Morning, gentlemen.
-You Augustus Landor? -I am.
And you?
Captain Hitchcock at your service. Second-in-command at the Academy.
I'm here to inform you
Superintendent Thayer requests an immediate audience.
-And the nature of this audience? -I'll leave that to the colonel.
-When might this take place? -At your earliest convenience.
And if I should decide not to come?
That would be your own concern. You're a private citizen.
Well, it's a fine day for a ride.
The governor suggests that you were a legend
among New York City constables.
And when he recommended your services, he noted your impressive accomplishments,
including apprehending the leaders of the Daybreak Boys,
breaking up the dreaded Shirt Tails gang,
and solving a particularly grisly murder of a young prostitute in Elysian Fields.
Your talents include code breaking, riot control,
and gloveless interrogation.
You're a minister's son from Gloucester
who came to New York while still in your teens.
And you are a widower, Mr. Landor.
Three years now.
-Shall I send for coffee? -Beer will do nicely.
You, uh…
You keep these notes in a pigeonhole back there somewhere, do you?
What else do they say?
Do they say that I haven't darkened the door of a church
in a long time?
Does it mention that my daughter ran off a while back?
We are aware of your daughter's disappearance.
And we offer our sympathy.
With all due respect, I hope I have not offended.
No. No, no, no.
No, sorry. I ought to apologize.
And I do. Please carry on.
Mr. Landor, we are obliged to proceed with extreme discretion.
We're looking for someone.
A private citizen of well-documented industry and tact
who might carry out inquiries on the Academy's behalf.
Huh.
They're of a highly complex and delicate nature
and concern one of our cadets.
Second-year man from Kentucky by the name of Fry.
-Leroy Fry. -There's no point in dancing around it.
Fry hanged himself… last night.
Oh.
Well, I'm sorry to hear that.
A dreadful business, this. But you must understand our position.
We have been specifically charged with the care of these young men,
to make them gentlemen and soldiers, and to that end, we drive them.
But we'd like to think we know when to… stop driving them.
A boy hangs himself…
uh, that's a matter for the coroner.
I'm afraid that's not the end of it.
Cadet Fry's body was violated last night in the hospital ward.
Violated? By whom?
Well, if we knew that, we would have had no need to summon you.
I'm sure the Academy has its share of pranksters.
This was no prank, Mr. Landor.
Leroy Fry's heart was carved from his chest.
Dr. Marquis, how does a person go about doing this?
Scalpel. Or any good, sharp knife would do.
But getting to the heart, that's the tricky part.
Those gashes on the lungs and liver
came from angling the blade to save the heart.
And how would one preserve the heart?
A container of some sort.
Wrapped in muslin, maybe, or newspaper.
Very likely surrounded by ice.
What type of fella could do this?
A strong one.
Not a woman, then?
No woman as I've ever had the pleasure of meeting, no.
What about his medical pedigree?
Would he need to be as well-educated and well-trained as yourself?
Not necessarily.
He'd need a lot of light, and know where to cut,
but it wouldn't have to be a doctor or a surgeon.
-It'd have to be-- -A madman!
And still out there.
Port arms!
You'll have to forgive me, Mr. Landor.
You've found us in a very delicate position.
Left, face!
There are certain powerful senators in Washington
who would like nothing more than to see us fail utterly, to shut us down.
I'm asking you to help save the honor of the United States Military Academy.
And save it, I'll try.
You were, uh, on guard duty last night, Mr. Huntoon.
Yes, sir.
Post at 9:30. Relieved at midnight and made my way back to the guardroom.
Where is that?
Number four, sir. By Fort Clinton.
I… I admit, I'm not very familiar with the grounds,
but it seems that the part we're standing on right now
is not on the way from Fort Clinton to North Barracks.
-No, sir. -Oh. What took you off course?
Well, sir, on my way, I heard something.
I reckoned it was an animal.
It sounded like it was dying or caught in a trap, so I came to help.
I'm terribly partial to animals.
Uh… I was running this way until I brushed Cadet Fry, sir.
-How'd he look? -Not well, sir.
He wasn't hanging straight.
It was almost as if he was seated in a chair.
I'm not following you.
Well, his feet were touching the ground, sir.
-His feet were touching the ground? -Yes, sir.
All right. What did you do next?
I ran. Ran straight back to North Barracks.
