Steele Searching Part I
Transcribed from the Episode written by:
Michael Gleason

We open on fuzzy edged scenes of Laura and Steele kissing in the cellar of the monastery in "Vintage Steele", then cut to Laura asking Steele, "Who are you? Where did you come from?" from "Tempered Steele", then back to The Kiss. Laura is looking at Steele's passports. "Michael O'Leary, Ireland. Paul Fabrini, Italy. John Morrell, France. Richard Blaine, Australia. Douglas Quintane, England." Back to The Kiss. "Who are you?" we hear Laura asking again.

Laura opens Steele's closet from the last scene in "Steele of Approval", and finds them empty. "Who are you?" She checks the dresser. "Who are you? Who are you? Who are you?" echoes over and over as she sits disconsolately on the bed.

A buzzer goes off, and Laura sits up in her bed. It takes her a moment to realize she was dreaming, and she sighs as she turns off the alarm. Outside the office, she pauses, looking sad as she looks at the name on the glass doors. Looking inside, she takes a deep breath and enters with a bright smile on her face to greet a downcast Mildred.

"Morning, morning, morning," she says cheerily.

Mildred sighs, sitting in a chair drinking coffee. She looks like she's lost her best friend. "Oh, that's JUST the way he used to greet me."

Laura removes her hat. "Kareem sets, shoots-" she tosses her hat onto a cactus. "Swish!"

"You're awfully chipper," Mildred sighs.

Laura's attention is focused on Mildred's desk. "Slept like a baby," she lies.

"I slept rotten. I haven't had a good night's sleep since he left."

"Maybe you need a new mattress," Laura suggests.

"I tried watching television. There was this old movie on-"

Laura picks up the calendar. "Let's see. What's on the agenda for today?"

"Invasion of the Body Snatchers," Mildred finishes. "Kevin McCarthy, Dana Wynter, Allied Artists, 1956. Oh, how he LOVED that picture."

Laura sighs, plows onward. "Roger Mittleman at ten."

"Where IS he, Miss Holt? Why has he abandoned us?"

Laura's smile fades as she kneels before the distraught woman. "Mildred, get a grip on yourself. I told you that- he's away on a case."

"WHAT case? Why didn't he tell me? It's not like him to take off like that. I mean, without a word, a note- a collect call."

"It's all very hush-hush," Laura insists, rising to her feet again. "I don't even know all the details myself." She paces away, then turns. "How's the progress on those names Mr. Steele asked you to checkout?"

Mildred gets up. "Oh, those guys really get around, let me tell you. The only way I could keep track of them was with this visual aid." She pulls out a world map with lines on it. "Now, Richard Blaine went from Los Angeles to Australia, then dropped out of sight. BUT Paul Fabrini left Australia for Italy, where he disappeared. However, John Morrell left Italy for France, where he got lost somewhere. Only to have Michael O'Leary leave Paris for Dublin."

"What about Douglas Quintane?" Laura asks.

"Nothing so far. It's like a tag team relay. One guy arrives, another guy leaves. What do you think they're up to, Miss Holt?"

Laura grimaces. "I'm afraid only Mr. Steele knows the answer to that one."

The computer begins to print something out, and Mildred goes to look at the screen. "Bingo! The last name on Mr. Steele's list just turned up! Douglas Quintane in London!" She tears off the printout and hands it to Laura. "Now, how do we get this information to Mr. Steele?" she asks.

Laura looks at the printout. "I think Mr. Steele's WAY ahead of us on this one."

"What are we gonna do, Miss Holt?"


And American Airlines jet lands at Heathrow. A cab takes Laura and Mildred into Soho, where their arrival is watched with concern by a man wearing a dark suit and bowler hat.

The women enter a building and speak to the landlady, a middle aged woman with several cats.

"Ain't lookin for rooms, are you?" she asks them

"We're looking for a Mr. Quintane," Laura informs her. "A Douglas Quintane?"

The woman stops petting her cat and repeats, "Quintane?"

"The hotel he was staying at said he left this address when he checked out," Mildred tells her.

The woman puts down the cat and turns to the window to lower and raise the shade alerting the man downstairs. "I can never get these to stay right. And I like them all to be even." Laura and Mildred frown. "Makes a prettier picture from outside, you see?" She picks up a cat and sits down.

