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Fall of the Mausoleum Club (BBC) 88-09-03 (01) The pet and the pendulum
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Fall of the Mausoleum Club (BBC) 88-09-03 (01) The pet and the pendulum
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Ah, circurious for one so full of wind. But hurry, I scent the daylight. One, two, three. Good. Here you are, gentlemen, one guinea apiece. Ah, but hold on, Mr. Phelps. This club you work for, what does it do? Oh, tut, gentlemen, we agreed, no questions. You know where to curiosity leads. Very deep water. Very deep water indeed. What do you mean? I fence, Mr. Phelps? It's just that this toff's been ran asking questions like. Has he? And what did you tell him? Nothing. We don't know nothing. A toff, you say? Yes, Mr. Filch. A tall fin geezer with a broad brimmed hat and a cane and everything you've done. Well, here's another tuppen. And by the sound of things, gentlemen, I will have more employ for you shortly. The Fall of the Marcella Club Written by James Hendry and Ian Brown. Starring John Nettleton, Jim Broadbent and Peter Howell. Episode 1 the Pet and the Pendulum and so the grey sluggish waters of farther Thames resumed their relentless flow. And the empty prattle of the honorable Clarence Green was never heard again. Well, thank you for retelling the story of that young whelp. It's a pity nothing has happened to match it these past 18 months. Ay, it's already Whitson. What neck he had. Not content with transgressing our portals unbidden, this ill married fool extorted from us our grisly secret, to say nothing of six of our finest tales. Ah, yes, our tales. Shall we greet the morning with yet one more? Splendid, splendid. Oh, come, Archbishop, We've not heard your story for many a year. Oh, no, no, no. I don't think I would. No, no, no, no, no. Very well. Settle back in your deep leather armchairs and let me tell you the strange and scandalous story of King Victoria and the Surgeon's Secret. Bring some savories. Very good, sir. It all started many years ago when I was a young curate in the icy wastes of northern Canada. I was paying a pastoral visit to cabin of an old third. Therefore, when I came across a good lord. Who are you? Pray continue, Archbishop. I have long waited to hear one of this club's singular tales. Who let you in? I let myself in, gentlemen, with this good lord. Throw him out. No, wait. This could be the very anchovy on tonight's woodcock. I suppose you wish to become a member. Take care, sir. This isn't the garriculo, though. We have but two conditions of bare bishop, they are both very exacting. Have no fear on that count. I have sent many a man to an early grave. Then you know our second condition. There is very little I do not know about the Morzo Mausoleum Club. Wait. We are getting the handsome before the horse. We are first a club of storytellers. Where is your tale of qualification? My very person is a perennial source of true life tales. Ah, for all your arrogance, I warrant we have a tale that'll outqueer any you might tell us. Do you think so? Send for the Reverend Penny. Yes, Reverend Penny. He tells a real flesh gooser. Did I hear my name? Yes. Penny, seat yourself here and give us your tale. We have a prospective, remember. Then he shall hear a tale of jealousy and metaphysics, a tale of mystery and shall I say Menageri? A tale I call the Pet and the Pendulum. My name is the Reverend Charles Penny, late of St Dorothy's College, Cambridge, and for some years I have been engaged in a friendly debate with an esteemed scientist, a Dr. Friedrich Vestler, late of Heidelberg. My contention was that the soul is unique to man, whilst animals are born soulless. Dr. Vestler maintained the contrary and had even gone so far as to claim clinical proof of the same. Ha, I thought. Then the debate raged long and hard in the columns of Theological Quarterly, then was carried on in the Lowestoft Bugle and continued to stimulate for some years in in the classified section of Practical Woodwork Monthly, incorporating the gentleman Shelver. Finally, a letter published in Thrilling Wonder Stories invited me to journey to Dr. Vestler's mountain retreat where he would demonstrate his theory in a most concrete way. Intrigued, I decided to bring my usual tandem holiday forward to the Easter back and set out for Carpathia with my beloved books, a young companion and the smell of blood in my nostrils. Nothing like cycling for cleansing the soul, eh, Peter? No, no, Mr. Penny, sir. And I might add that your soul would be cleaner if you peddled a bit harder. I'm sorry, sir. I'm tired. Can we stop for lunch? Certainly not. I'm most anxious to reach the village of schreckheim before dark. Dr. Vestler is expected. Expecting us for supper. But, sir, might we not get there faster? Yes? Oh, nothing, sir. I'll join the peddling pleasantly. Might I at least have a sandwich, sir? A sandwich? You're a lazy, tiresome boy. You did remember the sandwiches, didn't you, sir? Yes, vividly. It is getting dark and it's only 3:00. Oh, dear. Faster, Peter. Pasta, sir? August. It's