The Medusa Touch

I think they're about to lose radio contact

on the far side of the moon.

Despite the gravity of the situation

the flat American voices

retain their matter of fact tone

that has characterised so much...

It's unlocked, come in.

I thought you'd come, just a moment,

I don't want to miss this.

There's something coming through.

It's a response from Ferguson.

He's responding to control's suggestions.

I've poured you a drink.

We ought to be civilised about it.

Those were the lost words,

they've lost radio contact.

Achilles Six,

the Mission that was to inaugurate

man's first permanent station on the moon,

is locked into an orbit that,

unless some miracle occurs,

will produce

the first American disaster in space.

A response at last.

About two hours, I'd say.

He's still soft.

When it comes to violence,

there really is a common market.

I wouldn't spoil your breakfast.

Talk about beating somebody's brains out.

He was a writer.

Is that what you do with writer in England?

Please...

- That's the first one I've ever had.

- First what?

Writer. It's what you might call

a turn up for the books.

Sorry.

What did you find?

A neighbour reported to the Night Porter

who found the body and called us.

Let's speak to the neighbour.

Sergeant Duff.

Was the TV set on when they found him?

Yes sir, it was on when I came in.

NO SIGN OF L.

THE WEST FRON I saw the door standing open,

it isn't wise these days.

I called the Porter.

You didn't see the body, Mr. Pennington?

- Did you know Mr. Morlar well?

- We were just neighbours.

- Very British.

- I am British.

Any visitors, girlfriends?

- None that I've seen.

- Boyfriends?

No. He may have been strange,

but not that way, I think.

Would you know if he had any visitors?

What?

I can hear your TV set distinctly.

You would be able to hear anything in here

like laughter, argument, loud noise.

Not if my TV was on, it drowns the noise.

I see.

How did you discover what happened then?

I took my milk bottles out

during one of the commercial breaks.

His door was wide open.

I called the Porter.

Did you miss any of the programme?

What about your wife?

- My wife is dead.

- I'm sorry.

Thank you, Mr. Pennington.

What do you drink?

Pardon?

A drop of whisky. Why?

No reason.

Television will be the death

of crime detection.

- How's that, Inspector?

- No one hears anything any more.

Could I speak to the Porter now?

Listen.

"There are more tears than smiles.

There is more sea than earth.

One day the insupportable grief of mankind

will sweep over the land

and an ark will float

on that liquid expression of misery".

What do you make of that?

I'm not much on modern literature.

He's turned his TV off,

we've made some progress.

It's not possible...

My God.

Call an ambulance quickly

and alert the hospital.

How we fight against it...

They're busy, Jumbo crash.

This is Sergeant Hughes,

he'll be on the first shift.

- If he speaks one word, I want it.

- Yes, sir.

The Porter?

He came up when Pennington called

and found the man dead.

He ran back down and called us.

Any reason not to believe him?

None I could see, but I'm checking him.

- What about visitors?

- He didn't have any.

He had one tonight.

- Zonfeld?

- he never heard of him.

Pick me up in the morning at 9.

As soon as they'll let you in there.

- So the TV wasn't on when it happened?

- Apparently not.

The Porter turned it on while waiting,

because the astronauts

had just gone behind the moon...

All right, but we can't put him

to the guillotine for that.

- were there any prints?

- They were too smeared on the statue.

The only clear prints on the TV

were the Porter's.

Just when I thought

I was going back in peace,

it begins to have the smell

of one of those cases.

I don't know, Inspector, we found Zonfeld.

It's only been 12 hours, it's not bad.

Here we are, number 44.

- Dr. Zonfeld, please.

- First floor, end of the corridor, left.

Good morning, I am Inspector Brunel.

I told the Doctor you'd called.

Doctor, Inspector Brunel

is here to see you.

Terrible, isn't it?

No many Zonfelds in the directory.

- You're French.

- Yes.

I hope Mr. Morlar isn't in any trouble.

Dr. Zonfeld will see you now.

I expected a man.

I'm sorry, I had no way of knowing.

And I expected an English Inspector.

In Paris right now, a Frenchman

is confronting that English Inspector

and he is equally surprised.

I see.

We're trying to acquire

each other's weaknesses.

- Won't you sit down?

- Thank you.

I'm calling about John Morlar.

My secretary explained.

May I ask if your relationship

whit Mr. Morlar

is personal or professional?

Purely professional, he's a patient.

He was found in his flat last night.

Dead?

Not quite, but he had been badly assaulted.

I'm very sorry.

- I assume he'll be all right then.

- he will never be all right again.

That's tragic.

No one seems to know much about him.

I know a good deal about him.

But he had no enemies that I know of.

No friends either.

- That was one of his problems.

- he must have had one enemy.

But a man may be attacked

by a perfect stranger.

There were two glasses laid out.

One contained brandy and one whisky.

How can I help you?

Why did he came to you?

I have a gift for disaster.

- you seem to have survived it.

- I don't mean for me, but for others.

Have you come to me to confirm this gift

or to assist you in repudiating it?

He had delusions.

Most patients come because they feel

the world is too much for them.

Mr. Morlar felt

he was too much for the world.

In his case it began when a nanny he hated

died of measles.

He believed he caused it.

She was an Irish b*tch, priest ridden,

rosary raked

and in desperate need

of the consolation of the damned.

...get you hence,

the Lord will no more dwell among you.

You will wander as orphans.

But Lucifer did not triumph

for the Lord is mighty and terrible

and in his wrath

he poured his fury out like fire

tormenting the wanton,

searing the flesh of those

who dwelled in iniquity.

He led the wicked into darkness.

Night after night she filled me

with visions of the blood red hell

she longed for on earth.

Until one night, boiling with measles,

I closed my eyes and prayed to the Devil.

"Dear Lucifer,

let her burn in hellfire

as you're burning me".

Next day she took to her bed and died.

He was a writer and so his descriptions

tended to be a little lurid.

It would hardly get him arrested.

But there were others.

Unfortunately his delusions reinforced.

It was a dreary place with seedy hotels

Mother was much like the hotels.

A lot of paint covering the worst cracks

in a pretence at being better than she was.

John...

...make yourself useful...

Father sported a moustache, a blazer

and the title "Major"

acquired from a reserve regiment

when England's need was at its greatest.

But he was no match for her.

You scuff those shoes,

you'll go to school in slippers.

My God, I don't know how we came

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