Beat the Devil

These are

four brilliant criminals

at the climax of

their most magnificent effort.

This effort began

six months ago in Portoverto,

where we were all

to board the ship for Africa,

and they were my...associates

in a quest for uranium,

an element not one of them

knew the first thing about,

except that they'd heard

you could get dough for it.

Big dough.

Who are-? I mean,

what do you suppose they are?

Businessmen.

Does it matter?

Well, if we're going to be

on a small boat with them

for weeks and weeks.

I only said they might be

fellow passengers.

Harry, we must beware

of those men.

They're desperate characters.

What makes you say that?

Not one of them looked

at my legs.

Good morning, Mrs. Dannreuther.

Good morning, Billy-Boy.

Care to join us

in a stroll?

Stir up the liver,

sweat out the toxins.

Help nature to help you.

Wouldn't dream of it.

Really, Billy,

you mustn't be so offhand

with Mr. Peterson.

If I were to treat him with more

than common politeness,

he'd misunderstand

and try to push me around.

Mr. Peterson is a bully.

- Billy, did you see this?

- Huh?

That man in London

has been killed.

What man?

"Paul Vanmeer,

"a high-ranking official

in the Colonial Office,

"was stabbed to death

early this morning

"by an unknown assailant

outside a club in Soho.

"This is the third crime

of violence

"to occur in that vicinity

within the past month."

What is it, Billy?

In heaven's name, Billy,

say something.

You understand, of course,

that Peterson arranged this.

It seems there's been a lot

of violence around there lately.

Oh, don't pretend to be a fool.

But look, Billy,

this happened

early Tuesday morning.

We'd all left London

well before that.

What about Jack Ross?

What about the Galloping Major?

But he only-

I thought he only stayed behind

to get that phone call

from Mombasa.

If it came through,

he'll be here this morning.

Well?

Don't get so excited.

Don't jump

to unpleasant conclusions.

Jump? They might as well

have drawn a map.

Why was Peterson worried

about Vanmeer?

What made him think

he was dangerous?

He was afraid Vanmeer

wouldn't stay bought.

He was afraid he'd get

the wind up after we'd gone.

He had visions

of him trotting upstairs

to his superiors

and announcing,

"I have certain information

that certain persons

are paid certain sums

of money-"

Don't talk so loud, Billy.

"- to obtain illegal rights

to certain mineral supplies."

That Indian-

That rajah or whatever he was.

- that you worked

for in the old days.

He killed a lot of people,

didn't he?

Ah, but he had a better style.

Besides,

he was out for a kingdom

half the size of France.

What's the difference between

that and millions of dollars?

We must think

of the future, Billy.

This is our big chance.

It may be our last.

Except for Mr. Peterson,

we couldn't even pay

last night's hotel bill.

Where are you going?

I'm going down to the caf,

drink a lot of Pernod,

listen to the band.

You won't make a fuss,

will you?

It doesn't do

to make a fuss.

You have to think

of the main objective.

Naturally,

it doesn't do to be fussy.

It's your move,

Gwendolen.

Gracias.

The luggage is in there.

Bring it up.

Harry, look.

The desperadoes.

Shh.

Not quite

in our contract, Billy.

Hard liquor before noon.

I'm celebrating.

Celebrating what?

The safe arrival of the major.

He came galloping

in a minute ago,

looking tired

but satisfied.

I take it his mission

was accomplished.

Yes. Well, it's getting on

for lunchtime, gentlemen.

I'll see you later, Billy.

Your move, Gwendolen.

Gwendolen,

it's your move.

Oh.

Check.

Blast.

Are you sailing

on the Nyanga?

- Africa-bound.

- So are we.

Oh, my name is Chelm.

This is my wife.

How do you do?

My name is Dannreuther.

How do you do?

Are your friends

sailing too?

The whole kit and caboodle.

You're a very mysterious group,

I must say.

Really, Gwendolen.

How so mysterious?

Well, for one thing

you all appear

to be of different

nationalities.

It's your move,

Gwendolen.

Check.

I have a theory about you

and your friends.

Correction. My associates.

As a matter of fact,

I think you're doctors.

Evil ones, I mean.

You're going

to the heart of the jungle,

where human life is cheap,

to perform ghastly experiments

which require

the sacrifice of thousands

on the altar of science.

You must excuse my wife,

she has

a very lively imagination.

Checkmate.

I don't know how you expect me

to play a decent game

when you keep talking

all the time.

Harry's been

all out of sorts today.

Usually

he's a wonderful loser.

Good morning, Mr. Dannreuther.

I bring you

the captain's compliments,

along with the sad news

that the sailing

of the S.S. Nyanga

has been postponed.

Now, look here.

This boat is definitely,

most definitely scheduled

to sail at 2400 hours.

Scheduled, Mr. Chelm,

but not, I fear,

destined to do so.

Propeller gone

or is the captain drunk?

Oh, of course the captain

is drunk,

but the real trouble

is with the oil pump.

Well, it's not good enough.

Simply not good enough.

Quite right, sir.

But you're putting it

too mildly.

The present oil pump

is no good at all.

How much delay

does this mean?

Oh, to locate, bargain for,

purchase and install a new one

will require, I should say,

more than a day,

less than a fortnight.

Utter hopeless inefficiency.

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