more like September, Peter. I said August. Look, sir, look. Look. There, sir, on the right, there's a tavern. We could shelter there. It's very bad manners to interrupt. All I said, I know this tavern will provide some excellent shelter. Yes, that's what I was. Don't interrupt. Wait for me here. So. The rain. I don't think. Oh, and make sure the books don't get wet. Good afternoon, stout landlord. Good afternoon, Sink. Clergyman. What were you wanting, sir? Well, with all that cycling, I'll have a small sweet sherry. No, sir. No sherry. Good gracious. We have got schnapps. Oh, then I'll have a packet of those. As soon as this rain stops, we must be on our way. Yes. Peter is waiting outside. He's my nephew. You left him outside? Why, yes. A spot of cold water never did man harm. It's not so rain, sir. Get the boy inside. Poor lad. Why did you leave him out there? Well, I. He's too young to drink in pubs. But not too young to be schnatched away. Hush yourself, Ink. What do you mean, schnatched? This is a dangerous place, sir. We shall be quite safe. We're staying with Dr. Vestler. Vessler? Yes. Vestler. Why not? Because he is a woman. You said enough. And I'll say more. For too many years now, you men have stayed silent while Vesla has talked. From us, our love, from our young, our old. Even our animal. Animal? Sure, we used to have a lovely little rabbit. White and fluffy, he was. But even he was snatched away. Yeah, he was just ready for support. At all animals, I'm more concerned about people. Come on, Peter. Oh, Peter, pull yourself together. Castle Shrekheim, perched atop a giddy crag, overshadowing the village like some grotesque raven brooding over a cadaver. It seemed the sole approach was by means of an aerial cable carriage. We paid our fare to the carriage's taciturn driver and commenced the vertiginous journey. I say, can't you hurry this thing along? I have an urgent to appointment with Dr. Vestler. Dr. Vestler? Yes? Oh, never mind. What's the matter, man? Cat got your tongue? No, no, no. Stop it. Down. Get down. Down. Down, boy. Well, in the cloistered calm at St Dorothy's I had first planned my summer vacation. I little imagined it would include being chased around an eight foot cabin by a six foot congenital idiot. I was cruelly reminded of a certain unhappy sailing holiday off Broadstairs. Not a moment too soon the frightful journey was over and we stood before the grim turrets of Castle Schreckheim. Hello, Hello. Hello there. Ah, Reverend Penny. Oh, forgive me. I was just collecting flies for the gardener's supper. Come again? Get down, Bella. Dr. Vestler, I assume? Indeed. And this must be your nephew? Yes. I'm afraid he's rather stupidly caught a cold. Oh, well, that shouldn't matter. Come in. Wontjoon. Your man, you mean Bella? He seemed a little agitated. I pay no heed. He needs walking, that's all. As the cable carriage driver lolloped away into the shrubbery, I was conducted into a cavernous vestibule by the startling Dr. Vestler. He was a grizzled giant of a man. From the firmness of his handshake I deduced that his advanced years belied a preternatural strength. I thanked providence that the forthcoming fight was on the mental and not the physical. Physical plane first. I imagine you wish to refresh yourself. Rather. I'm exhausted after all that peddling. Eh, Peter? Then I shall see you both at supper. In preparation for supper, I laid out my favorite arguing togs. A loose dog collar to allow free shaking of the head, college cufflinks to convey authority, and a good pipe to stab vigorously at my distinguished opponent. Ha. Vestler would rue the day he crossed swords with the D'Artagnan of St Dorothy's Pray be seated. Your nephew won't be joining us for supper. I think Peter is best placed to answer that question. It wasn't a question, Reverend. My fellow diners were indeed the queerest folk with whom I had ever broken bread. One pulled at his collar, another scratched at his neighbour's belly. Not One sat up straight in his seat and their eyes darted hither and thither, not wishing to meet my gaze, nor yet that of the manic Dr. Vestler. Very well, my children, you may begin. I have never been so scandalized in my life. As my soup spoon froze rigid above the bowl, the guests fell upon the repast like wolves. Cutlery flew aside. Unneeded plates and cruet were butted across the table. In a battle royal for command of the lukewarm slops. I quickly lost my appetite. My soup had long been annexed by my neighbour. If good table manners are the sign of civilized man, then what were these? These people are little better than animals. Tell me, Penny, amongst your companions of Cambridge, do you have a reputation for being somewhat of a dullard? Aha. First bloody. Now tell me, Whistler, you hold that animals are blessed with soul? Yes. And you also deem animals suitable subjects for vivisection? Indeed. In that case, why not go further? Why not practice your skill on living humans? Eh? Why not? Indeed. Now that's enough, Sultan. But. But the human soul is eternal. Whereas whatever animates a beast dies with