"About- Mr. Quintane," Laura tries again.

"Yes. What do you want with im?"

"He's my cousin," Laura tells her. "My- Aunt Millie wanted me to look him up when I got to London," she explains with a smile.

"Ain't no Quintane 'ere," the woman tells them.

"Then why did he leave this as a forwarding address?" Mildred wants to know.

"Well, maybe 'e was GONNA come- and something 'appened."

Laura frowns. "Thank you for your trouble."

The woman frowns once they leave.


Outside, the man watches them leave the building. "She's lying," Mildred says. "And what was that tug of war with the shades all about?"

"Exactly, Mildred," Laura agrees. She stands there, looking for a taxi.

The man collars a young boy, whispering to him and pointing toward the women. The boy nods, and the man gives him something. The boy crosses the street and grabs Laura's purse, taking off.

"Hey! That's my purse!" Laura yells, and takes off. "Come back here, you little thief! You've got my purse!" The kid runs down an alley, and Laura follows.

He climbs a fence, and Laura starts to follow- but finds her ankle held by a hand. She's pulled down, and comes face to face with a dirty, unshaven Steele.

"What are you doing here?" they ask each other.

The man passes the alley way, and Steele sees him. "Sorry, can't talk right now," he apologizes, starting over the fence.

"Where are you going?" Laura demands to know as he stands there, watching the outside of the alley.

"Lovely to see you again, Laura. Keep in touch." He takes off.

Laura climbs up to watch him go. "You CREEP! Keep in touch?! I came six thousand miles to SEE you!"


In the back of a double decker bus, the dark suited man tosses Laura's purse onto a newspaper which reads, "Ripper Claims 2nd Victim".

It's picked up by an older man. The first one sits down and starts reading the paper as his friend takes Laura's ID out. "Laura Holt. She works for Remington Steele Investigations."

"She's already been to Soho, asking for Douglas Quintane."

"The circle's becoming dangerously wide. Use any measures required, cut any corners necessary- but find Steele. And STOP him."

The younger man nods.


Later that night, a horse drawn carriage comes down a foggy, dark street to stop before a pub called the "Prospect of Winter". Inside, a charwoman is having a pint, telling people about her hard life.

"Swines, I tell ya. Down on me 'ands and knees, scrubbin' and moppin'. And me w'a condition." She takes another drink, tells a man sitting around the corner at the end of the bar, "Arthritis, I got! Do I get any sympathy from them? Oh, no, sir. All they ever do is make more dirt for me to clean up. Swines, that's whot they are!" she declares.

Her audience turns around. It's Steele. He takes out the pocketwatch (see "Steele Your Heart Away") and opens it, hearing himself say, "Your father always wanted you to have this. Signed Patrick O'Rourke."

Then he hears Laura say, "To S.J. from K.L. The initials on the watch. One of these must be your father."

Steele empties his glass as he hears someone say, "Make it a quick on, Billy." Steele turns to see a man across the bar. When the man sees Steele, he takes off. Steele follows, pushing his way through the crowd, jostling the charwoman.

"Ere! Wotch it! I got a CONDITION!"

Steele chases his quarry, but loses him in the dark, foggy streets.


The charwoman comes out, slightly tipsy, and sees the carriage. "Well," she says to the masked, costumed driver, "ain't we splendid! Off t'see the Royal Mum, are we? What some people won't do for the Yankee dollar. All dressed up like Oliver Twist so they'll toss you a quid or two!" She laughs, wobbles off down the street.

The carriage follows.

When she realizes it's there, she starts running, then crosses the street to hide in a doorway until it passes. Once it's gone, she starts to laugh at her silliness. "Must be goin dotty in me old age. Must be m'condition. Yeah. They'll drive a person to the grave if y'let em, the swines."

She cuts across to the next street, only to find the carriage there, waiting for her. The driver stands and climbs down from his perch. The woman backs away toward the side of the street.

Steele, running, still trying to locate the other man, hears the scream, then another sound up on an overhead walkway. He ducks into a building.

The man he's chasing crosses the walkway, only to find his way blocked by Steele. "Hold up, Chalkie. I've been sitting- in that pub- waiting for YOU- for two nights, mate."

