Steele Your Heart Away
Original Airdate: Nov 13, 1984
Transcribed from the episode written by:
Brian Clemens
Revised 02 January 2001

The episode begins at a wake, seen through a foggy lens, as if in a dream. The deceased is laid out in a coffin, rosary clutched in his hands, as fiddlers play and mourners dance. A little girl is carried in a woman's arms, wants comfort after seeing the body.

Two men dance past, and one, a smiling man with curling brown hair, sees the person watching and smiles a welcome. "Hel-lo!" he says brightly, then looks on as a pocket watch is held up.

The watch swings like a pendulum.


Steele, lying on the floor, wakes, watch in hand, as voices are heard from another room. An Englishwoman is telling a man, "An unfortunate happening, Willard," she agrees. "But one we must rise above. We cannot allow one intruder to alter our plans now."

Steele opens the pocket watch and it begins to play "When Irish Eyes Are Smiling". He closes it, groaning, and slowly sits up, only to find a dead man lying on the floor beside him.

Willard tells the woman, "We'll have to replace Paddy."

"And we will. This time with someone with a bit more- discretion." She picks up a shotgun. "This was Mr. Armdale's favorite. How he loved his hunting. Sneaking up on the little creatures and blowing their heads off." Willard looks uncertain as she hands him the gun. "Think of our intruder as a mallard whose time has come," she orders.

Willard goes into the other room, seeing the body, but Steele is gone.

In another room, a groggy Steele peers at a movie poster for A Day At The Races with the Marx Brothers. He sees other small posters with that caption, hears horses running in his mind. He backs into a life-sized cardboard cut out of James Cagney. With Cagney's cardboard hand in Steele's back, he lifts his hands, thinking it's a gun. Taking a cautious look, he leaves.

Outside, we find that the building is an old, run down theatre called the "Bijou". Steele wanders across the street, dodging traffic, car horns blaring at him. He continues wobblingly and on unsteady feet onward as Willard, shotgun wrapped in his coat, follows.


At the docks, an unsteady Steele approaches a boat. "Excuse me!" he calls to a sailor on deck grabbing on to a thick, orange rope tying a large ship to the quay.


"I'm looking for - um. . ." he pauses, losing his train of thought. "Ah, yes. I'm looking for Orson Welles!"

"Eh?" the sailor questions.

Steele puts a hand to his head. "Or was it Joseph Cotton?" Willard gets closer. "Yes, yes! Xanadu!" Steele yells. "Yes, I'm looking for Xanadu!" He sways, leaning harder onto the rope, Willard gets the gun out, is ready to fire- but the rope gives way and Steele falls into the water.
Willard covers the gun and takes off.


Laura and Mildred arrive at Dublin Airport and put their cases into a rental car , a small convertible , then drive to an old brick building. "It doesn't feel like a hospital," Mildred comments as they get out. "It doesn't even LOOK like a hospital."

"It's an Irish hospital," Laura explains.

"Oh," Mildred says, following her up the steps. "I see."

Inside, a white haired, distinguished Irishman comes down the stairs and walks across the salon to Laura and Mildred, who sit there waiting. They get up and move toward him . "Laura Holt?"
He asks. "I'm Dr. Tulliver. Thank you for making the trip."

"Well, your cable sounded so- urgent," Laura tells him.

"Yes, well, when I sent that he was - unconscious. Oh, he's awake now- but- there are- complications. Would you step this way, please?" He and Laura turn away, and Mildred starts to follow them. He stops. "I'm sorry. Bearing in mind his condition. I think that just one face is all he should be subjected to." Mildred nods and walks back to the sofa, sitting down, resting her chin in her left palm, watching Laura and Dr Tulliver walk away . "My cable must have seemed very- melodramatic," he tells Laura as they continue on, "but you see, YOUR name and address were about all we found on him. No wallet, no other identification of any kind."

Laura stops him as they pause before a door. "Dr. Tulliver, you still haven't told me what's wrong with him."

He opens the door. "Well, see for yourself." They enter the room , a fairly large one with red armchairs with high backs and a large fireplace, like a traditional British library room . Steele is standing at the window at the end of the room, his back facing the room . "We have a visitor for you."

Steele turns and looks around, then smiles blankly at Laura. "Oh. Good morning."

"Mr. Steele." Laura exclaims.

"I'm sorry, have we met?" he asks her.

"This is Miss Laura Holt," Tulliver says.

"Oh." He senses that they expect something more, and takes a step nearer, then smiles. "Oh. Laura. Of course. Yes. Dana Andrews, Gene Tierney, waspish little Clifton Webb. It's all right, doctor, I'm cured now. I remember who I am. Oh, yes."

"You do?" Tulliver asks.

"Oh, definitely. I'm Otto Preminger." Steele says with his hands firmly on the backrest of one of the armchairs, as if emphasizing his statement.

"What's going on here?" Laura demands to know.

"Amnesia," Tulliver explains.

"Amnesia?" Laura repeats in disbelief.


At a payphone, Willard tells Mrs. Armdale, "That's what I said. Amnesia. The bloke can't remember a thing. Not even his own name."

Mrs. A is sitting in an 18th century-style armchair at a small table in a well-appointed, huge parlor, having tea. "Poor boy. I feel so badly for him. It must be awful, not knowing where you've been or what you've seen."