its body. Ah. You've been reading the work of Professor Phillips of Trinity. Nonsense. It's my own idea and I stand by it. You sound very sure of yourself, Mr. Bennet. I have great, great faith. Then you will sleep soundly till the morrow, when I suggest we begin our debate. Begin? But we're in the very midst of it, Mr. Penny. In my musty quarters that night, I slept the sleep of the righteous until. Who's there? Help. There's a bat in here. Get away. Get away from it. Sure, who was a lazy, tiresome boy? Penny isn't me. Peter. What's the sandwich? Peter. Peter. What is it? What's he done to you? Look. Look. I could fly with this. The fluttering phantasm disappeared through the open casement, leaving me alone with my fear. How was it that this strange bird could repeat that which had passed between my companion and me but six hours before? I rushed into Peter's room. But of my callow companion, there was no sign. Vestra. Vestra. Vestra, where are you? What's going on? Vestra. Get away from me, you brutes. Down. Down. Vestra. Help. Help. Vestra. It was then that I noticed, amongst the seething rabble, something that set my nape hairs a bristle. There, hopping moronically, his eyes as dead as those of his patients, was Dr. Vestler himself. He was nibbling the end of a large, juicy carrot. Hi, Vestler. Help me. Seeing Me dart towards him. The demented scientist gave a violent twitch of his nose. Drop the orange tuber. Then darted away down the gloomy hall in a succession of eight foot leaps. Squirming free of the throng, I seized the first weapon that came to hand, a half eaten carrot. And gave chase. Ha. Gotcha. But I reckoned without Vestler's inhuman strength. With one hop he was free. And as I lay winded from a boot to the abdomen, he vanished from view down a monstrous hole in the ground. All that I could discern was the glint of his watch chain in the first rays of the sun. Curiouser and curiouser, I must follow him and see where all this is leading. And follow him I did, groping my way through the enveloping gloom. Vestra. Vestra. You're wasting your time, squire. But Vestra, I have to. What do. That isn't a real Whistler. That's just his body. Peter. What's a cracker? You mean just his body? Exactly that. His mind is elsewhere. Yes, well he was certainly behaving distractedly. But. But what am I doing talking to a parrot? This is quite ludicrous. Not ludicrous, Penny. And not a parrot. Just his body. What's happening? Who are you, dear, dear? Oh, so they forget. Do you not remember your trusty companion, Peter? Yes, I remember him. It's thanks to his stupidity I'm in this mess. You think you're in trouble, squire? I'm trapped inside a parrot. Peter, is it you? Good old Penny. Slow but sure. Peter, what has he done to you? It's quite simple. Whistler has discovered a technique whereby the humans soul may be isolated and transposed with the soul of an animal. But this is a mockery of heaven. Vestler must be a genius of satanic inspiration. Yes, and if he published his proof in the Gentleman Vivisector, your career is finished. Is it? Where is he? Wester? The rabbit. You idiot. Idiot. It was all becoming clear. That bestial dinner party. And of course Bella, the strange cable carriage attendant who had gone wild at the mere mention of cats. Come on Penny. It's a move on. Are you sure this is the way? Yes, this is the way I escaped from Vesta's laboratory. Try this door. Beyond the door was a narrow passage from whence I discerned the screeching of a thousand caged creatures. Help us, Penny. Don't pass by. What? Don't you know me? A talking baboon. Don't you remember Hargreaves? Your from Queen Hargreaves? How did you get mixed up in this? A pandemology, 1842. Oh, then you can help me. How does one defeat Vestler? If I knew that, Penny, I'd be back in Queens instead of in this cage. You great bu. Well, I think I'll move on. No, no, no. Penny. Don't leave me. You blundering son of a strump. We've got to catch Wesker while he's still contained in his weaker body. Quick. His surgical laboratories. Through this door. This door. My eyes were met by an eerie sight. There in the cavernous chamber sat Vestler in his rabbit body, at the head of a silent, staring regiment of animals. Backing away in horror, my legs were entangled by a slithering Sargasso of vipers type fast. Let me go. Let me go, I say. Any further protestations I might have voiced were immediately silenced by the amply proportioned hamster, which leapt headfirst into my mouth. Then the air was crushed from my lungs by a Russian bear. Where am I? My head. It feels as if it's clamped in a vice. It is clamped in a vice. What? Welcome back to the land of the living. For the time being, at least. No, don't struggle. The thongs are quite secure. Let me go. What? You want to be you? You. You rabbit. What's this? What's happening? Don't struggle, Penny. This is the means by which your soul, if you have one, will at last be free of the body's incarceration. I give you my most ingenious creation yet. Looking upward, I surveyed the ceiling of my prison. I now observed with what horror, it's needless