"Yeah, well, I been busy, 'arry," Chalkie says. "And that's the truth of it."

"I can't go back to my flat because there's a bloody army back there waiting for me. I haven't changed clothes in a week, mate!"

"Yeah, you are a little ripe, 'arry. But it's nothin a tub and a shave wouldn't-"

"Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP! Now, who are they, and why are they after me?"

"I don't know, 'arry. I promise ya, I don't 'ave an inkling! Only- it ain't 'ealthy t'get too close t'you these days."

"Why? What have I done? I don't understand-"

"I ran into Felicia. She's got a flat in Kensington. Well, I thought you an' 'er might 'ave a bit of a grab in mind. You know-"

"No, no."

"A paintin' 'ere, a bauble there. Like the old days."

"I don't what you're talking about! Not like the old days. I didn't even know she was in London, Chalkie! No, no business. This is personal. You understand? This is personal. And you owe me a name."

"Yeah, I know. And I'm workin on it, 'arry. Honestly. I'm working my fingers to the bone for you!"

Steele grabs him around the neck in a choke hold. "If I broke your neck, ever, ever so slowly, I wonder if the name that I wanted would catch in your throat? Hmm? Hmm?"


"Say again?"

"Jenny Buchanan!"

"Where can I find her?"

"Paddington Station."


The next morning, at Scotland Yard, a man picks up a paper from a desk as there's a knock on the door. The headline reads, "Ripper-3 Scotland Yard-0" The man opens the door. "Come in, Miss Holt," he says. It's the older man from the bus, who gave the order to find Steele. "I'm Chief Inspector Lombard."

"The officer on the phone said my purse had been recovered," Laura says, sitting down in front of the desk.

Lombard takes her purse from the desk and hands it to her. "The money's gone, I'm afraid," he tells her. She pauses. "Everything else seems to be intact." He goes to stand at the window. "What were you doing in Soho, may I ask?"

"Looking for a friend."

"Did you find him?"

"Not yet."

"I see from your identification that you work for a private investigation firm in America."

"Yes. Remington Steele Investigations."

"Is he here on a case?" Lombard asks.

Laura sits forward. "What makes you think Mr. Steele is in London?"

"Oh, I just naturally assumed, what with you being here and all-"

"I'm on vacation," Laura informs him.

"Ah. And this- friend you were hoping to find? Perhaps I can help you to locate him."

"That's awfully kind of you, Inspector. But really, it's not that important."

Lombard's expression is dangerous. "In that case, I suggest you give places like Soho a wide berth. It would be a pity if something were to happen to you- and I can almost guarantee it will- unless you keep to the more traditional tourist attractions."

Laura rises and follows him to the door. "I'm curious about something. Is it customary for a Chief Inspector of Scotland Yard to involve himself in purse snatchings?"

Lombard doesn't answer. "If you should speak to Mr. Steele, kindly tell him I'm most anxious to meet him." He opens the door.

Laura leaves and Chalkie enters.

"'ere I am, sir. Johnny on the spot. I came as soon as I found 'im."

"Where is he?"

"'e gave me the slip," Chalkie admits.

"Then what good are you?"

"I know where 'e'll be."


At Paddington Station, a blonde is trying to solicit business as a train arrives. She's having no luck and her mood isn't improved by Steele's hailing her.

"Jenny Buchanan?"

"Oh, bugger off!" she tells him.

"Jenny, wait." He grabs her arm. "Jenny, Jenny- I just a few minutes with you, that's all."

"You've got nerve, thinking I'd be available for the likes of you. I've got me standards-"

"Yes, and I'm sure they're incredibly high. Look, I just wanna talk with you. I'll even pay for the privilege." He takes out some money. "Here's ten."

Jenny takes the money. "If you ask me, you could put this to better us getting y'self a nice bath, y'know? Spruce y'self up a bit. A bit of eau de cologne?"

"Look," Steele begins, looking around the station as he talks, "awhile ago, a man name Patrick O'Rourke sent me this watch. It has to do with my past. Only before I could find out exactly what, O'Rourke died."

"I don't know no Patrick O'Rourke," Jenny insists.

