02x05 - Episode 5

[bunniefuu]

Out. What do you mean, out?

-I signed the release paper last night.
-Mm.

-Ape. -But this is wonderful.
-Wonderful.

Well, we know Luther.

And his... surprises.

I think we've met, in Munich in the
summer.

REPLIES IN JAPANESE

My husband was with the Japanese
delegation, Duchess Alberta.

-Ah.
-Sadly, I was unable to attend.

Oh, my dear, what a sight you
missed.

All those glistening athletic
bodies. These beautiful Aryan boys.

Indeed. Olympic ideal at its purest.

Yes. That too.

-Woo.
-Woo.- Yeah. Come on.

-Oh, for goodness sake.
-Oh, well, I'msorry.

I think you may be drunk, Herr
Windjammer.

I'm smashed permanently, isn't
everyone?

Oh, my wife doesn't look in the mood
for goodwill to all men.

Heil Hitler.

RATTLE OF CUTLERY ON GLASS

Meine Damen und Herren,

I bid you welcome to my, erm, little
home.

THEY LAUGH

On this night, the von Bodes have
gathered

to celebrate the Feast of Saint
Nicholas.

For the benefit of our guests from
overseas,

this is a particularly German
tradition.

Saint Nicholas brings presents to
the good children,

and the wicked children are visited
by...

Well, we have all that to look
forward.

But this year is a particularly
special occasion.

If you know your Bible, you will be
aware

of the parable of the Prodigal Son.

Meine Damen und Herren, it is time.

Entschuldigen Sie, bitte. Danke.

Entsch... Oh, excuse me, boys. Thank
you.

Es tut mir leid.

One pretzel. Possibly pre-w*r.

-Eh?
-All the buffet had to offer.

Though buffet is being charitable,

and the promise of coffee was more
like a threat.

One of the more insignificant
effects

of losing a World w*r, I suppose.

A decline in the quality of on-board
vittles.

How about a bacon sarnie?

Oh, if only.

Trottie thought ahead.

Mrs Book, Mrs Book, what would we do
without you?

You know, I never thought I'd leave
England.

Never mind all this.

-Thank you.
-Don't mention it.

But we're not on holiday, my boy.
Remember?

No, no, of course not.

-Ready?
-Again?

Need to get our story straight, or
they won't give us the time of day.

Renowned antiquarian bookseller,
Sebastian Melmoth...

Hello.

Is heading to Germany with his
blindingly handsome,

trusted assistant Mr Jack Blunt.

Here, how comes I don't get a secret
identity?

Well, you don't need one, do you?

Luther von Bode knows my name. He
doesn't know yours.

Nor that you happen to be his
grandson. Go on.

Luther is wanting to sell a second
folio of Shakespeare,

which is our way to gain his
confidence.

But he mustn't know who you are.

Exactly. I will blend in, wear a
funny hat,

hide behind the Arras, that sort of
thing.

Giving us time to find out...
Discreetly.

Discreetly, what happened to my
father on December 5th, 1936.

We need to speak to a Doctor
Kaufmann,

because he was the one who returned
your letters to Felix.

He's also the one that told you that
my father

had died in a sanatorium of a brain
tumour.

Yes.

On the same day that Felix was
photographed at the Christmas party.

Someone is lying. Maybe a lot of
people are lying.

And in addition... In addition, the
Duchess Alberta...

Our noblesse obligation.

The Shakespeare folio incriminates
her,

opens up all sorts of questions as
to

what else she might have... liberated
from the royal vaults.

But we take it slowly and carefully.

When and if Luther trusts us,

only then, do we reveal who you
really are, understood?

Understood. What about this place
itself?

What's it called again? Whirl?

Wurl.

Did my old man ever say much about
that?

Oh, yes, and the way Felix described
it,

it's like something out of a fairy
tale.

GIGGLING

Well, he weren't wrong.

-What is it?
-Oh, nothing.

I was expecting us to be met at the
bottom of the hill, that's all.

Oh, well.

SHOUTING

CHANTING

What the hell's going on?

More than a whiff of Nuremberg.

I suppose Christmas is Christmas.
Even if there has been a w*r on.

SHE GASPS

Er, Melmoth? Duttweiler. I'm sorry
for my lateness.

Don't give it another thought.

Please.

Danke schon.

Nervous?

-Nah.
-Me too.

Just like the old times, huh?

Oh, God. How depressing.

Maybe Hitler had the right idea.