"A nice piece of luck for us, eh, mum?"

"Memories are a lot like unwanted relations, Willard. They have a most irritating habit of turning up at the most inopportune times."

"Don't worry, mum. He's still a dead duck." He hangs up.


Steele is sitting on the arm of one of the armchairs when Tulliver asks Laura, "You DO know this man?"

"Yes," she assures him. "We've worked together for nearly three years. I'm the- I'm an associate of the Remington Steele Detective Agency."

"Oh, thank heavens," Steele sighs.

"You remember that?" Tulliver asks.

"No, but a detective agency. I mean, it sounds exciting, don't you think? Glamorous? I might have been an accountant."

"Remington Steele," Tulliver muses. "Is that who he is?" he asks Laura. She hesitates. "It's important that he knows his real name. Then his memory may come flooding back."

"Remington Steele is the name of the Agency," Laura hedges. "And, as far as the public at large is concerned, he DOES head the agency," she says. Steele smiles.

"So he is Remington Steele."

"That's- what we call him," Laura confirms slowly. "Yes."

"Well?" Tulliver asks Steele.

"Remington Steele," he muses, then shakes his head. "No, somehow that doesn't fit. No, I'm sure that's not my real name."

"What about some background?" Tulliver suggests to Laura. "Some essential facts?"

"Two weeks ago, we completed the Parkinson case. The dog in Malibu beach? Remember?"
Laura says as she walks by the doctor to stand on the other side of him. He frowns. "And before that . . ."

"I'm afraid you'll have to go further back than the recent past, Miss Holt," Tulliver tells her. "His home town, a near relative, that kind of thing."

"Uh- well, uh-there are- gaps."

"Of course," Steele agrees leaning forward still sitting on the arm . "And why not? After all, if I'm the head of this company- and she merely an employee- I mean- one can't expect an employee to remember every little intimate detail about the boss . . ."

Laura looks at Tulliver while pointing at Steele at the same time . "Are you SURE he's lost his memory?"

Tulliver's pager goes off. "Oh, excuse me. You two continue on talking. Something may come back. If he can remember anything at all, it may help," he tells her, then leaves. Laura looks after the doctor, moving her lips as if she wants to say something, then her arms crossed, uncertain, biting her lower lip lightly.

Steele gives Laura a look, slaps his thighs with both of his hands and gets up. He walks up, while throwing an occasional glance at Laura, to the fireplace, his hands in his trouser pockets, to lean his left elbow on the mantelpiece and with his back to Laura, he says "Yes, well, a detective agency. Yes, I know that's right."

"Why?" Laura says with her arms crossed in front of her, looking at him.

"Because somewhere in the back of my mind is a crime. A major crime that has to be stopped. And danger." She comes closer to stand close to him. Steele still with his left elbow on the mantelpiece then says, facing Laura . "But I think you DID lie to me, didn't you? I don't have to recall who I am to know WHAT I am, Hmm? How I feel?" Now moving away from the fireplace to stand in front of Laura " What kind of woman I'm attracted to. You say we worked together for nearly what-? Three years?" He looks at her up and down, as if appraising her.




"How closely?"

"Very closely."

"And yet there were - gaps."

"Well, after all, Mr. Steele, you ARE the employer. I'm merely an employee." Laura says with an innocent face.

"Looking at you now, - " Steele says as he takes a step back and looks her all over again, then stepping closer again, "I can't believe that for nearly three years I haven't- you know- I mean, WE haven't- you and I . . ."He takes her into his arms, she puts her hands on his shoulders. "Perhaps- if you'll allow me to- jog my memory?" They kiss. During the kiss Laura first closes her eyes, then opens them as if surprised by the intensity of it and finally she closes her eyes again, as if determined to enjoy it. "Yes, yes."

"You remember?"

Two more kiss es, one light, one more intense . "Yes, yes, it's coming now. Yes."

"Now you remember?"

"How could I forget such a precious moment?" Laura smiles. "Ah, yes. I remember it vividly. I
was- lying on the floor- you- were nearby. Yes, that's it, you were nearby- Dead." He frowns. "Shot. Except it wasn't you. It was- Orson Welles- or Joseph Cotton. A crime that must be stopped. Danger. Deadly danger." Steele says, looking Laura firmly in the eyes. Laura stares at him in confusion, still in his arms.


Mildred is pacing as Willard, wearing a white coat and carrying a tray with a glass on it, come from a room.

Steele sits down on the arm of a chair. "I think I should get Mildred," Laura tells him and starts to move away .

He grabs her arm , causing her to face him again . "Mildred?"

She smiles. "The other woman in your life."

"The other woman? And you don't mind?" Steele asks, obviously puzzled.

"We have an arrangement," Laura tells him. "We share you," she adds, her words causing Steele
to silently repeat to himself what she's just told him. As Laura continues out through the door, Steele smiles delighted.

"Share me? If only I could remember what a good time I've been having," he muses to himself as he sits down properly in the armchair, his left hand on his left cheek, his pinkie to his lips, contemplating this "fate" .

Laura almost runs into Willard as she leaves the room, causing him to have to grab the glass on the tray he's carrying. She does a double take as if something bothers her, but continues on, as Willard goes into the room , where Steele now is standing, fidgeting with some documents in his hands . "Time for your medicine, sir," he says.


