Man Hunt

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London.

Heil Hitler!

Doktor.

Captain Alan Thorndike, Englnder.

T- H-O-R-N-D-I-K-E.

K- E.

Langsam. Langsam.

Please be seated, Captain Thorndike.

Thank you.

Have a cigarette.

Thank you.

You know, if you just walked up to

this house in a normal way, instead of, uh-

you would've been invited

to lunch by our fhrer.

I've anticipated the pleasure

of meeting you for years.

I'm afraid I don't know-

Like you, my dear Thorndike,

I had but one passion in life...

and that is the hunting of big game.

I'm convinced that I would've

become more famous even than yourself...

if I hadn't renounced it

in favor of politics.

Politics?

Yes, I, uh, find it a more exciting

field of action-

my branch of it.

You're surprised that

I know your name so well.

I was in Nairobi on my own safari the year

that all Kenya rang with your exploits.

So you see, it's quite natural that

I should know who you are.

Yes.

And also you've taken, uh...

my passport.

Nonetheless, my dear Thorndike,

I should've recognized you on sight-

a man whose brother was a guest

in this house only last September.

So you know my brother?

When Lord Risborough was sent here by

your prime minister on a mission of appeasement.

I found him a credulous simpleton.

Do you know, Thorndike, that this is

the most closely guarded house in the world?

Rather.

I would've staked my life

that no living thing...

could've entered this area

without being seen.

But then, of course,

we didn't count upon a creature...

that has learned to stalk

the most cunning animal...

that can catch scents

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, Thorndike.

The sights were set at 550 yards,

only 10 feet short of the exact range.

I checked it.

Obviously, my dear Thorndike,

such a man cannot be allowed to live.

Surely you don't think

I'm an assassin.

You were stopped

before you could 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-

the danger, the fun.

It was that fellow jumping me

that made my gun go off.

You disappoint me, Thorndike.

I daresay 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 stalk.

A what?

A sporting stalk. Stalking the game

you're after for the fun of it- not to kill.

Oh, 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 stalk an animal and get within range,

the rest is a mathematical certainty.

And that's 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 me, Thorndike.

But this softness in your nature with

regard to the ultimate purpose of firearms...

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