I wouldn't say that too loud if I
was you.

I mean, blowing his brains out.

About all we're fit for now.

Oh, I mean, look at us. What a sad
spectacle. What do you think, Guy?

What say we put down the whole pack
of us? Humanely, of course.

Just say the word, honey. I promise
it won't hurt. Much.

You say the sweetest things.

Nonsense.

You're talking nonsense, my dear
Alberta.

It is the feast of Saint Nicholas,

and we celebrate just as we used to.

We are still here. We have survived.

Most of us.

And I have gathered those dearest to
me back to my tender bosom.

But where is Irma? And the Herr
Doctor?

Yes. Where is Kaufmann?

I must apologise for not meeting you
in person.

But I am a very busy man. Luther von
Bode.

Sebastian Melmoth. Pleasure. My
assistant Mr Blunt.

I trust our business can be swiftly
concluded, Herr Melmoth.

Wouldn't that be nice?

Come.

Gently does it, Jack. Remember?
Gently.

Yeah. Yeah, you don't have to worry
about me.

Exquisite. Exquisite.

Second Folio in dark calf.

Printed 1632. Exceptionally rare.

And yet you want to sell. The w*r, I
suppose.

This place can't exactly be cheap to
maintain.

It's true.

Many aristocratic families have lost
much.

Fortunately, the von Bodes are not
among them.

You will find me a wily old
negotiator, Herr Melmoth.

Now I am the last of my line.

Well, this all seems very promising,

but you are asking a great deal of
money.

Might I have some time?

Of course, of course. You are my
honoured guests.

My honoured British guests.

After all, we are all friends now.

You must be tired.

Please, let us discuss this matter
further in the morning.

You have a favourite?

Favourite, sir?

Of the plays? Of Shakespeare's
plays?

As Herr Melmoth's assistant, you
must surely be very familiar.

Jack has too many to mention, don't
you, Jack?

Yeah.

I mean, all the obvious ones. The
Dame, the Fame, the Moor.

Though, Love's Labour's Lost should
never be performed again.

And as for Dogberry in Much Ado...

-Merchant of Venice.
-Oh.

"The quality of mercy is not
strained."

It droppeth like gentle rain

"from heaven, upon the place
beneath."

You have a favourite Shakespeare,
Herr von Bode?

Titus Andronicus.

Well, as you say, it's been a very
long day.

-You're not the last in line.
-What? -The von Bodes.

You're not the last one. There's me.

What?

-I'm your grandson.
-Jack...

-What did you say?
-I'm your grandson. -I'm Felix's son.

-I do not understand.
-It's true, Herrvon Bode.

Who are you?

Um, I'm Jack Blunt. Um... I'm, uh, I
was... I was in an orphanage.

That's my first memory, and I had a
photograph of my father.

It was this one. I had this, and a
name and that was it.

This is incredible.

Look, look, look, it's all here. All
the documents.

We were going to take you through
it... in the fullness of time.

It's the truth. It's all there. I'm
telling the truth, honestly.

I'm your grandson. I'm Felix's son.

And who then, sir, are you?

Just a bookseller. As I say.

I came across your name, Herr von
Bode,

and that you were in the market to
sell a Shakespeare Folio.

It seemed too good a chance for Jack
here to miss.

We had no intention to deceive.
Truly.

Jack is only here to find some
answers.

You will understand that this has
come as something of a shock.

Yeah. No, of course.

There is a resemblance. Certainly a
resemblance.

I will study these.

My people will study these in great
detail.

If this is true... It is.

I swear.

I'm so sorry, Mr Book.

It was just when... when he said that
he was the last one, I...

I couldn't keep it in.

He's my grandfather, my blood
relative.

He's the only one that I've ever...

It's not the end of the world.

We were going to tell him
eventually.

The quality of mercy is not
strained. You're full of surprises.

Yeah, I've been boning up, ain't I?

So, what do you make of the old
family pile?

It's cosy, innit.

Still. As they are wont to say on
the Yellow Brick Road,

there's no place like home.

-Good evening.
-Oh.- This is beautiful.

-You're early.
-Do you want me towait? - No, no, no.

It's, uh... Well, I just have to be
careful, that's all, Reggie.

Respectable married woman.

Well, that's exactly what I am. Or
what I have to appear to be.

I have such a passion for seducing
respectable married women.

Is that all this is? A seduction?

You know me better than that by now,
Trottie.