Hmm.
Uh, one last question and I'll trouble you no more.
Did you see anyone else about?
No, sir.
Mr. Huntoon.
The neck…
That's what first struck me.
See?
Not a clean cinch at all. The rope grabbed at him
and ran up and down the neck looking for purchase.
As though…
As though he was… fighting.
Hmm?
Look, if you would, at his fingers.
Blistered fresh from clutching at the rope…
-…trying to peel the thing off him.
May I ask what's going on here?
This is, uh, quite irregular.
I was wondering if you wouldn't mind feeling around the back of Mr. Fry's head.
You did examine Mr. Fry?
Of course I examined him, as is my job.
Hmm.
Haven't we already been through this?
-Uh… -Hmm.
There is a contusion of sort.
Parietal region.
Approximately three inches.
-I must have missed that. -Mmm.
Someone murdered Mr. Fry.
Is this what you're telling us, Mr. Landor?
You might be onto something there, Captain Hitchcock.
Well, anyone could have missed that, doctor.
Mr. Landor.
So now you're on board,
I think it's important we set some ground rules.
You will report to me on a daily basis and I to the colonel.
And you mustn't breathe a word of this to anyone, inside or outside the Academy.
-Is that all? -One final condition.
There will be no drinking throughout the course of this investigation.
Your reputation precedes you.
Oh.
Pardon.
-Are you Augustus Landor? -I am.
Unless I mistake, you've been tasked with solving the mystery
surrounding Leroy Fry.
That's so. What might I do for you?
It is incumbent upon me and the honor of this institution
to divulge some of the conclusions which I have reached.
Conclusions?
Regarding the late Mr. Fry.
I'd be most interested.
The man you're looking for
is a poet.
Private Cochrane.
When Leroy Fry's body was brought back to the hospital,
you were detailed to guard it?
I was, sir.
-Did anything happen while on watch? -Not till around 2:30.
-That's when I was relieved of my duty. -Who relieved you?
-Private, who relieved you? -I can't tell you, sir.
Only that it was an officer.
-He never identified himself? -No, sir.
But I wouldn't expect it of an officer.
Hmm.
What did this officer say to you?
He said, "Thank you, private. That will be all. I'm relieving you."
-An odd request, no? -Yes, sir. Very.
-Did you see this officer's face? -No, sir.
I had only a candle. It was terribly dark.
Right, tell me then, how did you know it was an officer?
The bar on his shoulder, sir. But I must admit, it was so very strange.
-How so? -The bars.
The bars on his left shoulder were missing.
Ah, there's the man himself.
Benny knows a man who's in need of a drink when he sees one.
The very sight of it warms my blood.
-Benny! -Sir.
-Here's… to rules. -Fuck 'em.
Patsy.
Patsy!
What's grieving you?
Did you hear about that poor cadet?
-They say it took him hours to die. -"They"?
Him.
Aren't you meant to be in recital?
Uh… Good evening. Recital?
No, I won't be missed.
They hardly know I'm at the Academy.
And besides, I've learned more in rooms like this than any classroom.
I don't doubt it.
Sit, please. Please, sit. Have a… Have a…
-Seat? -Seat. Thank you. Uh…
Fourth Classman Poe. E. A. Poe.
Edgar A. Poe.
Worked up quite a thirst, I see.
Helps take the bite off the gloom.
Um…
So tell me, how did you learn about Leroy Fry?
Uh, well, from Huntoon, of course.
He has been spouting the news like the town crier.
Perhaps someone might hang him before too long.
You don't mean to imply that someone hanged Mr. Fry?
I don't mean to imply anything.
Why do you think that the man who cut Leroy Fry's heart out
was a poet?
Well…
The heart is a symbol or it is nothing.
Now take away the symbol and what do you have?
It's a fistful of muscle of no more aesthetic interest than a bladder.
Now, to remove a man's heart is to traffic in symbol.
And who better equipped for such labor
than a poet?
Awfully literal-minded poet, it would seem--
Oh, you cannot pretend that this act of savagery
did not startle the literary resonances from the very crevices of your mind.
Lord Suckling's charming song,
"I prithee send me back my heart Since I cannot have thine"
Or… Or the Bible even,
"Create in me a clean heart, O God."
"A broken and a contrite heart thou wilt not despise."