Laura goes to Mildred, tells her what's going on. "You mean, he's lost his marbles?" Mildred asks.

"Not his marbles. Just his memory."


Steele looks at Willard. "Don't I- remember you from somewhere?" he asks.

"That you would, sir. Twas me brought you your medicine last night, sir."


"I've seen movies like that," Mildred tells Laura. "A good "klonk" on the head usually brings it back."

"Mildred, head klonking is NOT a medically recognized treatment. This is a hos-." She pauses, seeing Willard's hand as he kept the glass from spilling. "Dirty fingernails. That ' s IT!" she concludes firmly , looking determined straight out in the air .


Steele is smelling the medicine uncertainly. "Not much of a taste, sir," Willard assures him.
"Best to just . . ." Laura bursts in.

"NO!" she yells, pushing Steele away , so that he drops the glass and ends up in an armchair .
Willard pushes Laura into Steele, who is trying to get up from the armchair, and runs out. The push causes both to fall into the armchair with Laura in Steele's lap.

Steele, his arms around Laura, asks, "Are you trying to make a point, Miss Holt- or are you naturally clumsy?" They both look down to see the "medicine" has burned a hole in the rug.
Laura grabs his hand. "We've got to get you out of here!" she decides. "Come on!"


As she and Mildred walk down the steps on either side of him, Steele says, "Where are you taking me?"

"I don't know. Somewhere safe until we can talk things out. This is the other woman, by the way. Mildred. Our indispensable secretary."

"How do you do, Mildred?" he says politely.

Mildred frowns. "How do you do?" she repeats looking at Laura, making a swirling motion with her left hand as if Steele has lost his marbles, as Steele looks over the small convertible. She looks at Laura and grabs her purse, preparing to hit him over the head. Laura stops her just in time , her hands ending up on her head, as if trying to restrain herself . "But I tell you," Mildred insists as Steele gets into the back seat of the car, "it always works in the movies."

"Ah," Steele says, as he stands in the back seat, looking around. He continues "You like the movies, do you, Mildred?" I have the feeling I do, too." As Laura grabs her from the back seat and gets behind the wheel, and Mildred comes around to the passenger side , Steele sits down on the car at the back , his feet on the seat . Mildred takes him by the arm and makes him sit in the seat. "Sorry. And you, Miss-uh?"


"Holt. Has a nice ring to it. Holt," he says, holding on and giving Laura a quick look as she backs up and quickly drives off.

Willard gets into his station wagon and follows them.


He follows them to a small bed and breakfast hotel. Mildred leads Laura and Steele, each carrying their luggage, into a room with twin beds . The former is not impressed as she looks around, "Oh, it's the pits." Steele remains standing close to the door, listening in on their continued conversation.

Laura , putting her suitcase on the bed nearest to the door and continuing further into the room, doesn't disagree as she makes the following summation, "It gets us off the street. And they're plenty of people downstairs. They wouldn't dare try anything here."

Mildred continues, "Do you know we have to share a bathroom. Hmn? What kind of hotel is it
that only has *one* bathroom? I know, I know. The Irish." Meanwhile Laura has taken off her jacket and Steele has disposed of his luggage and with an uncertain look peaked out through the window. She pulls a very bright yellow hairdryer from her bag. "Well, I'm going to go clean up." Steele opens the door for her as she leaves. "Thank you." Laura moves over to stand in-between the two beds.

Steele bends down to look at Laura as she starts to unzip her suitcase on the bed, "Ah, who are 'they' that don't dare try anything?" and then gets back to standing upright at the other side of the bed.

"That's what we're going to try and find out. Mr Steele, what were you doing here in Ireland?"

He looks puzzled, "You don't know?"

"All I know is I got to the office on Friday and there was a note from you saying you were taking a long weekend and that you'll be back on Monday."

"Mmhn. Mmhn." Steele tugs on his ear as he ponders the scenario. "Well, obviously I must have dashed off on some important case."

"You don't work that way." Laura looks unsure how to explain their working arrangement.
"Alone. Without me."

Steele can't believe it. "Oh come now. Are you trying to tell me, that I, the head of the agency, never pursue a case alone." Laura sighs. "You're hiding something. Yes, come here." He walks around the bed and takes her arm and turns her to face him. Gesturing, trying to reinforce what he has to say, Steele continues "All that gibberish about not knowing about my background. After all we *mean* to each other. Oh, Miss Holt. Laura, please. Don't hold out on me any longer. You've got to tell me the truth. Please, everything you know. Hmmn." He puts his hand to his mouth and looks at her anxiously.

Laura closes hers eyes and makes a quick decision, reaching out to put her hands on his shoulders. "Mr Steele. You're *not*, Mr Steele." Laura says in a whispery voice.

Steele nods then looks at her quizzically, "Eh?"

"You were *invented*." He reacts by pulling back with a silent "Ooh." Then looking even more puzzled, his eyes fixed on Laura's.


Outside Willard looks at their car and then looks up at a window of the hotel.


Steele and Laura are sitting at the end of their respective beds. "You mean to tell me that - I'm just a- figment of someone's imagination?" he asks.

"Not just someone's. Mine."


"I HAD to. You see,- " Laura gets up, walks away from the bed a few feet, turning to face Steele, who is sitting with his hands on his knees, she continues, " no one would take a female private detective seriously. So I made up this name, Remington Steele . . ."