"Jenny, Jenny, just hear me out, will you? I traced him back here to London. He used to work at a pub in Whitechapel behind the bar as a barman. Also there was this fellow about four or five years ago who used to hang around the pub where he worked." Jenny's becoming nervous and edgy. "O'Rourke used to look out for him, keep him away from the coppers, that sort of thing. Because this fellow had a very nasty habit of getting drunk- and beating up- and beating up- well, girls like you."

"Time's up, mister!" Jenny declares, trying to move away, obviously terrified.

"No, Jenny, please. Look, you know who I'm talkin about, don't you? You know who I'm talkin about. Now, I know it's painful, but it's very important to me. It took some doing, but I've dug up a name- Kevin Landers. K.L." He opens the watch. "The same initials here on this watch?"

"I swear, I never knew who he was. Kevin. That was all he ever called himself!"

"Where can I find him, luv? Where can I find him?"

Jenny laughs. "You ain't been lookin very hard. He's all over the place these days." She leads him over to a newsstand and points to a paper. "There he is. There's your Kevin Landers."

Steele picks up the paper to read the headline. "Earl of Claridge Announces Nuptials." The picture is that of a handsome, dark haired man.

"Him?" Steele asks. Jenny nods as Steele notices Lombard and several Bobbies down the platform. He turns to go the other way, but a bevy of Bobbies are there as well. "Thanks very much, Jenny. Take care of yourself, okay? Thank you, sir," he tells the stand owner, tossing the paper back to him and starting toward Lombard, his hands up, as if he's going to turn himself in.

Suddenly he pulls a flower cart over, and takes off the other way, detouring through the newsstand, then hopping onto a train that's pulling out. He blows the pursuing Bobbies an air kiss.

Lombard and his man exchange a frustrated glance.

At the house in Soho, Mildred tries to slip the door to Douglas Quintane's flat with her credit card, but only succeeds in destroying the card. American Indian war whoops precede the appearance of a young boy, wearing a headband and feather, carrying a tomahawk, his face painted. Mildred joins his whooping, then asks, "Hey, Geronimo. Wanna make some wampum?" He nods. "See, I just rented this little teepee, only I lost my key. Now, do you think you can open that door for-" she checks her purse, "five buffalo head nickels?"

"Ugh," he responds.

"Oh, you're my kind of savage," Mildred sighs. He calmly walks over to the door, and hits it with the outer edge of his fist. It opens. Mildred hands him the money. "Oh, here you go, Chief. Now, don't you spend that on firewater." He leaves, whooping.

Mildred enters the room and searches the dresser. All she finds is a matchbook from the "Prospect of Winter" pub.

She looks at the bed, and finds a suitcase hidden beneath it. Inside, she finds the five passports, each one carrying the name of one of the men she was tracking, but all with the same picture on them. Steele's picture. She's stunned.


Felicia opens the door of her Kensington flat to find a man standing there, holding a bouquet of flowers in front of his face. "Flowers for the lady?" he asked. "Tuppence a bunch." Lowering the flowers, Steele smiles uncertainly.

"Michael," Felicia purrs as he comes in to the apartment, looking around and handing her flowers. "I thought you were safely tucked away in Los Angeles, playing that paragon of virtue, Remington Steele."

"Yes, well, I'm sorry to barge in on you like this, Felicia, but, I just had nowhere else to turn."

Felicia sits on the coffee table, glass of wine in hand. "You look like hell, darling."

"Thank you, darling," Steele returns. "I feel like hell." He sits down. "I've been reduced to sleeping in doorways like- uh, like when I first hit London. Also, uh, all my old mates practically run the other way whenever they see me. On top of which, Scotland Yard is after me."

"Well, it sounds like you've been a naughty boy."

"Well, yes, that's the frightening thing. I haven't DONE anything. Oh, by the way, Chalkie seems to think that WE might have something brewing."

Felicia smiles. "All WE have together are memories."

"Well, uh, will they buy me a place to stay for awhile?"

"I don't think that would be wise."

"Why not? I mean, you're not up anything, Felicia, that might attract- undue attention, are you?"

Felicia gives him an innocent look. "Darling. I'm simply here to see a few shows, buy a few gowns- break a few hearts. Simply recreational."

