the value. It'll go. And if you shoot, I'll go with it. I mean it. Down 30 feet, and about 60 feet of water... and then Australia. I can't see to tie this.|That light seems much lower. Hartley! Quick, come on! Get up!|Get him out of here! - The door!|- Shut! The flames! They mustn't reach the door! It's no good. You can't breathe in there. The cartridge! Here! If only... I've had enough of this, Miss Kaney. Supposing I'm ready to shoot,|and take the risk? You'll be taking a bigger risk than you think. - I'll take that gun.|- Now, look here. That'll do. Now what's the trouble? This, they're after it. All of them. It belongs... I'll carry her to the house. Get back! Back in that corner! |
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