"Yes, yes, yes. I understand all that. But- if I'm not me, then who the devil AM I?" Steele says gesturing.

"Well, you've always been very evasive and mysterious about your background."

"Yes, but-I must have given you a clue, I mean, some kind of hint to my identity."

"Well, among other things- you prospected for gold in the Yucatan, you boxed your way across South America as the Kilkenny Kid. " Laura says as she walks back to sit on the end of the bed. Sitting she continues " You stole a famous painting called "The Five Nudes of Cairo", and when I met you, you carried five passports. Each with a name of a character that Humphrey Bogart played in a movie."

Steele , sitting with his legs crossed, his hands clasped around a knee, listening intently, is amazed. "Good Lord. What an extraordinary life for someone so young."

"While all the various bits and pieces are fascinating, they fall short of telling us who you really are."

"Yes, who I really am," he muses, rising to pace the room , scratching his right cheek, turning to face Laura . "Yes. Somehow, that's mixed up in all of this."

"If we could just find out what you've been doing since you got here- where you've been, then we might be nearer to discovering why . . ."

"Just a minute, just a minute," he says, pausing. "I see a place. There's a man, playing the piano. A black man."

"Yes?" Laura asks excitedly , standing up .

"And nearby there's another man, with a rugged, care worn face."

"Yes, yes?"

"A woman comes in. She's blonde, she's very beautiful. She has a sad face, sad look in her eye . " Steele continues, gesturing vividly.

"Keep going."

"Then the rugged man, he recognizes her, he's startled to see her, and he says . . ."


"He says, `All the gin joints and all the bars in all the towns and you had to walk into mine'! And then the black man, he starts playing . . . ." Steele hums "As Time Goes By".

Laura shakes her head. "That isn't it."

"Yes, I'm sure it is." Steele says, putting his left hand to his mouth, looking perplexed.

"Not the tune, the incident. You don't have to be a movie buff to realize what you've just recounted is a scene from Casablanca."

Steele looks even more confused, slowly shaking his head, then sitting down at the same time as
Mildred comes in, her hair wet from a shower. "It doesn't work!"

"What?" Laura asks as Mildred waves her hair dryer around.

"My hair dryer."

"Mildred! We are in the middle of an emergency situation!"

"You're telling me!" Mildred agrees, talking about her hair.

"Not your hair! Mr. Steele's memory. We've GOT to find a way to bring it back!" she insists.
Steele sits back, crossing his legs.

"Well," Mildred says, "You know me. I'm on the side of head klonkers." Steele gives her a worried look.

"No, I would never do that. Never. Not unless all else fails," Laura insists, turning toward Steele. "Don't move," she tells him. Steele freezes stiff, his eyes rolling. Laura then pulls the stub of a movie ticket from his shoe. "The Bijou Cinema," she reads.

"AH!" Steele says, rising. "At last! A clue!"

Laura grabs her jacket as Steele and she head for the door. "What about me?" Mildred asks.

"Stick your head out the window," Laura suggests , stopping momentarily at the door . "The breeze'll dry it." Steele and Laura take off.


As they approach the old building, Steele says, "A flea pit."

"A what pit?"

"A flea pit. It's what we called it in my youth. A crummy little run down cinema," he says with a reminiscent smile.

"Let's have a look," Laura suggests.

"Oh, yes," he agrees, following eagerly. "Let's do."

Willard , who is just outside the entrance on the sidewalk, watches them enter the building.


Inside, Steele looks at the "Races" posters again, as Laura watches his reaction. They go into the back room, while Willard calls Mrs. Armdale.

"A private detective?" she questions.

"Remington Steele," Willard confirms. "I got it from the hospital. The girl is some sort of assistant."

"Oh, dear. This gets more complicated by the hour. I wish my dear, departed husband were here to counsel me."

"Well, if you want my advice," Willard begins.

"Not in the least, Willard. I know you are my faithful servant, but nonetheless a servant. Now, let me see. First, I think you'd better find out who hired Mr. Steele. And how much he knows."

"And then?"

"Why, kill him, Willard , kill them all," she tells him, then hangs up and returns to her needlepoint.


In the theatre, Laura and Steele enter the room where Steele woke up. "Yes," he nods. "Yes, yes, yes. This looks familiar." He bends to peer closely at the floor. "Does that look like blood?" he asks her. As she kneels, he finds a poster for Casablanca and hums the song again. "You see? I didn't imagine it. I WAS here." They pull the poster aside, and the body of the man who was lying on the floor beside him falls out.

"Do you know who he is?" Laura asks.

"What? Right now, I don't even know who I am," he tells her, as they kneel over the body.

Two policemen enter. "If you'd be kind enough to turn around- ever so slowly. The Inspector was right."

"He said you'd come back to dispose of the body," the second policeman says.

"Oh, but . . ." Laura tries to say, "Surely you don't think that we . . ."

Steele jumps in as they are handcuffed to each other. "We're private investigators," he tells them.

"That's right. We're on YOUR side," Laura insists.

"You see, there was this clue, a ticket stuck to my shoe."

"And Casablanca, well, naturally, I thought that . . ." Laura says, still trying as they're lead outside. Steele is humming "As times go by" as if to make sure the police officers understand what movie they were referring to.

"Forget it. Tell it to the Inspector."