And so, it's a whole week to
ourselves.

Nora is looking after the bookshop.
That should occupy her completely.

Which only leaves Dog, and he's very
discreet.

Oh, come on, you've sniffed every
bloomin' thing we've passed.

DOG WHIMPERS

Bloody hell.

Jesus, Luther. You're just going to
take this kid at face value?

Of course not. I'm not a complete
fool, Guy.

But if he is who he says he is,

my lawyers will look over the
papers, we will see.

Oh, this is delicious.

It's nuts, it's nuts. Luther, you
can't just accept...

Ten years ago, I lost my only son.
And now...

Your grandson has come to take his
place.

He obviously just wants money.

No. Listen, I don't want anything
like that.

I just want answers about my
father.

DOOR BELL

-See who that is.
-Sir.

My son was not well.

He behaved so strangely that we had
to put him away for a while.

-Sanatorium.
-And then?

And there he died. The tumour on the
brain.

That was what was causing it.

Causing it all. God rest his soul.

What's your role in all of this,
Mr... Melmoth?

Chaperone to the little b*stard?

Just an interested party.

I'm a bookseller, actually. A
specialist.

Oh, I'm a collector too.

So I gather, Your Grace.

I'm aware that circumstances have
changed here, von Bode.

But the Shakespeare Folio...

Oh, it's still for sale. Yes, very
much so.

Excellent. And your library?

Full of treasures.

Very tempting. May I?

If you wish.

It's rather thrillingly like
Anastasia all of this, isn't it?

-Who?
-Romanoff Princess.

She was meant to have escaped the
Bolsheviks' firing squad in 1918.

Tipped up in Berlin in the '20s.

Of course, almost certainly a
horrible imposter.

I was related to her. I mean, the
real Anastasia.

Distantly.

Yes. My husband is very keen on
reminding me

just how distant a relation to the
king I am.

Aren't you, darling?

Well, it'll be nice to have some
more erudite company this weekend,

as I'm not sure that half of them
here can actually read.

MAN CLEARS THROAT

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.

SHE TRANSLATES

My name is Inspector Ernest Bliss.

And I'm afraid there's been a
m*rder.

Didn't expect we'd be seeing you for
a while yet.

Can't keep you away from trouble,
can you, Inspector?

Well, this was hardly part of the
plan.

Good to see you anyway.

Yeah, and you. Not everything's...
worked out.

This has rather complicated matters
though, hasn't it?

A little, plus, the dead man was the
one

who sent me official confirmation
that Felix was dead.

You think... You think there's a
connection?

I'm not sure yet.

It was horrible. Horrible. His face!

There, there.

You must get some rest. Let's get
you to bed.

Help yourself to anything you find
in my cabinet, darling.

-I have everything.
-But keep off thehard stuff.

She hasn't developed your tolerance, honey.

No, no. I have my own.

Poor old Kaufmann, eh?

Indeed.

Although I don't suppose you'll be
shedding many tears, will you?

What is that supposed to mean?

SHE HUMS

So, what now?

I want you to stay here, Jack.

Find out everything you can about
the night that Felix died.

Discreetly this time.

Yeah. Don't worry.

Scene of the crime?

Scene of the crime.

We haven't been properly introduced.
Gabriel Book.

-Liesl Pohl.
-Delighted.

-I have heard so much about you.
-Allbad I hope?

Pohl used to work with the police
here.

Been cleared by all the security
checks,

so she's a good one, a good German.

-Sorry.
-No, it is worth saying. Ihated the Nazis.

Which is more than can be said for
most of

the people staying in Schloss von
Bode currently.

Speaking of which, we'd best hurry.

There's only so long I can nip
outside for a quick smoke.

We can get you back in the same way
we left.

-The servants' entrance?
-Yeah. It isnever locked.

Excellent.

So, what do we know about the late
Doctor Kaufmann?

Widower. No children.

And he has been personal physician
to Luther von Bode for 30 years.

Has he now?

Pathology report of a sort. No
Doctor Calder, alas.

Alas.

No sign of forced entry, and no
prints anywhere.

What else do we know about him?
Associates?

Enemies? Drink? Debt? Women?

He was not well liked.

Clearly, someone really didn't like
him.

Choked with coal, and covered with
soot. It's a new one on me.

SHOUTING OUTSIDE

SHRIEKING

Book, what is it?

It's just a notion.

Go on.

Have you ever heard of Knecht
Ruprecht?