Then we might just as easily be seeking a religious maniac.
No, you see, I neglected to tell you that I am a poet myself,
hence inclined to think as one.
I don't get around to poetry much.
Why should you? You're an American.
And you?
An artist. That is to say, without country.
-Oh… -What, Mr. Landor?
You've been a great help.
You want a second look at a cadet named Loughborough.
In former days, Leroy Fry's roommate, until they had a falling out.
The nature of which remains uncertain.
Mr. Loughborough.
Tell Mr. Landor how you were acquainted with Mr. Fry.
Yes, sir. We were roommates.
Hmm.
You ever have a falling out?
I wouldn't call it a falling out. Just…
a matter of diverging paths, sir.
-What made you diverge? -Well…
Nothing so…
A matter of course.
If you know of anything pertaining to Mr. Fry,
you're bound to disclose it at once.
Well, it's like this, sir.
I'd say he'd fallen in with
a bad bunch.
At least that's what he called them.
Now then, tell me, by "bad bunch,"
did he mean other cadets?
He never said, but I assumed so.
And why didn't you come forward earlier?
I didn't quite see that it had any bearing,
happening so long ago, sir.
Dismissed.
Mr. Stoddard.
You were the last one to see Mr. Fry alive.
Yes, sir.
-Speak up. -I'm just a bit ill, sir.
I did see Leroy late on the night in question.
Passed him on the way to barracks as I was coming in.
You spoke to him?
He stopped me, asking if any officers were about.
How did Mr. Fry look?
It was so very dark. I… I wouldn't trust my memory.
Did you see anything on his person, a length of rope, maybe?
-None that I could see. -Hmm.
There was something. Uh…
As Fry was leaving, I did ask where he was off to at such an hour.
And?
He said, "Necessary business."
What did you take that to mean?
I don't know.
-Dismissed.
-Pardon me, captain. -Yes.
Christ almighty.
"A cow and sheep have been murdered and mutilated in Cold Spring."
"Their chests most cruelly carved open and their hearts removed."
Are any of God's creatures immune from this man?
We don't know that this is the same man.
What?
Coincidence, is it?
Effective 0600 tomorrow morning,
all men will only attend class, meals, prayer services.
Nothing more!
If any of your classmates ask,
we did nothing more than discuss your acquaintance with Leroy Fry.
There was no acquaintance. I never knew him.
-What? -I never knew the fellow.
-Then I misunderstood you. -Huh. You're not the first.
So, if this is not a discussion, what is it?
An offer of employment.
There's no pay.
None of your classmates may know what you're doing
until long after you're done with it.
If they do find out, they'll likely curse your name.
Oh! An irresistible offer.
No, um, please, tell me more.
Excellent. I need you to decipher this… This segment of a larger note.
You'll have to work secretly and as precisely as you can.
I am pleased to report I have successfully decoded your message.
Hmm. Handwritten, it is of a personal nature.
Fry had it with him at the time of his death.
From that, we may presume it was sufficient
to draw him from his barracks on the night in question.
As the rest of the message was torn from his hand,
we may presume that the note, in some way, identified its sender.
Now the use of rather primitive black capitals
would also indicate that the sender wished to disguise his identity.
An invitation of sorts, or might we more accurately call it a trap.
A trap?
Hmm.
-Now, with that in mind… Oh, may I? -Mmm-hmm.
Let's concentrate our labors on the third line
which we know, for a fact, is complete.
"Be." But be what?
Something that begins with "L."
"Little"? "Lucky"?
No. Neither gibes with the invitation.
"Be lost"? No. No. Too ungainly a construction.
If in fact Leroy Fry's attendance was desired at a particular time and place,
there is but one word, "late."
"Be late."
And as we scan the third line,
the first word becomes almost insultingly simple to deduce, "don't."
So, "Don't be late."
Now, look closely, Mr. Landor.
We need not journey far for a suitable candidate.
If Fry is going to a predetermined location,
he was, from the perspective of the writer, coming.
So, "Come, Mr. Fry."
Now, with that in place, it is the height of simplicity
to deduce the next word. Can it be any other than "soon"?
We insert the word, et voilà!
"Don't be late. Come soon."
And there you have it, the solution to our petite énigme
-respectfully submitted. -Mmm-hmm.
First-rate work. I thank you.