Steele smiles, not believing her, and goes into the bedroom, where he smiles again upon finding men's clothing on her bed. He gives Felicia a look, then tosses them aside to flop down on the bed. "Let's hope he's not the jealous type, that's all I can say."

"Well, you know how it is," she says, sitting down beside him.

"Uh huh," he mutters, pushing his cap down over his face.

"I can't spend the rest of my life pining for you," she tells him, looking him over. "Besides, unrequited lust can be so- tedious." He lifts the cap to peer at her. "And very lonely."

He lowers the cap again and smiles. "I'm glad I found you again."

"Your timing always was superb," she agrees.

Steele turns over, getting comfortable. Felicia moves toward the door, her expression thoughtful as she looks back at him. She closes the door and goes to the telephone, then dials a number. Very softly, she says, "Operator, I'd like the number of Scotland Yard, please."


Felicia opens the door to admit Lombard and his men. "Where is he?" Lombard demands.

"The bedroom."

"Get him out here." He follows her to the bedroom doorway.

"Darling, are you awake? I've made some food for you. Everything you like. Bacon and eggs, that special jam from Harrods-" Lombard scowls. "Come and get it before it goes cold." When there's no response, she glances at Lombard, who nods to tell her to open the door.

They rush in to find the bed empty, the curtains billowing at the open window.

Steele dashes through to the front of the building, where he's stopped by the bowler hatted detective who was watching his flat in Soho. "Nowhere to run, mate," he declares.

Steele hits him, tossing him aside and makes a leap to try and climb over the spiked wrought iron fence around the small stoop. The detective grabs his leg, pulling. Steele slams down on the spikes, impaling himself on them. He kicks the detective in the face, and gets over the fence, making his escape, in obvious pain.


Mildred enters the hotel room. Laura turns from pacing at the window. "Mildred! Where have you been? I've been stuck in this room all afternoon waiting for you!"

"When you didn't show up from Scotland Yard, I got antsy," Mildred says, troubled.

"I picked up a new friend," Laura informs her, turning back to the window. "I spent the morning trying to lose him. He's still here. Have a look." She pulls back the curtain to show Mildred the man leaning on an umbrella.

"Miss Holt," Mildred begins, trying to figure out how to ask what she needs to ask.


"This-uh- Quintane guy-and some of the other guys- have their names ever come up before this case?"

Laura looks wary. "Not that I remember. Why?"

"Well, according to my background check- some of them are pretty shady characters." She puts her purse down on the table and turns back to look at Laura.

"Well, it's quite possible that Mr. Steele may've come across them at some point in his career."

"I never asked you this before- I guess because I never thought it was important-but- how much DO you know about the Boss? I mean- before you two hooked up?"

Laura takes a deep breath. "Why the sudden interest in Mr. Steele's past? Exactly where have you been?"

"Douglas Quintane's flat!" Mildred declares.

"And-?" Laura prompts.


Laura touches her shoulder. "Mildred, what exactly did you learn about Douglas Quintane?"

Mildred turns and starts to take the passports out of her purse, then glances at Laura and puts them back in favor of the matchbook. "You can probably find him in this joint."


Later, a nurse is getting off work. "G'night, Lesley! Ciao!" She gets to the elevator as the doors are closing. "Going down?" she asks.

A man's hand comes out and keeps the doors open for her to slip in. She presses the button. "Am I glad that shift is over," she sighs to the man, who's wearing surgical greens and a mask. She takes out her compact and powders her face. "You're lucky, doctor. You get them when they're unconscious. Can't complain. If it's not the food or a draft, it's what on the telly."

The "doctor" takes out a scalpel and looks at it then at the woman.

She smiles at him. "Well, this is where I leave you."


Bleeding badly, Steele leans against a wall in an abandoned building, wincing and grimacing in pain. He hears the music from the pocketwatch, then Laura saying again,
"To S.J. from K.L. The inscription on the watch. One of these must be your father."

He hears himself responding. "Perhaps."

"Perhaps? You can't have forgotten your own father!"

"I have a feeling that I never knew who my father really was. I've never even seen my birth certificate."

"Is that why you wouldn't tell me your name?"
Laura asks. Steele looks up and sees her there, standing there. "Because you don't' know it?- Don't know it?-Don't know it?" the words echo as the image of Laura morphs into that of a frightened young boy.