Of course. Perhaps it is not well
known in England.

-No?
-It's all different here. Verydifferent. Wha...

Knecht Ruprecht is a legendary
creature.

There's even a tune by Schumann.

Ruprecht accompanies Saint Nicholas
on his rounds,

and doles out things to naughty
children, including lumps of coal.

Oh, I see. You think someone's
trying to make a point?

Kaufmann was being punished?

It is possible.

Knecht Ruprecht hits wicked children
with a bag of ashes.

Drowns them or stuffs them in a
sack, and carries them to Hell.

Oh, lovely. Merry Christmas.

WHISPERING AND MUTTERING

VOICE ECHOES

No, no!

You are not real, you are not real.

No! No. Get away from me. Get away
from me!

Get away from me. No!

No!

HE HYPERVENTILATES

No...

That's the official story. The one
Luther told you?

After all the day guests had left,
he admitted that

Felix was here the night of the
party.

He said he was behaving strange.

Erratic, you know, because of the
tumour.

What do the others say?

That Felix seemed perfectly fine
when they talked to him.

And that he did go back to the
sanatorium,

and died there.

A disparity, then, between Luther's
account,

and that of the other guests.

If only we could have spoken to
Kaufmann.

Yeah, but he's dead.

"White and snowy lies the land.

Here comes Saint Nicholas, staff in
hand.

Who's that with him? Face like a
fright.

Knecht Ruprecht, Ruprecht, tuck up
tight."

What's that?

Local ditty about Santa's
not-so-little helper.

"Knecht Ruprecht comes to poke and
peer at all the little children

who've been bad this year.

Too late now to go to church, with
coal,

then sack, then switch of birch,

Ruprecht will be the one to tell,

"who goes to Heaven, and who to
Hell."

The question is, who would want to
k*ll Kaufmann?

They were all pretty tight-lipped.

There...

-There was one thing that I did pick up on.
-Yes?

Doctor Kaufmann and the big fella,
Duttweiler,

they didn't get on, feud goes way
back.

Ah, now, that's very revealing.

Is it?

I found a photograph in Kaufmann's
office.

He and Duttweiler were in the same
regiment during the Great w*r.

Duttweiler of a higher rank,
judging by his uniform.

Kaufmann a mere private.

I see. I mean, that can't have been
easy,

going back to bowing and scraping to
a bloke you used to give orders to.

Festering resentment. My favourite
motive.

So, Duttweiler has got to be in the
frame for it?

He was in the village. He was late
picking us up.

He could have done in Doctor
Kaufmann.

If so...

What?

Don't you see?

The butler did it.

Herr von Bode!

SPEAKS GERMAN

What is it? What's happened?

Jesus.

Coal then sack.

So much for the butler.

DOG WHIMPERS

Dog?

Nora?

Have you been here all night?

What time is it?

It's 8.30. Your uncle will be
frantic.

He won't mind. He knows I'm here all
day.

Yes, but not all night. It doesn't
even open on a Sunday.

Yes, I know that.

Is everything all right, Nora?

Nora? Oh, damn.

KETTLE WHISTLES

Thought you weren't expecting me to
sleep here.

Huh?

You've got two cups out. You must
be psychic, Mrs B.

Force of habit, I suppose, for me
and Book.

Right. Yeah. Of course.

Um... Two sugars in mine, if you can
spare that from your ration.

Mm.

Barbiturate overdose. Injected in
the neck.

And something else. Cologne. Lots of
it.

Which he hadn't been wearing earlier
in the evening.

Must have taken a bit of strength to
get a big bugger like him

into the sack and hoisted up into
the eaves.

Maybe.

Well, anyway, I've asked everyone
staying in the castle to stay put.

It's got to be one of them, hasn't
it?

Right. Plan of action.

Well, it can't exactly be business
as usual, can it?

As far as they're all concerned,
you're just a bookseller.

So you'll... you'll be discreet. Keep
out the way.

Yes, absolutely. You won't know I'm
here.

Do you believe me? Do you believe I
am who I say I am?

Luther is hardly sentimental.

If you are a fraud, he will discover
it.

And then, hah, I would not like to
be in your shoes.

Look, I asked everyone last night

what happened to Felix all those
years ago at the party?

I mean, Luther said he collapsed,
but...

Luther is a liar.

The story they told about Felix's
end is not... It cannot be true.

Will you tell me what really
happened?

I think I can trust you, perhaps.

