Rogue Male

Bitte.

Nein, nein, die andere.

Oh...

Gut.

Ja, gut.

I was bored!

Bored? You're a liar!

- I am sorry... - Sorry?

You tried to shoot the greatest man the world has ever seen

and you say you are sorry?

It was a sporting stalk.

I'm sorry because you don't have the wit to understand...

I went to school in England.

You say I don't understand English?

You understand English!

You just don't understand Englishmen!

- How did you get here? - I walked.

- Walked? - Safest way.

- Walked from where? - Poland.

- That's over 200 miles! - I go to a good bootmaker.

Sneyd, in Clifford Street.

You are an agent of British Foreign Office intelligence.

Actually not.

I've seen little sign of intelligence

in the British Foreign Office for a very long time.

You had a gun

with a bullet in the breach.

A very high powered, very expensive gun.

One has to be properly equipped.

A stalk isn't a stalk without the weapon.

You may as well have an egg and spoon race without a spoon.

And a bullet? Does one have to have a bullet?

Habits are habits. Rules are rules!

It wouldn't have been cricket, otherwise.

Life is not a game of cricket, my friend.

No.

Pity.

Who sent you?

The truth.

You wouldn't know the truth if it kicked you!

I'm a free individual. I came on my own.

I am what my passport declares.

On page one, you will see what His Majesty's Foreign Secretary

requests and requires of any foreigners into whose hands I may fall.

I suggest you read it carefully!

Your passport.

"Sir Robert".

You think we don't know a forgery when we see one?

It is mine, actually.

Get one of your chappies to call and confirm.

Connections are very slow from here.

We can pull out your fingernails while we wait.

I did tell you it was genuine.

You tried to kill him.

You? Why?

- A man in your position. - In my position?

An aristocrat, an English gentleman.

I would've thought you would have been on our side, if anyone would

- Sir Robert. - On your side?

As it is.

- I'm a bit of a problem. - A nuisance, not a problem.

You can't just put me up against a wall, can you?

- We are not barbarians. - Because there'd be questions.

- I don't think so. - Oh, but there will, you see

and you know there will.

- My uncle... - Is a close friend

of our ambassador in London. Oh, yeah.

Very close.

It's time you grew up, Sir Robert. The world is changing.

Yes, for the worse.

We must find a way of disposing of you that doesn't upset your uncle.

Well...

the author of "Rough Shooting", the great hunter.

While a house guest, a welcomed house guest

at a weekend shoot among the new leaders of the world, whom he so much admired

Sir Robert, unfortunately, went off on his own and suffered...

the mishap which lead to his death.

His body has been returned to London with every mark of respect.

It will be interred in the family tomb.

I'm sure The Times will give you at least half a column.

And what do you think the blessed Foreign Office will make

of a body without fingernails?

Will they take that as a mark of respect on the part of the New Order?

Good point, Sir Robert.

May I tell you my little scenario?

As a gentleman hunter you would, of course be unable

to leave a wounded animal without finishing it off.

Thank you.

So, having wounded a wild boar during the course of a boring afternoon...

Oh, my God! The English sense of humour never travels, does it?

You followed it cross country to here.

You cornered it, it charged, you were caught off balance

and really it's most unfortunate, almost idiotic...

You managed to grab the edge of the cliff

of course, tearing your fingernails

to shreds in your frantic efforts to redress the situation.

But...

I fear, in vain.

What a lot of trouble you are going to, I must say.

Cut above the usual cut-throat, aren't you?

Now we come to your part in the scenario, Sir Robert.

Believe me, "this hurts me as much as it hurts you"

as we used to say at Charterhouse.

Did you really?

Mousy little middle-class school.

- We can't all go to Eton. - Thank God!

Oh, chuck me over and have done with it!

The scenario, Sir Robert, the scenario.

Think of your uncle. Such a family man.

We must convince him that it was an accident.

Isn't that what we agreed?

We'll come back in the morning with a couple of honest peasants

to find the body.

The more stupid the witnesses are

the more likely the British are to believe them.

We must leave you now, Sir Robert.

The Fuhrer likes to dine promptly

and it's getting late.

Move!

Move!

Move, you lump!

Gods!

Shh!

I know you're there, Sir Robert!

Hm? Gone to ground.

Am I right? Gone to ground.

Isn't that what a hunted beast does?

Goes to ground?

But the human animal, being more clever

thinks that the running water will cover his tracks.

Poor Sir Robert.

We'll soon catch you up, Sir Robert!

Excellent.

Excuse me, mein Herr.

Nicht sprecht Deutsch.

You don't speak English by any chance, I suppose?

You are English?

Yes, and a sportsman, like yourself.

Afraid I've had a bit of bother.

- Accident? - In fact, not.

How did you get here?

Make 'em yourself?

- Of course. - Good man.

Look here, I need a few things, I'm afraid.

It's asking a lot, I know.

I come out here in the mornings, early.

Because before the sun comes up...

Oh, yes.

It's still paradise.

Isn't it?

What is it you are wanting?

Clothes, gloves, shaving tackle, if possible.

Old stuff, nothing they can trace back to you if I'm... if I'm caught.

There's money in my pocket, or should be, if you can get your hand in.

I can't, without... difficulty.

- English? - Yes.

I won't tell you who I am or what I've done.

It's better you shouldn't know.

But I've shaken them off.

I know that because I've been holed up here for a couple of days...

I needed a bit of... well...

peace and quiet.

Sorry to spoil your sport.

I forget something, I'll go back.

Hunting, shooting and fishing.

Do rather tend to dominate things.

Good man!

I also brought some food.

Yes, I could certainly eat.

Milk with brandy. Drink.

- You are Jew? - Me?

Good heavens, certainly not. A Jew?

Good heavens, no.

Get changed.

Then you lie in the bottom of the boat

and I will get you across.

You speak amazing English, sir.

I was three years a prisoner of war.

Were you, really?

I was lucky.

In Lanarkshire.

Lovely spot.

Not in January.

No, no. On the nippy side then, I must say.

How will you go from here?

Yes...

How far to the, um...

to the, uh...

mouth of the river?

I'm hoping with any luck I'll find a ship.

My problem is getting down river, of course.

Now, they're liable to be watching

the roads and so forth.

But the um, the river...

I don't like the English.

Now we...

we can be an acquired taste...

Take the boat.

That's very royal of you.

If you are caught, I shall say you stole it.