"Now listen! You're making a big mistake," Steele insists as they're taken to a police car. "When your inspector find out who I am- Well perhaps he'll be kind enough to tell me," he finishes.

"Who was that man back there?" Laura asks, but the men don't answer. "The dead man? You could at LEAST tell us who we're supposed to have killed!" she insists as they put her and Steele into the car.


As the car drives along a country lane, Steele asks the policemen, "Uh, which station house are you taking us to?"

"O'Connell Street," one answers.

"Ah," Steele says, sitting back and looking out over the green countryside before quietly informing Laura that, "O'Connell Street's in the heart of Dublin. They're not police."


A policeman turns. "Something wrong?"

She lifts her arm, wincing. "Cuff bit into my wrist."

"We're almost there," he tells her.

Steele leans toward her again. "I'd venture to say we have a short time left, Laura."

When the car nears a railway crossing, a crossing guard has just finished closing off the road.
The car has to stop. One of the police officers gets out to argue with the crossing guard. As the steam train passes the crossing making quite a lot of noise, Laura and Steele look at each other, then use their cuffs to choke the other officer into unconsciousness. Laura opens her door, Steele opens his, and they each try to get out their own side. Laura finally follows Steele and they start running into the bush .

The officer returns from the crossing, checks his partner and then pulls a gun, firing at the retreating couple, who duck and keep going.

After having run along a road for a while, they run into the forest to end up hid ing near a bridge until the car appears again, then start off- each pulling the other. "Laura," Steele says, frustrated, "one of us has to lead."

"Right," she agrees with a quick nod. "Follow me." She jerks his arm nearly out of its socket as she takes off. The officer sees her, fires. They run through a stream and glade. When the officer gets to the glade, they are out of sight. The other officer comes with the car to pick him up and they take off with spinning wheels .

As they run, Steele says, "I just thought of something."


"A quotation. Something about the right hand not knowing what the left hand is doing." he finishes as they stop to rest for a short while on a small field with sheep. Then the police car appears again. Steele motions Laura to run and they jump behind a low stone wall. "This is worse than being married," he moans .

"Now look," she begins. Laura then find s herself on the ground beside him as the officer comes into the field for a closer look. Steele looks up, so does Laura, with leaves in her mouth. "Will you . . ." again he pushes her face into the ground. The officer finally leaves, and they get up.

"Don't you think we should call a truce?" he asks as Laura is resting her back against a tree, trying to catch her breath . Steele then puts his hand above Laura's head to lean against the tree, pulling Laura's arm up. "Excuse me!" he says as he lowers his arm again. "For both our sakes?"
She nods tiredly. "Good." He gently turns her toward a barn. "Agreed? Before my arm leaves its socket one more time?"


They try to use the door, but it won't open, so Laura climbs up Steele's back and into a narrow, arched window, pulling him in after her. They are in a hayloft.

"Ah, now," Steele says, smiling. "This sets some memories stirring."

Laura hears a car, and they duck into the hay as the two officers come into the barn. One gets a pitchfork and sticks it up through the loft a few times, the last time mere inches from Steele 's and Laura 's faces, causing them to give each other a startled look . "They must've headed back to the road," he tells his partner. "Let's go."

Steele coughs as he gets out of the hay and moves to sit on the edge of the loft, helping Laura. "Well, we'll wait until dark," Steele tells her. "Audrey Hepburn, Alan Arkin, Warner Bros. 1967."

"Another clue?"

"I don't think so. It just popped into my head." Laura sighs. "Oh, come now, it's not all bad news. Pretty soon now, you'll want to make yourself comfortable and then do your Madeline Carroll routine." He grins. "Yes, yes. I'm looking forward to that."

"What Madeline Carroll routine?"

"The 39 Steps? The Hitchcock movie? Oh, even I remember that. I mean, Robert Donat, Madeline Carroll, on the run, together, handcuffed? Then she removes her stockings, one by one she undoes them from her thigh- and ever so slowly rolls them down her- glorious legs . . ."
Steele says, his eyes admiring her legs.

Laura folds her arms, brings Steele's hand to rest on her knee. She removes it. "I'm wearing panty hose," she tells him.

"Oh, well, never mind. I expect love will find a way, eh? Speaking of love, do you think this might be the appropriate time to renew our very, very- close acquaintance?"

"You and I- we have never . . ."

He frowns. "You mean to tell me- after all these years- the time we have been together, that you don't want me as much as I want you?" She sighs. "You're awfully silent."

"It's a long, complicated story, Mr. Steele." Laura says, her eyes down, trying to avoid looking at him.

"I DO remember that I hate long, complicated stories," he tells her, kissing her as they lay back into the hay. He lifts his head as the pocket watch starts to play. "When I hold you close, I hear music."

"So do I." They sit up and Steele finds the watch, which Laura takes from him. "Where did you get this? I've never seen it before."

"I-I-I'm not sure."

She opens it and finds an inscription. "To S.J. from K.L. Who's S.J.?"

"I don't know. Someone who knows K.L., I suppose. Whoever that is. Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn." He looks stunned. "Why on earth did I say that?"

"Rhett Butler's last line to Scarlett O'Hara. Oh, I DO hope this has something to do with Gone With The Wind. Now that's one movie I DO know about. I've seen it a dozen times."

"Gone With The Wind? Tara? Citizen Kane? I think I'm losing my marbles. I'm going out of my mind."