Steele, obviously still thinking that Laura is standing there, smiles widely and reaches up toward her with his blood soaked handkerchief in hand. Suddenly the boy bolts, leaping the low ledge behind Steele to disappear.

Steele, grimacing in pain, realizes that he was hallucinating.


The carriage, with the nurse sitting inside, passes Laura as she finds and enters the pub. The driver continues on, finally stopping and getting down. He lifts the dead nurse's body from the carriage. A gold cigarette lighter falls to the ground unheeded as he carries the body to the side of the road. As he turns, Mildred comes from the foggy darkness and gasps.

The killer turns and glares, and then Mildred takes off, terrified. He catches her, grabbing her hair and throwing her against a doorway, knocking her purse to the ground. Mildred struggles, but the killer slaps her and then starts trying to strangle her.

The detective who was following Laura calls out, "Hey! You! Stop! Police!"

The killer takes off, and the detective goes to Mildred, picking up the passports that have fallen from her purse.


The boy brings Chalkie back to the building. They peer over the ledge, but Steele's not there. Chalkie climbs over, finding blood on the wall, when Steele grabs him around the neck from behind.

"You set the coppers on me, Chalkie. Didn't you, mate?"

"'arry, please. That's a terrible thing to say. If I didn't love ya like me own, I'd be cut to the quick."

Steele collapses, and Chalkie inspects his wounds as the sound of a police siren fills the air. "D'you 'ear that? It ain't safe on the streets for you, mate." Steele is in bad shape. "But you just stay put, and I'll nip back w'some bandages and a bit of hot food, eh?" Steele lays over on the floor, holding his stomach. "Old Chalkie'll fix you up right proper, 'e will."


Laura hears the sirens as well, and runs from the pub, following the sound. She pushes her way through the crowd to see Lombard kneeling beside the nurse's body, then she sees Mildred standing with the detective and goes toward them. Lombard sees Laura, and follows her.

"Mildred! Are you all right?"

"Oh, Miss Holt," Mildred says in a hoarse voice that sounds near to tears. "I'm sorry. But I couldn't let you come down here alone."

Lombard tells his man, "Take her to the hospital, get her attended to. No doubt you'll want to accompany her, Miss Holt- Since your disregard for my warning resulted in this attack." He turns and walks away.

Laura puts her arm around Mildred. "Come on, Mildred."

They move away, until Laura sees Lombard stoop down and pick up the gold cigarette lighter. She leaves Mildred in the detective's care and goes to Lombard. "A pity you won't be able to get any fingerprints from that." Lombard looks at her. "Unless you tell me what's going on, Inspector, I shall be forced to inform your superiors about that bit of evidence you're obviously trying to conceal."


In Lombard's office, Laura is reading from Their Noble Lordships. "The family crest of the Earl of Claridge, tenth in line to the throne of England." She closes the book to add, "And possible mass murderer."

"There's no proof that the Earl is responsible for those killings," Lombard points out.

She holds up the lighter. "Isn't there?"

"Those are gifts he bestows on a great many people. Anyone of them could have dropped it."

"I'll say that's your problem, Inspector. Mine is trying to understand why you've had my purse snatched, why you've had me followed, and why you're watching Douglas Quintane's flat."

Lombard moves toward her. "Come now, Miss Holt. I'm prepared to be candid with you. Won't you extend me the same courtesy?" She looks at him, then at the lighter, then hands it over to him. "We both know who Douglas Quintane really is."

"Exactly what do you mean?" Laura asks.

"Soon after the first murder, this Quintane started making inquiries about Kevin Landers. I did some checking, and soon discovered- much to my horror- that Douglas Quintane was actually Remington Steele. Why is your chief pursuing this case so relentlessly?"

"Believe me, Inspector, I'm coming at this thing from a standing start. Help ME with why the connection between the Earl and this- Kevin Landers is so disturbing."

"Kevin Landers was the name used by the Earl on his forays into Whitechapel five years ago. He was given to drunken rampages in which he gleefully beat up prostitutes. It was all dealt with very discreetly, and the Earl was shipped off to Canada, where his family has extensive holdings."