-Just one thing. -Yes?
Did you have any luck with the first two lines?
Well, I was forced to declare them a loss.
Are you a good speller?
Oh, flawless. Judged so by no less an authority
than the Reverend John Bransby of Stoke Newington.
So I take it that you've never done what so many of… us do.
Misspell similar sounding words.
For example, "they're," "their," and "there."
A common solecism.
An invitation indeed. "Meet me there."
Of course, we still don't know where to meet, do we?
Something with "N-G" trailing behind.
The landing!
-And might I add, the cove by the landing. -Excellent choice.
So, "I'll be at the cove by the landing."
"Meet me there at say, 11:00 p.m. or so."
So, "Don't be late. Come see me." Might be closer to the mark.
-Yeah. -Ah…
Does this suggest anything to you?
Why would he meet a fellow cadet at the landing
-when you can meet him anywhere? -Hmm.
Because it's not a cadet, but a woman.
Hmm.
You knew the solution all along, Mr. Landor.
I had an idea.
Well, if this is indeed a woman we seek,
I believe I may be credited with a sighting of her.
The morning after Leroy Fry's death, before I knew anything of what had passed,
I awoke, and began speaking the opening lines of a poem,
lines that speak of a mysterious woman in profound distress.
Then, just outside the mess, appears the most beautiful creature
I've ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on.
Who was she?
I haven't the faintest.
But why do you believe that this poem or young woman are connected with Mr. Fry?
The air of concealed violence.
Unspeakable duress.
An unknown woman.
You could have woken any morning and written this.
But I didn't write it. It was dictated.
-Dictated? -Mmm-hmm.
By whom?
My mother.
She's dead.
Dead nearly, uh, 20 years.
Tell me about this Poe fella.
Oh, Poe, he…
A lovely boy.
Beautiful manners. Um… Talks a lot.
Definitely. And definitely something peculiar about him.
Because he talks a lot?
No, because he's filled with senseless fantasies.
Tells me about a poem,
claims it has something to do with Leroy Fry's death.
Claims it was dictated to him in his sleep by his dead mother.
You of all people know that the people we lost…
are always with us.
Man will do most anything to cheat death, won't he?
A container of some sort.
Wrapped in muslin, maybe, or newspaper.
Very likely surrounded by ice.
Good. My note reached you.
-Were you followed? -Followed?
How unprofessional. Certainly not.
-What is this? -The scene of the crime.
The second… crime.
Where Fry's heart was brought.
You mentioned the taking of Fry's heart drew you to the Bible.
I must admit. I was already moving in that direction.
Not to the Bible.
But to religion.
This… This does appear to render a ceremony of some sort.
Blood and candles placed in an intentional manner.
-A circle. -Mmm. And a triangle.
And Fry's heart very likely placed inside.
I have an old friend who might be of some use.
Professor Jean Pépé is an expert in symbols…
-Pépé! -…rituals…
-…the occult. -Professor!
Pépé might be
-the most peculiar man… -Come in. I'm back here.
-Sorry to intrude. -…I've had the pleasure of coming across.
I, uh, bring something curious I would like you to observe.
Uh…
This can only be a magic circle.
I remember seeing it in Le Véritable Dragon Rouge.
And if I recall all right, the magician would stand there
in the triangle.
Alone?
Well, he might have a group of assistants.
And candles and torches on either side, light everywhere,
a festival of light, in fact.
Now, Gus, if you go to the third shelf…
On the second to the top.
That volume on the top.
Yes. Yes.
Pierre de Lancre, redoubtable witch hunter.
-You read French, Mr. Poe? -Well, yes.
Please read in silence. It's in the center page.
De Lancre executed 600 Basque witches
and left behind the remarkable volume you now peruse.
But the book I wish to give you, Discours du Diable by Henri Le Clerc,
who executed 700 witches before he was done,
is reputed to have been destroyed.
Now, rumor has it that he left behind two or three other volumes
identical to the one destroyed.
Now, finding one has become the idée fixe of many an occult collector.
-Why? -Why? Ooh…
Le Clerc left behind instructions for securing…
immortality.
Oh, my Lord.
"It is commonly known among the fraternity of evil angels
that the contents of a witch's sabbath feast
are confined to the following sundries."
"Unclean animals such as are never eaten by Christian peoples,
the hearts of unbaptized children,
and the hearts of hanged men."
