The Red Circle Page #2

Synopsis: A strange, red circle appears on the neck of a man saved from the guillotine. What is its mysterious meaning? Tragically, it turns out to be something of a family curse, as each generation thereafter bears the same sign, which in turn leads to blackmail and murder.
 
IMDB:
6.2
Year:
1960
92 min
112 Views


Just find a way to bait him.

I don't even know the guy.

What's he bite at?

Spoons, flies, worms, maggots?

Is the fish you're after pike

or perch?

Spare me the fishing lesson.

You've got lots of imagination.

The neighborhoods changed.

Hoods use new tactics

since the open-air market moved.

The neighborhoods dead.

- Change neighborhoods.

- People know me.

Do as I do:
work through others.

Sure.

But tell me one thing...

You sure he's guilty?

I am.

So, Santi,

forgetting our old friends, are we?

Why come to my club, Inspector?

So that everyone sees you

and thinks I'm a snitch?

You really want to burn me.

Don't lay it on so thick.

Not at all...

Just say you had some problems with

the police over some call girls.

If you won't help me,

I have to try scaring you.

You've tried before to no avail.

Think so? Don't believe it.

I've nothing to say.

With all these customers?

I don't know what's said here

and even if I did...

You wouldn't tell me. I know.

I'm warning you, Santi,

I hushed up your little affair...

for the time being.

Don't make me regret it.

You slipped up. I have to use it.

Even if it's against your nature,

you have to help me.

If not, I promise you,

you'll be in deep water.

All police have informers.

You know that.

You read the papers,

listen to radio, watch television.

Find me Vogel.

Is that all!

I don't even know him.

And this...

He a look-alike?

So you'll hear about him.

After this visit, I doubt it.

I repeat, tell them

it concerns your affair.

If you like, I can help out. I can

have you hauled in for 48 hours.

That way

your honor is intact.

Vogel never dealt with the Mob.

But he will now.

To lay low, he'll ask for help.

You'll hear about it. And so will I.

See you tomorrow.

Where to?

You, wherever you like.

Me, I'm going to bed.

I've been dying to for 48 hours.

I know...

A job coming from a prison guard

sounds dubious.

But we can start by checking it out.

That'll prove nothing.

But it'll be something to go by.

OK. Let's say we decide

to go ahead with the job.

We still need a marksman.

That's why I'm talking to you.

Me? Get it out of your head.

Between shooting two men

six feet away

and hitting a target at 100 feet,

there's a certain difference.

It's the difference between

an amateur and a professional.

And, despite appearances,

I'm no professional.

I knew a really good marksman

A policeman.

A crack policeman.

One of the best shots on the force.

But the corruption of his work

environment finally got to him.

Between my prison guard and

your cop, aren't we overdoing it?

Go see him. We'll run the risk.

Talk to him.

I remember his number.

He may not have moved.

Mister Jansen?

Speaking.

Excuse me, I was in the shower.

Who's this?

You don't know me.

A friend of a friend.

Can we meet?

Yes. Of course.

When and where?

I don't know...

Around midnight?

Sure. Where?

Fine.

They killed each other

over a few thousand francs.

If we find out whose money it is

we'd make sense of the killings.

We'd also have to track down

the other car.

If its driver has anything to do

with the money,

we'd have a better fix.

Think there's a connection

with Vogel?

Who knows?

He escapes in the morning

between Marseille and Paris,

and the next day, two guys

are found dead on the same route.

- Well?

- The tire casts of the 2nd car.

The car's not new.

Probably a '66 or a '67 model.

- What make?

- Ford, Chevrolet, Plymouth?

Anyone asks for me, my name

is Corey. I'll be over there.

Car Registration

This friend wants to keep

a low profile.

I want you to meet him

to discuss a job.

Two whiskeys.

No, thanks.

I never touch it.

A double.

You're real scum...

Insulting an officer

in the exercise of his duties.

Don't make things worse.

You know this arrest's for show,

for your customers and staff,

just to make things easy for you.

Just sit back.

It's like this, Santi...

As I said last night,

I don't want to bring you down.

And I'm not changing my plan.

If I have to, I'll haul you in every

week for two days of questioning.

Inform your lawyer,

even if I can prevent you.

And phone your bartender

to bring your meals here.

