Fawlty Towers

  Sybil: (after giving Basil a glance that could kill) Certainly, Mr. Sleece.

  (The two men start up the stairs, carrying a large briefcase between them. Manuel tries to take it from them.)

  Mr. Sleece: No thanks. I’ll handle it.

  Manuel: No, no. Is no problem.

  Mr. Sleece: I said I’ll handle it.

  Manuel: But is my job!

  (Manuel pulls at the handle of the case. In the ensuing struggle he falls over and rolls down the stairs. The briefcase flies open and Basil, on his way to chastise Manuel, sees that it’s full of bank notes. He pretends not to have seen them. Mr. Sleece quickly closes the case, and the two men go upstairs.)

  (It is lunchtime in the dining-room. Beside the Ladies and the Major there is another couple and the two men who have just checked into the hotel. Basil has addressed himself to the Major, pretending he has to speak loudly to make himself understood.)

  Basil: ... and because of these burglars breaking into the hotel the other day we had to have the police round to rule out the guests as suspects.

  The Major: Really? Who was it?

  Basil: It wasn’t.

  The Major: Wasn’t? I don’t quite follow, Fawlty.

  Basil: It wasn’t one of the guests.

  The Major: Strange, I really thought I saw one today.

  Basil: Who did you say?

  The Major: No, no, not him — another guest.

  Basil: (turning to the couple who has overheard and are puzzled by this conversation) And so we had a safety system installed which puts Fort Knox to shame, if I may say. A real Franz Jaeger.

  The Major: German bunker, is it, Fawlty?

  Basil: Straight from Berlin, Major.

  The Major: Achtung Panzer! Read it in General Patton’s autobiography There were lots of them in Operation Desert Storm too, you know.

  Mr. Underhill: Could we have some more sauce, please?

  Basil: (handing Manuel the sauce-boat) Manuel, please go and get some more sauce.

  Manuel: Qué?

  Basil: Sauce!... Some more sauce!!

  Mrs. Underhill: Salsa, porfavor.

  (Manuel starts to dance. Basil hits him with the sauce-boat. Manuel runs off into the kitchen.)

  Basil: I’m sorry, but he’s from Spain. Actually, a speaking ape from Gibraltar. Terribly rare specimen. Missing link between Cro-Magnon and Neanderthal, really.

  Mr. Underhill: Oh, we don’t mind, we like Spanish people. We go to the Costa del Sol every year for our holidays.

  Basil: (to himself, very sotto voce) Riff-raff... (aloud) So, the point is, we can now recommend that anyone who has any valuables deposit them in our new dynamite-, fire- and water-proof safe.

  (Polly comes in with the main courses for Mr. Sleece and Mr. Wickeed, who have followed the conversation with the closest attention.)

  Mr. Sleece: Is it true there have been burglars around here stealing from hotel rooms, then?

  Polly: Yes, but it is well under control now.

  Mr. Wickeed: Did they collar them?

  Polly: Oh yes, they were brought down to the police station two days ...

  Basil: (interrupting her) As a matter of fact, they weren’t, Polly.

  Polly: But I saw the two men being put in the police van, Mr. Fawlty.

  Basil: Oh, I see. You mean the two men that were escorted by the police two days ago. Ahh, those were in fact two guests, charity workers on their way to a conference.

  Mr. Sleece: Why would charity workers have police escort?

  Basil: Afraid. Afraid of being assaulted.

  Mr. Wickeed: Of being assaidted?

  Basil: By the local trade union organisation. They’d decided to give them a lesson.

  Mr. Sleece: Er, physically?

  Basil: Sort of. I mean, a little, enough to set an example, not really hurt them. Still ...

  Mr. Wickeed: So the burglars are still on the run?

  Basil: Ahh, I'm afraid that's correct. But not to worry, we have just called the police, and they'll he coming over to search all the rooms again this afternoon.

  Polly: Search all the rooms again?

  Basil: Just a precautionary measure, to make sure nothing’s left to chance. The police are awfully community-minded here in Torquay. I mean, it’s more than their job’s worth not to make sure tourism isn’t harmed, isn’t it? If, on the other hand you might feel that you’d rather not have the police going through your belongings, we can always guarantee their absolute, er, tranquillity in our safe, as I said, real Franz Jaeger. Our discretion is one hundred per cent. No questions asked. Ha ha!