to say, a huge pendulum whose nether extremity was formed of a crescent of glittering steel about a foot in length from horn to horn, the under edge evidently as keen as that of a razor. With each swing, the blade slashed closer to my thudding chest. I could barely suppress a cry of outrage. You fiend. This isn't your idea. What? You stole it. No, I didn't. Yes, you did. You. Hey, what do you mean? Plagiarism, that's what I mean. Pendulums, axe heads. It's a terrible old chestnut. Oh, above. But I. Well, but. I mean, two people can have the same idea at the same time, can't they? The same time Poe got there 40 years ago. All right, I confess. I stole the idea from Po. Now shut up and die. Devil. You fiend. You plagiarist. Oh, you cut me to the quick. Won't be long now. Who's this Bella? Who Let you out. No, Bella. Down, boy, down. I'm your master. I'm not a rabbit. I'm Bessler. Back, Bella, back. Oh, yes. The funiculine genius scampered from the chamber with Bella the houndman in eager pursuit. And so I was saved. Or was I? Yes, I was. For no sooner had Bestler departed than a small bundle of fur landed on my chest. It was Sonia, Bestler's wife, who in her feline form had no difficulty in gnawing through my bongs. Meow. Hurry up, woman. Meow. I'm doing my bath. Oh, why couldn't you have been a goat? Ow. Boy, hurry. So, gentlemen, can you imagine what happened? Yes. The cat gnawed through your bonds and you rolled from the table just as the pendulum sliced it in two. Oh, how did you know that? It's a terrible old chestnut. Well, no sooner had I got rid of the cat than I was in the cable carriage, speeding across the valley to home safety and a jolly good bath. Phew. Well, at last that's over. Not quite, Penny Bestla. Will I never be free of your. But wait. You're just a rabbit. You want a fight? Very well. We shall fight. Ha. Must we? Yes, very well. But to make it fair, you must take on all of me. No. Get back. Oh. I should have known Vestler in his weaker form would never travel far without the protection of his mighty thewed human body. In a flash of lightning, I was gazing at the sickening prospect of the sharp rocks 300ft below as the giant's branch like arm dangled me from the carriage like a ripe fruit ready to drop. Next time, Penir, remember to check under the seat. No, don't let go. Don't let go. What shall we say, two submissions on one fall? Please, I'll do anything you want. Oh, God, I want you to die. Let the wretch fall. No. With that fleetness of thought reserved to those in desperate straits, I put. I pulled from my waistcoat pocket the first weapon that came to hand. A half eaten carrot. With the superhuman strength of the assuriant, my adversary hauled me and his unfinished lunch back into the cable carriage. Once I achieved the safety of the cabin, it was a simple matter to drop the carrot by the open doorway. And as the rabbit man bent forward to grasp the vegetable prize in his teeth. Out you go. Oh, no. No. What's the matter, Vestler? Afraid of a clergyman? You may be sure. I will deal with you justly. It's too late for that. You see, my body has gone and when the body dies, so does that. The spark of life in the rabbit's eyes flickered and went out. There he lay on the floor of the cabin, cold, motionless and quite delicious. As I found out later that evening. What a horrible end. Not so. It's not everyone who settles an academic debate by eating his rival. Good yarn, sirs. But I fear you have been playing me a blinder. Are you calling me a liar? Not at all, sir. Though I fancy your face is less well known in the groves of academe than it is on the London stage. And I would venture to guess that there is no such establishment as St Dorothy's College, Cambridge. Blast you, sir. No, gentlemen. Instead of trying to gull me with fairy story, why did you not tell me the truth? It's far more impressive. You might have told me of the Melodium murders, or the Inaudible Man. Or of the slaughter of two innocent children at the hand of their cold hearted governess. Or yet of the Honorable Clarence Green who came to your portal seeking amity and association and instead met his death. Then you know there is very little I do not know about the Mausoleum Club. Yes. Every nuance of every detail of every murder has been assiduously collected and brought together in a single portfolio of incontrovertible evidence. Before you attempt anything rash, you must know that the catalogue of your crimes is deposited with my attorney at law and in the event of my demise or disappearance shall be passed to Inspector Cadbury of the Yard. Lost your. Sir, I believe our visitor wants something. Indeed. How refreshing plain talk is after such polygon. I want you to do exactly and completely as I say. Otherwise, gentlemen. It's the rope. The Fall of the mausoleum cluster Episode 1 the Pet and the Pendulum was written by Ian Brown and James Hendrick. Starring Jim Broadbent, Michael Deacon, Peter Howell, Ian Mickey, John Nettleton, Liz Richardson, Michael Ripper, John Sampson, Alan Thompson and Adam Wide. Music by Max Harris. The producer was Paul Spencer.