Laura turns toward him, wanting to comfort him. "I know how you fell, believe me, but- uh," she freezes.

"Have you thought of something?"

"No. Someone just kissed my leg." They look down to find a horse there, with a star shaped blaze on his forehead.

"Well, he has taste, I'll give him that. Horses. It has something to do with horses. And- and a man named Flanagan, and he lives in the village of- uh," Steele says, starting to gesture vividly.

"Go on."

"I'm trying. I'm trying. In the village of- Kerry, Kerry . .." he takes out the watch. "That's it. Kerry Clare. That's why I came to Ireland. To go to- Kerry Clare," he tells her excitedly, giving her an impulsive hug and kiss. "Sorry."


Mrs. Armdale is having her dinner sitting at an enormous table with silver candelabras and candles lit as Willard makes his report standing at the other end of the table, his cap in his hands . "So they lost them?"

"Well, there's no cops bangin' on the door- so what does Steele know?"

"How I wish Mr. Armdale were here to guide me through these treacherous waters," she sighs.
"The horses not running well, taxes eating up every little reserve we have . . ."

"And the servants haven't been paid for ever so long."

"Is money all that's on your mind, Willard? I'm talking about saving Armdale Stables."

"Well, tomorrow it'll be over," he tells her. "And we'll all have enough green t'live out our days in quiet splendor."

"Just the same, have Clancy and Foster keep following Steele and the girl. As Mr. Armdale liked to say: Better safe- than sorry."


Laura and Steele arrive in Kerry Clare in a cart , sitting on top of a pile of bric-a-brac . "That house there," the driver tells them as he stops.

"Thank you," Steele says, as he and Laura get down. "Thank you very much." The go into the house, and Steele looks around.

"Anything familiar?" Laura asks him.

He points to a table. "Yes, yes. There was a dead man here."

"Oh no," she groans. "Not another corpse."

The man who welcomed Steele to the wake in the opening scene comes down the stairs. "Ah, Mr. Steele. A pleasure t'see you again," he says, with a bright smile.

"Is your name- Flanagan?" Laura asks.

"That it is."

"And you know me?" Steele questions.

"Sure, wasn't it just Saturday last that y'stood this self same room? Surely y'can't have forgotten the dancin', the singin', the jollity . We were havin' a funeral, y'see," he explains to Laura.

"Then there WAS a dead man here," Steele says.

"Aye. Flaherty O'Flynn. And a fine man now never bent his elbow t'a glass of ale. Oh, and we gave him the very devil of a send off. Such a wake. Do y'know, I reckon it was the best party any of us ever attended."

"This- O'Flynn- did I know him?" Steele asks.


"This O'Flynn," Steele repeats. "Did I . . ."

Laura stops him. "Mr. Steele is suffering from amnesia," she tells Flanagan.

"Oh, dear. That would be an unforgettable experience," he comments, causing Laura to look at him strangely.

"So," Steele says, "if you could just tell me what I was doing here . . ."

"Uh, sure, wasn't it, uh, wasn't it about the watch?"

Steele takes it out. "You mean - this one?"

"Aye. That's it. That's what brought y'here. That the letter that went with it."

"The letter?" Steele questions.

"Aye. That'd be in your wallet. Which reminds me- I have that right here," he says, pulling it from his pocket. "Y'must have dropped it in the general fun. The money must've dropped somewhere else- that is, if you can remember carryin' any." He takes the note out and hands it to Steele, who starts reading it as he reaches with his other hand for the wallet- revealing the handcuffs. Laura jerks his arm back down, but Flanagan has noticed.

Steele reads the note. "Your father wanted you to have this. Signed, Patrick O'Rourke."

"Aye," Flanagan says. "That's what brought ya t'Kerry Clare."

"Did he find him?" Laura asks.

"Well, before we go into that, aren't ya a mite uncomfortable in those handcuffs? I can have those off in a twinkle," he tells them with a smile.

In his workshop, he makes short work of the handcuffs. "Some of m'friends are a bit wayward, y'see, getting' in scrapes w'the law. They always come t'Flanagan."

"I see," Steele says. "Tell me about O'Rourke."

"He moved on," Flanagan explains. "I told y'that-?"

"Moved on where?" Laura asks.

"Dublin. Bought hisself an old cinema. Goin' t'turn it into a bettin' shop or a bingo parlour or somethin'," he explains, removing the cuff from Laura's wrist. "Me speciality," he tells her, then bends to take care of Steele's cuff.

"The Bijou Cinema?" Steele asks.

"That's right. So you were there, were ya?" he asks as Laura begins to pace around the room.

"Yes. I think I was. I got there and it was empty. I heard a shot, I went to a room, something hit me on the head and everything went blank."

Laura is reading a newspaper. "That's very good," she tells him, coming toward him. "Now try this: the movie, Citizen Kane."

Steele thinks for a moment. "Orson Welles, Joseph Cotton, RKO, 1941. An old man lies dying in a decaying mansion, gasping the word `Rosebud', which sends a reporter off on a determined mission to discover the meaning of . . ."

"Never mind that. What was the name of Kane's mansion?"

He thinks again. "Uh-Xanadu."

She shows him the headline on the paper. "Xanadu, The World's Most Valued Horse to Run at Curragh". "Right," she says, pointing to the photo of the horse, who has a star shaped blaze on his head, just like the one they saw in that deserted barn.