  (Polly gives Basil a bewildered look. The two men glance at each other.)

  Mr. Wickeed: We’d better get out of this madhouse now!

  Mr. Sleece: Bad idea, mate. If we check out now it’ll only seem suspicious, and we’d soon have the police up our arses. God, I even showed my tattoos to that stupid mare. She’ll have a perfect description.

  Mr. Wickeed: What a diabolical piece of luck, some amateurs hanging round for a few pounds sticking out of a handbag.

  Mr. Sleece: And here’s us with the big money thinking this’ll do as a safe house for a day or two until the heat’s off. It’s enough to make a cat laugh.

  Mr. Wickeed: But, like I said, we're got to be somewhere else when the police come, but it would be too obvious to leave the hotel once we’ve moved in.

  Mr. Sleece: What shall we do with the money?

  Mr. Wickeed: Good question ... Hm ... hm ...Got it, mate! The safest place for the money when the cops come will be that safe. Nobody would look for stolen goods in the hotel’s own safe. We’ll stash it there!

  Mr. Sleece: Are you completely off your trolley?

  Mr. Wickeed: No.

  Mr. Sleece: So what’s next, then?

  Mr. Wickeed: We collect the briefcase in the morning and check out. And then: Rio de Janeiro! Copacabana! Cuba libres! Women! (loudly, and making a gesture towards the kitchen region) Salsa!

  Mrs. Underhill: Oh, please, have some of ours. We’ve got plenty.

  (Polly and Terry are talking in the kitchen.)

  Polly: I promise you, Terry, he stood there saying that the thieves hadn’t been caught and that the police will be back here this afternoon to go through the rooms once again. And then he was bragging about the safe.

  Perry: About the safe?

  Polly: Yes. It was as if he was trying to convince people to put all their things in there. Suitcases — everything!

  Terry: But he hates locking things in the safe; he always forgets what he’s done with the key. Besides, after what happened all that time ago, with that lord who turned out to be an impostor ...

  Manuel: (looking past the kitchen door towards the lobby) Psst. Come and see.

  (They all three peep past the door and see Mr. Wickeed and Mr. Sleece slowly moving towards the reception desk in the lobby carrying the briefcase between them. Out of the blue Basil materialises behind the desk, flashing what is intended to be a friendly smile.)

  Basil: Can I be of service to you gentlemen?

  Mr. Wickeed: We was just a bit worried about what you just said in the dining room, about burglars and stuff, so, well, the thing is that we do have a few papers, of no commercial value, of course, all the same ...

  Basil: (now beaming) As I said, we do not investigate the reasons why our guests want to keep their valuables in our safe. Considering the circumstances, I can only congratulate you on your excellent initiative. After all, it isn’t so nice to have the police going through all one’s dirty laundry, is it? Ha!

  Mr. Sleece: To be perfectly honest, Mr. Fawlty, of course we are not part of the Robin Hood gang, but insurance salesmen. We trade in people’s lives, yon see. And we don't want anyone to get hurt by unwelcome publicity, or see their private lives exposed unnecessarily. We’re travelling on to Cornwall early tomorrow morning, so if you ...

  Basil: I absolutely understand. I shall be here personally to make sure your insurance policies are uns
cathed. Would you like a morning call?

  Mr. Sleece: No. Just be here at seven o’clock.

  Basil: My pleasure.

  (From inside the bar, Sybil’s seal-being-machine-gunned laughter can be heard above the hum of conversation in the bar, where the staff of the Prophylactic Emporium are having their reunion. Mr. Wickeed and Mr. Sleece look at Basil in wonderment.)

  Basil: My wife. She was born in South Africa. As a child she could kill an impala within shooting range just by laughing at it. Amazing, isn’t it?

  (Early next morning in the lobby. Basil, looking spruce, is having a cup of tea at the desk. Mr. Sleece and Mr. Wickeed approach.)

  Basil: Ah, good morning. I see duty calls.

  Mr. Sleece: Could we have the briefcase?

  Basil: Absolutely no problem (Starts looking for the key in his trouser pockets, goes to his jacket, then back to his trousers; smiles at his guests. He bows down and, surprisingly, comes up with the key in his hand. He gives a histrionic sigh of relief and moves over to the safe. He inserts the key into the lock, struggles to turn it but doesn’t manage to open the safe. Mr. Sleece and Mr. Wickeed don’t seem to enjoy the show very much.)