We just... Ijust want to know the
truth.

The truth? The truth is a stranger
to these walls.

You said you grew up here.

So, are you... Are we, like cousins,
or...?

I am not a von Bode. Luther took me
in after...

after my father died.

And were you close? You and Felix.

I adored him. Oh, not in that way.

He was like an older brother to me.

We'd confide in each other. We told
each other everything.

And so, I know who it was he truly
loved.

I read everyone's statements, their
movements

on the day Kaufmann was k*lled, and
last night when Duttweiler died.

Well, we're each other's alibis,
Inspector.

I'm sorry if that doesn't help.

You were in Bermuda, weren't you?

For the duration of the w*r? Sorry.
Don't mind me.

We were. Keeping the British end up.

We could hardly pop over here to
Germany, could we?

That wouldn't have done at all. But
now that's all over.

Back to the good old days?

Hardly. This bloody country's a
wreck.

But Luther asked, and so here we are
again.

Luther's always been a very generous
host.

Doctor Kauffmann, an old friend?

We had been through much together.

And Duttweiler?

His family have been servants here
for generations.

The von Bode blood is in these
stones.

We are aristocrats, an unbroken
chain of authority,

of dignity, of power.

Not looking too powerful now,
though, are you?

Flogging the family silver, or the
Shakespeare Folio just to survive.

Sorry. Not here. Ignore me.
Fascinating stuff.

Not sure Irma was very keen on
either of them, actually.

Kaufmann and Duttweiler I mean.

She rather thought they looked down
on her.

Looked down on her?

Well, Luther took her in after her
father's suicide.

He made her his ward. She grew up in
the castle.

Everyone knew that she was reliant
on Luther's charity.

Irma's father k*lled himself? Sorry.
Me again.

It's no secret that my father lost
everything in the Crash.

The stock market. I had nothing.
Luther took me in.

Eventually I got away to Berlin. But
then the w*r...

And what about your relationship
with the dead men?

Purely professional.

Doctor Kaufmann provided me with the
drugs I take.

-For sleeping, yes?
-Yes.

Secobarbital, I believe, according
to the doctor's notes.

A barbiturate.

It's the Japanese woman you really
should be grilling, though.

-Oh?
-Oh, yes.

Because of what Kaufmann did to Mr
Yamauchi.

What became of your husband? The
w*r, I suppose.

No, not the w*r. He died of
peritonitis.

In Japan?

No. Here.

-What, here?
-His symptoms wereignored.

By the time he realised, it was too
late.

These symptoms were ignored by
Doctor Kaufmann?

Well, Luther's rattled. You see his
face?

Well, his butler and his friend the
doctor

have both just been k*lled by a
grotesque and rather baroque means.

Would you describe yourself as
Luther's friend, Your Grace?

Luther doesn't have friends.

Just people who can be useful to him
for a while.

I mean, we're more than
acquaintances, of course.

I've helped him buy and sell a few
things. Keep the coffers full.

You've become something of a fixture
here, I understand,

since the end of the w*r.

Luther has been very kind to me.

You must have got to know the
servants rather well.

-Poor Duttweiler.
-It is shocking.

Was Duttweiler by any chance an
habitual wearer of heavy scent?

Scent?

Eau de Cologne de Coq?

Not to my knowledge.

You say you were in the castle the
whole time

on the day Kaufmann was k*lled. What
about last night?

I have no alibi. I sleep alone, of
course.

Ah, yes. So many have been widowed.
It must be very lonely for you.

One learns to be stoical.

Herr von Bode has provided you with
much comfort, I'm sure.

How well did you both know the
deceased men?

Well, we met them both, obviously,
over the years.

Ghastly, both of them. Kaufmann was
so quiet.

Rather gave one the creeps.
Duttweiler...

Frankenstein I used to call him.

Great lumbering brute.

His monster.

Sorry?

Frankenstein's monster. He was the
great lumbering brute.

His monster, not Frankenstein.
Sorry. Ignore me.

So, not a fan of either, then?

No, but finding people tedious at
parties

is a tenuous motive for m*rder,
don't you think, Inspector?

Half of Belgravia would be in the
dock.

I've been thinking, Mr Melmoth...

Melmoth.

It's a book, isn't it? Melmoth the
Wanderer.

A gothic classic.

Like me. Funny.

Wasn't that the name that Oscar
Wilde used in exile?

Sebastian Melmoth.

Was it really?