They borrow Flanagan's ill-running, ancient car and bounce down the lane. "Ah," Steele says,
"Kind of Flanagan to lend us this, eh?"

"To SJ from KL," Laura says, looking at the watch as he drives. "The inscription on the watch. One of these must be your father."

"Perhaps, perhaps."

"Perhaps? You can't have forgotten your father," she insists.

"I don't think so. It might be the amnesia, of course, but, uh, I have a- uh- I have a . . ."


"That's right. That's right. I have a feeling that I never knew who my real father was, actually. In fact, I don't think I ever saw my birth certificate."

"Good Heavens," Laura declares. "That would explain the sudden dash to Ireland. A man without a father is a . . ."

"Careful, Miss Holt," he warns, "Careful."

"I was going to say is a sad and lonely man. Abandoned- and best of all- vulnerable," she tells him with a smile.

He looks confused. "Best of all?" She just grins back at him.

They return to the barn, but it's empty. "He was here and it was Xanadu," Laura insists. "I'm SURE of it. A horse with a star- shaped blaze."

"Why vulnerable best of all?" Steele asks, obviously still caught in their earlier conversation.

She is suddenly shy. "Oh, I don't know. Makes you more human. Simpatico. Easier to understand. I mean, now that I know that your father . . ."

"Walks with a loping crouch?" Steele asks suddenly. "Wears a painted mustache, smokes a cigar? Cracks wise?"

"Your father is Groucho Marx?" Laura asks , seemingly confused by the change in conversation .

"The Marx Brothers, Laura! Of COURSE! The stills outside the cinema pointed the way all the time- only I didn't connect them until now." Laura looks at him as if he's taken leave of his senses. "A day at the races." He grabs her hand. "Come on, come on."


At Curragh, where there are a lot of people attending the races, talking and shouting, making it quite noisy, we see a man using hand signals. "A tic tac man," Steele explains to Laura. "They're signaling the odds to the other bookies. They raise or lower the price accordingly."

"Haven't they ever heard of the telephone?" Laura asks him. Steele does a double take at her lack of understanding. After the horses for the present races have passed the grandstand, she glances at the board, finding Xanadu's name. "Scratched," she says.

"Yeah. It means he's been pulled from the race. He's not running."

"It might mean more than that," Laura tells him.


Mrs. Armdale , dressed appropriately for the occasion and her "presumed position in the racing community" in a nice dress, pearl jewelry, an elegant white hat and white gloves, approaches a impeccably dressed white haired man. "Oh, Mr. Carter. How terrible! How utterly terrible!"

"What are you talking about, Mrs. Armdale?" Carter asks.


"Oh, nothing serious. My trainer tells me he has a touch of colic, that's all. And with a horse as valuable as Xanadu, well, we don't take any chances."

"Oh, you're so staunch. So brave. If anything like that were to happen to me, I'd hope to be half the man you were."

"I- don't seem to be following you this morning, Mrs. Armdale."

"Oh, I know what you're going through. Absolutely know what you're going through. A man called," she confides. "Sinister, rough- and the things he threatened against Xanadu- I never heard such words ever since Mr. Armdale passed away."

"Why would he call you?" Carter asks.

"No doubt they know the position Mr. Armdale held in racing community."

"What do they want?" Carter asks.

"Eight million. Otherwise, you'll never see Xanadu alive again," she tells him sadly.


Laura and Steele see a truck outside, with the words "The Armdale Racing Association," Laura reads, "T. A. R. A. Tara." As t he truck pulls away, they follow it running for a moment , then stopping, realizing that it is too far away to catch up with. Shortly thereafter Steele watches as a Rolls Royce pulls up, driven by an expensively attired English gentleman, with a blonde all dressed in black on his arm. Steele runs up to him as they get out.

"Good day t'ya, sir, uh, Let me park y'car, there," he says with an Irish accent.

The man hands him the key and some money. "Oh, and get y'self a drink."

"Pleasure, sir. Pleasure," Steele assures him.

"Come on, me darlin',' the man says to the woman.

"Have a lovely day, have a lovely day," Steele calls after them. He opens the car door for Laura as she comes up.

"This is STEALING!" she insists.

"Yes, well, I said I was going to park his car, and I assure you, that's what I'm going to do- later," he explains as she gets in. "Anyway, I made myself a quid." He looks at the car as he moves around it. "Lovely body." They follow the truck, and are forced to stop by a herd of sheep crossing the road near an old stone bridge . "Xanadu. Tara. The threads are coming together," he says as he stops for the sheep.

"This NEVER happens in Los Angeles," Laura frets, watching as the truck moves farther away.
"Go through them," she tells him. "Go."

He honks the horn and the shepherd gets the sheep off the road, allowing them to pass.


At the Armdale house, Mrs. Armdale pours champagne for Willard, Clancy and Foster. "I didn't think he'd bite just like that," Willard says.

"Oh, he places great value on that horse, Willard," she tells him.

"Yes, but- eight million. And to raise it so soon."

"Xanadu is owned by a consortium," she explains to them. "More than a dozen involved. In fact, any one of them could raise a half million at very short notice. I counted on them for that."

"And they didn't suspect you were involved?" Clancy asks her.