  Mr. Sleece: (menacingly) Can we help you, Mr Fawlty?

  Basil: It’s this damned lock. It’s brand-new, I mean, if you can’t even trust a safe.

  (Mr. Sleece and Mr. Wickeed move in on Basil.)

  Basil: Ah, there you are. Would you like to give it a try yourselves?

  (Mr. Sleece tries to turn the key but gets nowhere. Mr. Wickeed does the same, but it’s stuck fast, like the sword in the stone. Basil hands them a wrench to provide more leverage. As Mr. Sleece puts all his weight on the key, it breaks off in the keyhole.)

  Basil: Oh, I’m terribly sorry.

  Mr. Sleece: You talk too much, cully. Now, open the bleeding safe!

  Basil: I’m sorry, I can’t. We’ll have to wait for the locksmith to call. He opens at half past eight. It’ll be a piece of cake for him. Why don’t you have some breakfast while we’re waiting?

  Mr. Sleece: Listen good, Fawlty, I’m not sure what you’re up to. But I do know that the police never showed up yesterday to search the rooms like you said.

  Basil: Oh, yes, quite right, quite right. They called to say they were looking for some bank robbers who might possibly be in the area, and that they’ll be round later. So everything’s perfectly all right, really. And as to the rest, we’ll compensate you for the delay. And breakfast is on us, of course. Would you care to move into the breakfast-room?

  Sybil: (passing through the lobby) Good morning ... What seems to be the matter?

  Basil: Nothing, dear.

  Mr. Sleece: We checked a briefcase in the safe yesterday, and now it seems the key’s broken off in the lock.

  Sybil: The key’s broken off?

  Mr. Wickeed: That’s right. And your husband tells us we can’t get our case till the locksmith comes, when the police will be all over the place checking the rooms ...

  Sybil: The police? Checking the rooms? What on earth is going on here?

  Basil: Nothing, dear. Would you like to try the key yourself? I’ll just make sure these gentlemen get their breakfast. (He goes into the kitchen.)

  Basil: (enthusiatically) Good morning, Terry.

  Terry: (warily) Good morning, Mr. Fawlty.

  Basil: (even more expansively) Terry, my good fellow, would you be so kind as to prepare a full breakfast for two. A veritable feast, flowers, champagne — that sort of thing.

  Terry: (bewildered) But we don’t have any guests to give it to, Mr. Fawlty, only the regulars.

  Basil: Well, I have to tell you it’s a bit of a special day for me and my wife.

  Terry: Wedding anniversary, is it, then?

  Basil: By no means. Ever so much more joyous. Her mother died a year ago today, (to himself) ... Her turn next ...

  Terry: (entering into the spirit of the thing) In that case, Mr. Fawlty, might I suggest that you gather some flowers from the garden while I have a go at the old omelette with truffles?

  Basil: I shall be delighted to ... Now, where are the plastic ones?

  (The Major, dressing before his window, sees Sybil struggling to get away from two men who have tied her scarf over her mouth and seem about to make off with her. He rushes down the stairs with his gun, bumps into Polly, and falls over. Polly is holding a note which she has just picked up from the desk in the lobby. She bends over to help the Major up. Meanwhile, Basil has returned from the garden with the flowers for the table.)

  Polly: Mr. Fawlty, she's been taken away!

  Basil: I know. Splendid, isn’t it? But why the excitement? It’s a year ago, after all.

  Polly: No, no, Mr. Fawlty! Your wife — they’ve kidnapped your wife!

  Basil: Who?

  Polly: The men that were here, of course! Look, they’ve left a ransom note.

  (Basil reads the note, pretends that he’s having an apoplectic fit, and falls to the ground. As both the Major and Basil are regaining consciousness, Manuel enters from the kitchen.)

  Manuel: Mr. Fawlty! Special breakfast for you and Mrs. Fawlty, Mr. Fawlty!

  The Major: (sitting up and pointing the gun dangerously in all directions) Where are they?

  Polly: They’ve already gone, Major.

  The Major: In India we used to shoot rotters like that on the spot. Without trial, dammit!

  Manuel: (at whom the gun is now pointing) Ahh, no. I no do harm. It was the great tiger. (Lets the tray fall. The champagne bottle hits the Major on the head. He is knocked out again.)

  Basil: What now?

  Polly : Call the police! Manuel, go and get some water to pour over the Major.