I need you to discretely infiltrate the cadets,
see if you can ferret out which of them may have a connection to the occult.
Explain yourself.
Well, um, certain overtures have been made to me,
rather dark, and shall I say, unchristian overtures.
-Unchristian? -Yes.
I've been spurred to question the very grounds of my faith.
And to dabble in mysterious and arcane practices of an ancient provenance.
-Arcane practices? -He means black magic. Who was it?
I demand to know.
I'm honor bound not to reveal his name.
Who was it?
You can't drag it from me,
not if God himself threatened to smite me with a lightning bolt.
-If you want to join our prayers-- -No, I gave my word.
-One asks you to question your faith-- -It must stay private.
Was it Marquis?
Hamilton, watch yourself.
Yes, I have a name, but I need a face to go with it.
-Vertigo, hmm? -Mmm.
Well, things are swirling about.
Your heart rate is rather quick.
Very well, Mr. Poe, keep to the house today
and take care of yourself.
Present this to Lieutenant Locke and his cadet commandeer,
Artemus, my son.
He'll make sure you're relieved of your duties.
You wish to be excused from class because you were feeling
vertiginous?
And an even worse ailment not noted.
A grand ennui seizure.
"Grand ennui"?
Of a most pronounced character.
Mind yourself, Poe.
You may ask the doctor yourself.
It's true, Lieutenant.
My father did tell me he's never seen anything quite like it.
Very well.
But I am charging you with unbecoming brazenness.
Three demerits.
Return at once to your quarters.
And you would best be there when the officers come around for inspection.
-Poe, is it? -Yes.
Artemus Marquis.
I must say, your brazenness is admirable.
Tonight, eleven o'clock. 18 North Barracks.
Apologies for my tardiness. I hope I haven't kept you too long.
This is lovely.
Books!
You have never interested me more.
Where to begin? Oh…
The lamentable Fenimore Cooper. I guess every library must have one.
Ooh, what a collection.
History of Egypt, and all sorts.
You've been found out.
Oh?
You gave me to understand you didn't read poetry.
I don't.
Byron!
-A personal favorite, Mr. Landor… -Please.
…and might I say, terribly well-thumbed.
That's my daughter's.
And your daughter is no longer here?
No. No, she ran off with someone.
Someone you knew?
In passing.
And she's never to return?
Not likely.
Then we're both alone in this world.
But you have your mother.
She still speaks to you.
-At any rate. -Yes.
Yes, from time to time.
And I might add, whatever's good in me, in person, in spirit, comes from her.
Your daughter. What's her name? If you don't object.
Mathilde.
Mattie.
You needn't say anymore, Mr. Landor.
-So you say you found something. -Well, no. Better than that.
Someone goes by the name Marquis.
The doctor.
No. His son, Artemus.
And I have tasked myself with maneuvering into his impenetrable peer group.
Here's another good creature of God.
Courtesy of la divine Patsy.
Are you going to report us for defying curfew, Poe?
Do our wee transgressions offend thee?
Not only am I not offended, Mr. Ballinger, but, mmm…
another round is in order.
Drink it.
All of it, woman.
Ballinger, you really are quite the bully tonight.
Mmm.
Another, s'il vous plaît.
Oh, I thank you.
Mmm.
-I can do this all night. -Uh-uh.
Easy, Ballinger.
I've gone to great trouble to secure that mash.
Poe.
I understand you're a published poet.
I am told I evidence a humble gift.
Well, then I demand a public reading.
-Pleasure us. -Oh.
I met a lewd nude in Bermuda
Who thought she was shrewd
I was shrewder
She thought it quite crude To be wooed in the nude
I pursued her Subdued her and screwed her
-Well done, Poe.
Bravo.
Losing card… is a seven.
Winning card… is a jack.
Oh!
Well, well, well. It's your lucky day, Poe.
Thank you.
Is it true, Poe, that Detective Landor interrogated you about Fry?
He was mistakenly under the impression that I was an intimate of Fry's.
Were you?
I was not.
Fitting that the only thing that Fry could do to gain attention
was to hang himself.
I think he hanged himself in despair over being jilted by a lady.
And what lady might that be, Stoddard?
What of your sister, Artemus?
Didn't she dazzle Fry?
Oh, come now, Randy.
