The Mystery of Sintra (O Mistério da Estrada de Sintra)

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THE SINTRA ROAD CASE

Do you have any idea of who you are meddling with?

It's precisely because we know who you are, Doctor...

that you're still alive!

- Just stay calm. - Oh, I am quite calm!

I am still dazed after that fall,

I am soaked to the bone, with a gun pointed at my head

and no idea of where I'm going! I couldn't be calmer!

Quiet! Go faster!

Vasco!

He's not moving.

Doctor Sidonio, let's not waste time.

For God's sake, see this man.

I am not Doctor Sidonio!

I'm not sure of what is happening here,

but I am sure that you kidnapped the wrong man.

My name is Ramalho Ortigao. I'm a secretary at the Science Academy.

Vasco...

He is not a doctor!

You don't have to be a doctor to realise this man is dead.

Dead?

Go!

Run! Run!

Let go! Let go!

Let go of me!

How did we sink to this, Lord?

The Sintra Road Mystery.

It's the talk of the town. Lisbon is buzzing!

It's not everyday someone declares war on Prussia!

Read all about it!

We're a bigger storm than Prussia!

"Travellers avoid Sintra road at night!"

It's incredible.

Chief Constable goes to Sintra road to investigate news given in novel!

We had been saying this place needed a good shake-up...

There you have it: Lisbon is shaken.

I'd even say shaken stupid!

I told you: Truth always wins in the end.

Though veiled in the gossamer mantle of fantasy...

Fantasy my foot!

It happened to me...

Ramalho, that story is as real as a newspaper headline.

The man's name was Vasco.

She is his cousin...

And she must have been quite a beauty...

I barely escaped getting shot and you make light of it...

So be it: You were kidnapped.

You were in dire straits. You even tore your pants.

But now you're safe and sound. That's all that matters.

Moreover, the story is...

it's spicy. The public reads it.

Have you decided what you'll write next?

You left me a dead Englishman so I must find him a murderer.

And quickly, too, because I must go to Leiria tomorrow!

Oh, your self-exile!

You're dearly missed here, my friend!

Fine. Let there be a Prussian or...

stolen British pounds.

No, no. A cuckold Count.

And I'll have your masked man signing the next letter. I will!

Don't go overboard. We're not writing a lachrymose tragedy.

These characters are not to be trifled with.

Don't fret. The plot will unfold...

in Malta.

Will you swear you can do it?

You won't say no to me?

Will you swear you can do it? You won't say no to me?

You know that, for your sake, I'd go down to Hell if need be.

You needn't go that far. Fastening up my dress will suffice.

The room maid gives me the creeps.

The whole hotel gives me the creeps.

It's the best on the island!

This is not civilised Europe, Vasco.

That's for sure. But these dresses are quite civilised.

They are a total puzzle for a man. Why so many hooks and eyes?

Why, to fasten it! What else?

- Or open it... - Vasco! Are you flirting?

My countess looks exquisite today!

All done up to dine with the Ambassador!

It will be brimming with British officers!

Unfortunately.

And my dear husband the Count cannot see a Briton...

without kneeling at his feet.

It's not that bad. Don't exaggerate, cousin.

See whether the Count is ready, will you?

Jorge?

What is it?

- Are you ready? - Raring to go!

Protocol sat us at the table of that Captain Rytmel.

It seems he embarked with us at Gibraltar, but I cannot recall him.

I'll go on ahead to meet our partner.

The Count your husband looks for partners even at a dinner table.

I suspect he hasn't recovered yet from his last game of Whist...

dismissing the man who invited you.

He refused to travel without you.

"He is my partner at Whist, and the inventor of my cravats. "

He keeps saying he'll make you his heir.

You're wrong, cousin!

I came for your sake.

I am here only because you asked.

God!

I love you, I love you...

Are there no women like me in Europe?

I'll give my life for you.

I ask you only one thing.

That, now and again,

you remember me.

Liar.

The hotel might be bearable,

were it not for all these Britons.

Vasco, please behave.

You see that man? He is the Governor, General Broomington.

On his left stands the British Ambassador in Madrid.

It seems that you, dear coz, left all your patriotism back in Lisbon.

The British have been biting our heels, yet you...

As for Lisbon, remember: We're in Malta.

As for the British, this island happens to be theirs.

Just behave.

And, if it's not asking too much, smile!

Sorry to interrupt, darling.

Let me introduce Captain Rytmel, a hero of India.

He crushed a terrible rebellion in Bengal.

And apparently he killed a tiger with his bare hands.

That Countess in your serial novel acts like a sophisticated chorus girl.

She might've been one.

Unlike our illustrious friends,

Eca and I know how to appreciate the delights of "bel canto. "

I'll say that, in terms of pulp fiction,

this is about the best ever done in our country!

It's only a "divertimento!" No more. A parody!

Besides helping to pay the tailor's bills!

It has duels, kidnappings, galloping horses,

masked men, signet rings, escutcheons with the Phoenix...

We even feature an Englishman. Dead, yes, but an Englishman.

How patriotic can you get?

We can't shake them off in the real world, so we get revenge in fiction!

Your jealousy, dear friends,

was the one thing wanting to let us bask in glory!

Jealousy? Gentlemen, it is not jealousy that you arouse in us!

It's rather... pity.

Where is the New Literature, Eca?

The literature we fought for, one that denounces,

that exposes the corruption in our society.

What do you expect me to do, then?

The country lost its intelligence and moral conscience.

Social mores are dissolute, conscience has fled, integrity is corrupt.

But a writer cannot feed exclusively on the world's misery, dear friends.

Laughter also chastises mores.

Under a military dictatorship?

It's not a time for jokes, dear Ramalho.

I never thought that my friends, prominent intellectuals,

would be so preoccupied with a simple serial novel.

Why don't you focus more on women's silly passions,

and desist from "novelising" politics?

Order at the table!

Have no illusions: The aim of this novel is to make Portugal laugh!

It's not succeeding.

There's one thing missing from your novel to make it a total parody:

You need a victim of tuberculosis!

We'll get there yet!

Look who's coming!

Look who's coming!

Shall we go and greet Count Abranhos and his retinue?

Is it really necessary?

Ladies.

Your Honour...

Gentlemen, a Peer must congratulate such distinguished chroniclers.

We congratulate you for your "Mystery".

We are all devoted readers.

Won't you sit with us a while?

Thank you, madam, we cannot.

We are late already.

Always so busy, Mr. Ramalho.

Not all of us have the fortune of being born in a cradle of gold.

Not all of us have the misfortune of writing to earn a living.

I find it all so delightful! Where do you find all the details?

Your success is truly astounding.

You write with such...

how did I put it the other day?

- With verve. - No, no, it was...

- Flavour? - No.

Virtuosity. Yes, virtuosity.

Such command of Portuguese!

Being an MP, I always greatly admired good writing,

the basis of good speaking.

The political intrigue, well, that is rather weak...

But why should journalists seek inspiration in politics?

Why not?

You already have a romantic story, the exotic island of Malta,

a gallant officer.

Romance?

I know a certain gentleman, I shan't say his name...

who fits perfectly the description of your Count.

Abranhos, don't you see that they spy on Lisbon's best families?

You get inspiration from us? From high society?

High and low!

We merely keep our eyes open and alert in this boring city.

We write down matters public, real and notorious.

- Let's say we merely describe. - We are scribes! Scribes!