  Manuel: No, no. He want kill me!

  Polly: He is after the kidnappers, Manuel!

  Manuel: No, no. Hhhe dangerous.

  (Terry comes with water for the Major as the Ladies appear. Basil is lying full length on the floor, reading the ransom note.)

  Basil: One hundred thousand pounds to return my wife alive, (starts to sob). Oh, my dearest, darling Sybil, Sybil, my dove, what have they done to you? How am I ever going to get you back? Uh, uh, uhhh ... Sybil, my little piranha!

  Polly: Mr. Fawlty.

  Basil: Uhhh, uhhh, uhhh.

  Polly: You must call the police. Here, take the ’phone.

  Basil: (pulling himself together) I can’t do that. They say they’ll kill her if the police get involved. They’ll do it. These people have no scruples whatsoever. (He takes a dignified walk around the room, goes to the desk, opens the cash box and starts counting the money in it.) Polly, I shall call the bank and ask them to hand over our savings for the last fifteen years, (he strikes a pose) Alas, t’will be a mere drop in the ocean. Well, I’ve got to come up with something. I have (looks dramatically at his wristwatch) exactly twenty-four hours.

  Miss Tibbs: Oh, Mr. Fawlty what a terrible thing! We must help you.

  Basil: How do you mean?

  Miss Gatsby: We have money.

  Miss Tibbs: After all, we are your oldest residents, and we ought to help you. If you go down, we go as well.

  Basil: Oh, that’s most kind of you — but no, I could never accept money from the guests.

  Miss Tibbs: But it would be a loan, Mr. Fawlty.

  Miss Gatsby: That’s right. Please let us help you, Mr. Fawlty. Your wife is in peril. We have money under our beds.

  Polly: I’ll chip in with all I have.

  The Major: My pension won’t go far, but I’ll sell my golf clubs as well.

  Terry: Mr. Fawlty, we have a duty.

  Manuel: And I go to pawn shop, leave my matador costume to English ignorants!

  Basil: It’s things like this that make life worth-while. What is a human being worth, I ask yon, until put to the test by the grim exigencies of an adverse fate? The nobility and kindness of your hearts touch me beyond mere words. This is the testimony of true loyalty and greatness. Let’s get Sybil back, shall we?

  All the
others: Yes!

  (Next morning in the lobby. There is a heap of money on the floor and even bigger stacks of counted banknotes on the desk.)

  Polly: (gathering the last bills and coins and counting them) That makes ninety nine thousand, nine hundred and seventy-four pounds and three pence, Mr. Fawlty. We’re still sixteen pounds short.

  Basil: (goes behind the counter, returning with a pink piggy-bank and a hammer; smashes the pig and counts the money) That’s it. We are actually four pounds up. That should be enough to buy everybody a drink when I get back. (he strikes an oratorical pose) Dearfriends, I shall be leaving you, but not for long. May I say, it is actions like this that have made England the ruler of the seas and the master of the world. Captain Oates! Sir Philip Sidney! Edith Cavell! And others of that ilk! I shall never forget what you have done for me and my wife today. May God bless you all.

  Miss Tibbs: God bless you, Mr. Fawlty, and bring her back safely.

  Basil: Thank you a thousand times. And you, Polly, if anything should happen to me, take good care of my hotel (kisses her gently on the forehead).

  (Basil takes all the money and puts it in his briefcase. They all follow him out to the steps as he walks to the car. Once inside he reaches under the passenger seat. He pulls out the bank robbers’ briefcase, opens it and sees with great satisfaction that all the money is still there. He gloats over the money.)

  Basil: (to the money) God, it’s going to be hard to say goodbye to you.

  (An abandoned car-park somewhere outside Torquay. It is still early morning, grey and dreary. A single car can be seen in the distance. Basil moves towards it. As he gets closer its headlights are turned on so as to blind him. He flinches, trying to avoid the glare. Opening his car door he sees the two men armed with guns, with Sybil between them. They remove the scarf from her mouth. There is a moments pause. Basil’s foot is just about to touch the ground when Sybil’s voice reaches him.)

  Sybil: Basil!

  (Quickly the foot is withdrawn. The car spins round. At full speed it leaves the car-park. The two men just stand there, gaping, their guns adroop.

  Sybil: (absolutely hysterical) Basil! Basil!! Basil!!!

  ENDNOTES