You were closer to Fry than anyone in this room.
I don't believe I was so near to him…
…as you.
All right. Where were we?
Halt!
Curfew not apply to you, Mr. Poe?
Explain yourself.
Candles were to be extinguished three hours ago.
I'm sorry, sir.
Your apologies have always rung hollow with me.
Leroy Fry met his maker when he too was out after curfew.
Return to barracks at once.
You're lucky you're not digging your own grave.
Thank you, sir.
Pick up the pace.
Mattie?
"Remember thou me for thy goodness' sake, O Lord."
"For in death there is no remembrance of thee,
in thy grave who shall give thee thanks?"
"According to thy mercy,
remember thou me for thy goodness' sake, O Lord."
"Mine eye is consumed because of grief."
You're Mr. Landor. Aren't you?
I am.
I'm Leroy's mother.
I'd like you to have this.
Leroy's diary.
It goes back at least three years.
I don't recall…
I'm sorry.
Terrible loss.
I don't recall any diary being found with his personal effects.
It was Mr. Ballinger who sent it to me.
-Mr. Ballinger? -Yes.
As soon as he heard what had happened,
he went straight to Leroy's quarters to see what could be done.
The dear boy mailed it to me.
I see.
And just now… as soon as he saw me,
he said, "I thought you should have Leroy's diary with you in Kentucky."
"And if you feel like burning it, go right ahead."
How considerate of him.
But I can make no sense of it.
All the numbers and letters…
But… seeing how the Army is depending on you,
it seems only right that you should have it.
I'll be back to meet you all the time.
-To manage her needs… -I understand.
…'cause all of us are in this together.
Doctor!
Ah, Mr. Landor. What a pleasant surprise.
Uh, please, let me introduce you to my wife, Julia.
I've heard so much about you.
It's a pleasure.
Aren't you the gentleman inquiring after Mr. Fry's death?
I am.
Well, we were just discussing the matter.
Indeed, my husband informs me that despite his own heroic efforts,
the body of Mr. Fry had been judged too far along for public display.
Hmm.
His poor parents.
Oh. Indeed.
Well, this whole matter has shaken us.
Be assured, I won't rest until we've apprehended him.
Lovely to make your acquaintance.
My dear.
I understand you're a widower, Mr. Landor.
That is so.
Well, all due sympathy.
Was it recent? Your wife going to her reward?
Two years ago now.
Only a few months after we moved to the Highlands.
A sudden illness, was it?
Not sudden…
enough.
Well, your sacrifices aren't lost on me.
-Condolences. -Thank you.
Hmm.
Brava.
Edgar, did I not tell you my sister is a prodigy?
Marvelous, my dear. Brought a tear to my eye.
Yeah.
A lovely run, Miss Marquis.
-Truly. -Yes.
Your immortality is assured.
I can't think of any woman who wishes to be immortal, Randy.
I am at once reminded of Sir Thomas Grey's,
"Full many a flower Is born to blush unseen"
"And waste its sweetness On the desert air"
A favorite, Mr. Poe.
And what do you think of my little protégé?
I think Mr. Poe is far beyond being anyone's protégé.
He's certainly not to be corrupted by the likes of you.
All right, Lea.
That's enough now. You need to rest before dinner.
-If you'll excuse me, gentlemen. -Thank you, Lea.
Randy, chairs.
Stoddard, come on, man. Chess board.
All right. I'm bored now.
I don't care! She's ill.
In her condition, she shouldn't be entertaining at all.
Miss Marquis.
Oh, um… Pardon me.
Nothing would afford me greater pleasure than an audience with you on Saturday.
I'm sure that's true, Mr. Poe, but… I'm afraid I'm engaged Saturday.
Ah, I see.
Your coat and your hat, sir.
Thank you, Eugenia. You needn't have.
I could have fetched my coat myself.
-Good evening. -Good evening.
You speak French, Mr. Poe.
With an accent that is rather charming.
So you propose this Saturday?
Or Sunday, if that's preferable.
Or Monday, even.
And where do you propose this audience?
Let me guess. Gee's Point? Flirtation Walk?
Oh, no, no, no.
Neither, I'm afraid, no.
I had in mind the cemetery.
-The cemetery? -Mmm.
How interesting.
Yes, I certainly think so.
Well, I wish you good evening.
It's all so bare now.
