Langsham Langsham, hope the fridge isn't empty. Helpless. The driver of these noses was chosen. His name is as high as possible. Upgrade. Take a seat there. Thank you. I'll go. You know, if you've just walked up to this house in a normal way instead of... You would have been invited to lunch by Arthur. I've been a busy teacher of meeting you for years. I'm afraid I don't know like you, my dear Thorneberg. I've had but one passion in life. And that is the hunting of big game. I've convinced that I would have become more famous even than yourself if I hadn't renounced it in favour of politics. How it takes. Yes, I... I use more exciting fields of action. My branch of it. You're surprised that I knew your name so well. I was in Nairobi on my own safari the year that all keen you are rang with your exploits. So you see it's quite natural that I should know who you are. Yes. And also you've taken... my passport. Nonetheless, my dear Thorneberg, I should have recognised you on sight. A man whose brother was a guest in this house on Elos September. So you know my brother. In Lord Rizboi was sent here by your Prime Minister on a mission of appeasement. I found him a credulous simpleton. You know Thorneberg that this is the most closely guarded house in the world. Rather... I would have staked my life but no living thing would have ended this area without being seen. But then of course we didn't count upon a creature that has learnt to stalk the most cunning animal that can catch sense upon the wind. That has mastered the trick of moving through a forest as if he were transparent. Look out there. For 500 yards not a tree, not a shrub. A man running towards this house would be cut down before he'd taken five steps. And yet on that ledge above was a man with a precision rifle and a high degree of intelligence and skill that is required to use it. Your judgment of distance is uncanny Thorneberg. The sights were set at 550 yards only ten feet short of the exact range I checked it. Obviously my dear Thorneberg, such a man cannot be allowed to live. Surely you don't think I'm an assassin. You were stopped before you would shoot. But I could have easily. Good heavens man, I never intended to shoot. I merely wanted to find out if it were possible. That was the excitement of it that danger, the fun, was that fellow jumping me that made my gun go off. You disappoint me, Thorneberg. My dear say I have been a bit thick, but well from the way you talked about hunting and all that I assumed you knew it was a sporting star. Now what? A sporting star, stocking the game thereafter for the fun of it, not to kill. Well I'm not begging off from any consequences, but you will permit me to doubt your claims as a hunter of big game if you fail to understand the fascination for a man who's hunted all commoner game of hunting the biggest game on earth. That's it, precisely. The most dangerous of all animals, man. But you don't kill the sport is in the chase, not the kill. I don't kill any longer, not even small game. I know what I can do with a rifle. If I can stock an animal and get within range, the rest is a mathematical certainty, and that sheer cruelty and I don't like cruelty. The real fun is matching my wits against the instinct of an animal that isn't going to let me get near enough to shoot. Your conversation fascinates, Mythneberg. But this softness in your nature with regard to the ultimate purpose of firearms. Betrays the weakness, the decadence, not only of yourself but of your entire race. Yes, your symbolic of the English race. I'm beginning to think that you're symbolic of yours. We not since a finding a new life. A new vitality for our people by returning to the primitive virtues, such as going back to the barbarism of decapitation, we do not hesitate to destroy in order to create a new world. God help it. I'm sorry for you. And I, for you, Thorn Dyke. You and your world. I'll hit that. I'll hit that. I'll hit that. You can leave this country a free man. You can return to your position and friends in spite of what you've done. On what condition? Your name signed this. Later it will be witnessed by the Chief of Secret Police and other officials. What is it, a suicide note? It is a confession that on this 29th day of July 1939, you have attempted to assassinate our fury and that you have undertaken this crime with the approval of your government. I can't believe you're serious. Do you expect me to sign a lie? You still insist you had no intention to shoot? Of course I told you it was a sporting stock. Then why didn't you leave your rifle behind? I've asked myself that. And I think the answer is that it wouldn't have been sporting. It wouldn't have been playing the game. It wouldn't have been playing the game. I expect you to understand. Even pulling the trigger on an empty gun was a kind of cheating with myself. It didn't prove anything. I did, you know. Oh, natural. It had to be a loaded rifle with my finger on the trigger. With only my individual will, my civilized conscience between me and the extermination of your strutting little Caesar. I mean no insult, but how do you expect me to describe a man who wants to play God and have everyone else in the world run around and say, I'll hit him. I want you. No, thank you. No. The last time you signed this document, you are in no position to refuse. That's for me to decide, isn't it? I'm thinking it's easy to throw away your life and it is. But how well do you stand pain? If you want to listen to me, you'll have to talk it over with these men. I would save you from bad dissuasion. Very well. It's done. You may be named as anything, Fagglin.