Everyone at the club will know and

my visit won't hurt your reputation.

You said even if I haven't

an informer's nature,

you'd force me to help you.

You've got your psychology

all wrong.

Nothing can change

a man's basic nature.

I'm not calling my lawyer

or my bartender.

I'm not an informer.

Put him on ice.

He just pulled the classic

opening routine.

"He is not and never

will be an informer."

- Anything on Vogel?

- Nothing.

I'll speak to Santi again

before releasing him.

They know each other well.

If we don't get Vogel

in a day or two,

Santi will hear about him.

That's when I make my move.

- And his phone?

- Round the clock wiretap.

No introductions needed.

How are you?

And you?

You haven't heard?

I'm a wanted man. Escaping arrest.

Wanted by who?

Mattei. A classmate of yours.

Lot of good that'll do you.

Five people will be in on this.

The three of us, the one

who put us on to it, and the fence.

Only one fence can handle

this kind of merchandise.

He has to agree first.

Vogel has to lie low,

so I'll go see him.

And someone has to case

the premises.

That person...

will be you.

Mauboussin Jewelers

Your bracelets, please.

Of course, sir. This way, please.

What sort did you have in mind?

We have emeralds. This piece

is quite lovely.

Or else, sapphires.

This is a recent design.

Very nice.

Watches.

That one.

We also make

this kind of bracelet with rubies.

I think a bracelet would be best...

for a very young woman.

I must think it over.

At your service, sir.

It all checks out as you said.

The bullet-proof glass showcases

double as safes.

No need to remove and put back

the hundreds of different pieces.

The showcases are opened

and closed electronically.

The wall key does exist.

It controls the showcases

and the electric eyes

that block access to the showroom

from the landing.

There's no way in

other than the way you'll use.

But beware:

There are surveillance cameras, too.

It'll be about 20 million...

Market value.

Unset, re-cut,

with the platinum melted...

stones and gems

are worth only 25% to me.

Don't expect more than 5 million.

How long?

Leave me the goods for 24 hours,

I'll pay the next day.

If you can find a better offer...

There are few of you.

True enough.

Well?

I'll phone and come.

No, come without phoning.

It's better that way.

Anyway, I imagine

I'll read about the merchandise

in the papers.

- Probably.

- Precisely.

If I'd known about his release,

he wouldn't have hit me at home.

And three of my boys

would still be alive.

I didn't realize there was trouble.

Otherwise, I wouldn't have...

What's on your mind?

Nothing, nothing...

Let's hear it.

Let's hear it!

It's there.

Plouvier.

They're not much for talk.

A lot of good this does me.

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Edgar Wallace

Richard Horatio Edgar Wallace (1 April 1875 – 10 February 1932) was an English writer. Born into poverty as an illegitimate London child, Wallace left school at age 12. He joined the army at age 21 and was a war correspondent during the Second Boer War, for Reuters and the Daily Mail. Struggling with debt, he left South Africa, returned to London, and began writing thrillers to raise income, publishing books including The Four Just Men (1905). Drawing on his time as a reporter in the Congo, covering the Belgian atrocities, Wallace serialised short stories in magazines such as The Windsor Magazine and later published collections such as Sanders of the River (1911). He signed with Hodder and Stoughton in 1921 and became an internationally recognised author. After an unsuccessful bid to stand as Liberal MP for Blackpool (as one of David Lloyd George's Independent Liberals) in the 1931 general election, Wallace moved to Hollywood, where he worked as a script writer for RKO studios. He died suddenly from undiagnosed diabetes, during the initial drafting of King Kong (1933). Wallace was such a prolific writer that one of his publishers claimed that a quarter of all books in England were written by him. As well as journalism, Wallace wrote screen plays, poetry, historical non-fiction, 18 stage plays, 957 short stories, and over 170 novels, 12 in 1929 alone. More than 160 films have been made of Wallace's work. He is remembered for the creation of King Kong, as a writer of 'the colonial imagination', for the J. G. Reeder detective stories, and for The Green Archer serial. He sold over 50 million copies of his combined works in various editions, and The Economist describes him as "one of the most prolific thriller writers of [the 20th] century", although few of his books are still in print in the UK. more…

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Submitted on August 05, 2018

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