But to enjoy the Highlands in the full extent of their glory,
it must be seen immediately after the fall of the leaf.
Why is that?
Vegetation does not improve,
but rather obstructs God's originating design.
A romantic.
You do enjoy talking about God and death, don't you?
I do consider death to be poetry's most exalted theme.
Shall we?
-A lovely spot. -Yes, it's my favorite.
How well it sits on you, morbidity.
Suits you better than your uniform.
The only one to match you is Artemus.
I've never seen him dwell in the realms of melancholy.
He does consent to visit our world for long intervals.
You know I believe it's possible to dance on broken glass
for some length of time.
Not forever.
Yes, I can see you two hold much in common.
I hope you aren't cold.
The frigid climate has clearly settled in for good.
Please, let us not.
Do not suppose I came here to talk about the weather. How prosaic.
I'm sorry. My sole concern was for your welfare.
Proceed then, by all means.
Declare your undying love, so we may both return home and be none the worse.
-I was just saying-- -I'm sorry.
Sorry, I'm being a horror, and I have no idea why.
You are cold.
Miss Marquis, would you like to borrow my cloak?
-Quite all right. -It's really no, um…
I…
-What? -Miss Marquis.
-Lea! Lea!
Lea! Lea? What's happening?
Lea!
Lea.
My God, Lea.
Are you all right?
-Lea? -I'm rather fine.
Are you sure you're all right? I was quite terrified.
It happens. It's nothing to worry about.
Your, um…
Your spirit so emboldens me that I feel free to confess…
my mother has a kind of presence in my life.
My sleepings and my awakenings.
Yes. Yes.
At times, I believe the dead haunt us because we love them too little.
We forget them, you see. We don't mean to, but we do.
I believe they feel most cruelly deserted, and so they clamor for us.
Perhaps it best we don't give that too much thought.
I want you to know how grateful I was…
to open my eyes and find you there.
To look deep within you
and find something I would never have expected.
Not in a thousand years.
Thank you.
Stop!
Bastards ought to know their fucking place.
-Stay away from Lea.
Leave off!
Leave off, Ballinger!
Or you will be court-martialed!
Ugly fuck.
You all right?
Clearly that savage knows that Lea prefers me to him.
-And if he seeks to frighten me away-- -Frighten?
-He looked set on killing you. -Killing me? Oh!
Oh, no. Before I let him come between me and my heart's desire,
I will kill him.
It's always been this way. People underestimating me.
Friends, classmates, my very own benefactor.
-Thank you, Patsy. -Everyone.
Everyone…
but my dear mother.
And thank you for assisting earlier.
It's unlike me to be caught by surprise.
And you surprise too. Don't you, Landor?
I have no desire to offend,
but you're much more sophisticated than you present.
Now, tell me, is it true you once solicited a confession
with nothing more than a piercing look?
With enough patience,
the suspect will often interrogate himself.
Well, you are most delightful company, Landor.
I shall write a poem someday.
Something that shall send your name down through the ages.
Even after this attack, you don't suspect Randy Ballinger?
So where does this leave you?
Your investigation.
I'm interested in Artemus Marquis.
I take it you know him?
Well, who doesn't?
Glorious look to him.
He'd almost have to die young, wouldn't he?
But I wouldn't have picked him for the violent sort.
Always, um, very cool.
Perhaps he's not our man.
There's a quality to him. To his entire family.
They act like people who are guilty of something.
Aren't all families guilty of something?
-Captain. -It's Mr. Ballinger.
I'm afraid he's gone missing.
Next to those rocks.
Here on this side too.
Up the hill.
Cadet, right side. Behind those trees.
Nothing here.
Captain! Up here!
My Lord.
Mr. Ballinger's dissection wasn't as clean as Fry's.
Suggesting it was performed by different hands.
As for the castration…
Well, I'm…
Castration?
My God, Landor.
We're no closer to finding who's responsible for this
than we were a month ago!
We are closer.
-It's only a matter of time. -Tell me!
Have you found more evidence of satanic practices?
What of the so-called officer who persuaded Private Cochrane
to abandon Leroy Fry's body?
Or Fry's diary?
Have you found a single clue that might be of use?
A maniac is freely roaming these hills, disemboweling my men.
Men who barely carry out their duties, hardly leave their barracks or sleep.