Can you think of a stronger motive

why anyone would want to k*ll these
men?

-Got to be a nut, I guess.
-Or...

Or?

Well, we've all heard the rumours
about this nasty Santa Claus thing.

What is it? Knicky-Knacky?

Knecht Ruprecht.

Yes. That's the chap.

Whose theory is this?

-Mine, I'm afraid.
-Oh, indeed.

And so the deaths of respectable
German citizens are now

to be investigated by English
amateurs

and Jews?!

Mr... Mr Book... Mr Mel... Mel...

Mr Melmoth is an acquaintance from
London.

He's very welcome to help in any way
he can.

As if it were not bad enough that
they were slaughtered.

But this humiliation, punished like
naughty children!

It is obscene.

Find out who did this, and do so
quickly.

I'll do my best.

But you might do well to remember,
Mr von Bode, who won the bloody w*r.

-Well, you have quite a nerve.
-I begyour pardon?

Coming here into my home, Mr Book!

I wrote to Felix, waited for a
reply. Waited and waited.

Felix never saw your damned letters.
He was in the sanatorium by then.

-With this so-called tumour.
-Describeit how you will.

It was a kind of sickness, a
disease.

Disease?

He was afflicted with a perversion

that made me ashamed to call him my
own blood.

Oh, of course.

My only heir. The heir to the von
Bode line.

Decadent. Corrupted.

Corrupted by you.

So, you locked him away?

Kaufmann thought he might respond to
treatment,

but I should simply have put Felix
down, like a sick animal.

Is that what you did? Because there
was no tumour, was there, Luther?

No matter what lie you've been
telling yourself.

You turn up here with that boy,

under false pretences, using a false
name,

and then he claims to be my own
flesh and blood.

Quite the coincidence.

Or something more. A conspiracy.

A conspiracy that ends with the
deaths of Kaufmann and Duttweiler.

What really happened that night,
Luther?

What the hell did you do to Felix?

You came here to buy the Second
Folio.

I regret to inform you that it is no
longer for sale.

I believe our business here is
concluded.

Well...

Buggered that up, ain't we?

Oh, no, no, no, no, no.

No?

No, I... I don't drink any more.

You don't drink any more?

I don't drink any less.

Oh, my goodness. Are you all right?

It got rather heated, I'm afraid.

I thought he was going to strike me.

And how's Jack taking it all? Must
be a little overwhelming.

He's quite the stoic, in fact.
Impressive boy. His father's boy.

You will be careful, won't you?

I'm always careful, Trottie.

Not always.

Everything all right back there?

Yes. Yes, of course.

Bedroom ceiling?

-Good as new.
-Trottie?

SHE GASPS

You be careful too, my love. I'd
better go.

Walls have ears in this place. I'll
speak to you when I can.

-Bye, Book.
-Bye.

There you go. I think you deserve
this.

Thanks.

I know how... how tough this must all
be for you, Book, so...

I'm fine. We'll be fine.

Time to regroup. What are we looking
at?

Well, motives aplenty.

Madame Yamauchi blames Dr Kaufmann
for the death of her husband.

And we know there was bad blood
between Kaufmann and Duttweiler.

And then he got topped himself.

k*lled by an overdose of the same
barbiturates

that Irma Queisser uses to get to
sleep.

And who can say what her Royal
Highness and the yank

might be hiding, apart from what we
already know.

Then there's this.

Oh, what is it?

Finally found something in the
doctor's accounts.

Luther was paying for two patients
at the sanatorium.

Two?

Jacks father and another one, an
earlier patient

whose residency began in 1912, and
which ended just two months ago.

Any idea who?

No name given. Odd, though. Luther
is the key to all this.

The spider at the centre of the web.

I can feel it in my bones. We've got
to get him to talk.

Well, that'd be a job for you two.
We've been chucked out on our ears.

Well, gentlemen, here's to a new and
better future. Prost.

ALL: Prost.

"White and snowy lies the land."

Here comes Saint Nicholas, staff in
hand.

Who's that with him? Face like a
fright.

Knecht Ruprecht, Ruprecht, tuck up
tight.

Knecht Ruprecht comes to poke and
peer

at all the little children who have
been bad this year.

Too late now to go to church,

with coal, then sack, then switch of
birch,

Ruprecht will be the one to tell

"who goes to heaven and who to hell."

HE SIGHS

KNOCKING

Luther?

Luther, why did you not come to bed?

Luther?