"Why should they suspect me, Clancy? I'm just a doddering old woman," she says, and they all laugh at the little joke. She lifts her glass. "To The Armdale Racing Association and its late, great founder." They drink.


Steele and Laura see a fine house. "Ah," he says with a smile. "Civilization."

"Someone there may have seen the horse trailer," Laura suggests. He drives up to the house and stops in front of the main entrance . As they get out and start walking towards the front steps , they hear a horse whinny.

They go in search of the sound, and find Xanadu in a barn, inside a stall. "Easy boy," Steele says, patting him. "That's it. In Xanadu did Khubla Khan the stately pleasure dome decree," he quotes.

"It's he, all right," she says, then hears something, climbs on top of some bales and looks out the window. "Mr. Steele."

He closes the stall. "Stay," he tells the horse, then joins Laura to watch as Clancy and Foster come closer. "Leave this to me," he tells her, turning toward the door and adopting a karate pose.
Seeing Laura's expression as she crosses her arms, he frowns. "Am I a karate expert?"

"I've never seen you use it," she tells him.

He looks around, picks up a shovel as Laura picks up a broom and climbs onto a bale of hay.
"Well, then, it's the good old blunt instrument routine, isn't it?" he asks. They wait for the men to come in. Laura hits the first man with the broom, and when the second goes after her, Steele hits him with the shovel.

Willard is walking along a wall of the main hall with a rifle, notices the Rolls, and turns back the
way he came.

Laura tells Steele, "There'll be others. We have to get him away."

"Well, we can't put him in the Rolls," Steele says. "Play havoc with the upholstery." He grins as he gets an idea.


Mrs. Armdale looks at the car, curious as to how it got there. She and Willard both look up as a small cart is driven down the road, Xanadu in harness. "Ah, yes!" the driver, Steele, disguised in a hat and a coachman's coat, calls out. "It's a lovely day!" After a turn is taken at full speed,
Laura comes up from the back of the cart, bracing herself hard as the horse dashes down the

Mrs. Armdale and Willard smile in greeting, until they recognize the horse and jump into a truck to follow. Willard shoots at them until she grabs him. "Stop it, you fool! That's eight million on the hoof!"

Down the road, along a straight stretch, Steele calls out, "This one can run! I wish I had a quid or
two riding on him!"

"You'd lose!" Laura calls back.


"They're gaining on us!"

"Get into the back and throw the oil drums into their path!" he tells her.

"Right!" Laura replies, turning to the back of the cart, only to stop. "Oil drums? There aren't any oil drums!"

Steele looks confused. "There were in From Russia With Love!" He comes upon a tree lying across the road and goes around it, hitting a bump in the field. He loses his balance and falls backward, hitting his head on the edge of the cart, and pushing on the rear door, leaving him dangling near the road until Laura saves him and closes the door. She takes the reins as Steele looks around, dazed and confused.

Laura stops the horse just past the bridge where she and Steele had to stop for sheep earlier , jumps across a ditch into a field and herds the same sheep back out onto the roadway behind them. They watch as Mrs. Armdale steers the truck into the creek to avoid the sheep. As Laura and Steele watch, Mrs. Armdale and Willard crawl from the wrecked vehicle.

Steele looks at her. "Miss Holt, it all comes back to me now."

"So Mildred was right after all. A good klonk on the head." Laura says with a gentle smile.

"It's a terrible disappointment." Steele says, his face clearly supporting his statement.

"What is?"

"To remember that you and I are still just- good friends."

She smiles and climbs back into the driver's seat and flicks the reins- almost throwing Steele from the cart again.


At the police station, Willard and Mrs. Armdale are being taken inside, but at the door she pauses before Steele as he and Laura are leaving. "If my husband were alive, he'd give you a good thrashing!" she declares.

The police man drag s her off, as Laura and Steele step away toward the street. Flanagan approaches them.

"Mr. Steele. I found Patrick O'Rourke for you. Your father's old friend."


Laura and Steele drive up to a house, parking across the street. From inside, the sound of music and laughter can be heard. "Well," Steele says, "that must be the house over there. Sounds like they're having a party."

"Perhaps they know you're coming," she suggests. "The return of the prodigal?"

He smiles, straightens his tie. "Well, c'mon."

Laura shakes her head. "No. This is your moment." She says patting the back of his shoulders in a supportive gesture. She watches as he knocks, then enters the house.

Inside he enters the room where the party is taking place, and makes his way across the room, only to find the same man he was with at the Bijou, the man who was shot. He grabs a passing man. "Patrick O'Rourke?" he asks, needing confirmation.

"Aye. Dear old Paddy. He'll be sorely missed. Are ya a friend of the family?"

"I wish I knew," Steele muses. Still contemplating, h e moves toward the door, stopping to look at the watch before leaving.

When he comes out , he hesitates at the doorstep, as if his mind is somewhere else. When he gets to the sidewalk, Laura joins him, her expression expectant. "Well?"

He shakes his head looking straight ahead . "Uh-uh. Dead end," he tells her, opening the watch.

"I'm sorry," she says gently , rubbing her arms as if comforting herself .

He closes the watch and looks at Laura . "Home, Miss Holt?" he asks.

"Home, Mr. Steele," she agrees, taking his arm as they turn back toward the car.

"Indeed." Steele says, patting her arm, reassuring her.

The End.