"Sort of a royal 'remittance man'," Laura says.

"Practically on the heels of his return to England, these killings began. And the first victim was a Whitechapel tart."

"And the others?" Laura asks, curious.

Lombard goes to his desk and takes up a folder, handing Laura some death scene photos as he gives her the names. "Emily Brent, solicitor's secretary. Hilda Lake, charwoman. Vera Claithorne, nurse at Great Ormand Street Hospital."

Laura looks at the pictures. "Then your killer isn't confining himself to prostitutes."

"Another reason why Steele must be stopped. If he makes this public, he could ruin a potentially innocent man. And reduce me to station sergeant," he muses as the phone rings. "Lombard.--No. Don't do anything until I get arrive." He hangs up. "It seems that one of our chickens has come home to roost," he tells Laura.


Chalkie meets them at the car when the arrive. "Now I've done my bit for Queen and Country, you will whisper a word in the magistrate's ear, won't you, gov?" he asks.

Lombard doesn't answer, just follows Chalkie to where he left Steele. He's not there. "But 'e was 'ere!" Chalky insists. "'e's gotta be! 'e's 'urt too bad to run far!"

Laura is standing there when she feels something hit her shoulder. She looks and sees something dark on the fabric. She reaches up and looks at it, then looks upward.

Steele is perched on a pulley near the ceiling. Laura gasps softly, and Steele shushes her. "Inspector!" Laura calls out. "Over here!" She points to the corner. "I think I saw something move right over there." Steele closes his eyes in relief.

Laura waits for the police and Chalkie to go around the corner, then goes to the rope and releases it to lower the pulley to the floor.

Hearing the squeaking, Lombard asks, "What's that noise?" and takes off for the main room.

Laura and Steele exit the building, disappearing into the dark foggy London night.


A woman shows them into a dingy, dirty little bedsitter. "Ten quid a night in advance. Loo's down the hall." She follows them to the bed, where Laura helps Steele to sit. "No baths after 10, no flushin' after 11."

Laura takes out some money. "Thank you and good night." The woman looks at Steele, concerned. "Good night," Laura says with more firmness, "Thank you very much." She leads the woman to the door. "Night." She closes and locks the door.

Steele lays down, moaning softly.

She looks at him for a moment. "If you weren't such a pitiful wreck, I'd clobber you." She goes to the table at the window, filling the washbasin with water from the pitcher there as she continues her tirade. "Walking out on me like that. Without a note, a word- a collect call! Take off your shirt," she orders, carrying the basin to the table beside the bed and wetting a towel. "What kind of relationship did we have- or ever HOPE to have-" he can't take the shirt off, so he starts pulling it out, wincing, "if everytime I turned around, BINGO! -You were gone?" She wets a rag. "Lift your shirt." She presses the rag to his stomach.

Steele groans. "Laura, you're the one who said we needed time apart," he reminds her in a weak voice. She rinses the rag.

"So you decided to spend it a continent away?"

"I needed to find something."



Laura frowns, not understanding. "You were in Los Angeles last time I looked."

"What's the major stumbling block between us?" he asks.

She thinks. "Your aversion to legwork?"

Steele manages a smile. "My name. My real name. I knew how you'd feel if I wouldn't give you that. That I couldn't be honest about- other things."

Laura rinses the rag again, and places it on his wounds. "I don't care what your name is. Make one up. It'll be all right with me."

"Perhaps. But when it seemed our time together had come to an end- I realized that Remington Steele was just another name I had borrowed. And if I was gonna give it back, I should have to replace it with something that was truly mine."

"And did you?" Laura asks.

He holds up the watch. "I've come up with a name for one of the initials in the watch. Kevin Landers." Laura looks away, but Steele doesn't notice. "Only, that isn't the man's real name." He smiles. "Are you ready for this? He's the Earl of Claridge." Laura returns his smile, hiding her concern. "Wouldn't it be a cork if it turned out I was related to royalty? After spending half my life in dumps like this place. I've always been afraid of looking too deeply into the past. Afraid of-" he glances at Laura. "Never mind. Anyway- I'll pay a visit to His Lordship tomorrow morning."

Laura pats his arm. "No," she tells him, taking the watch. "You're in no condition to call on anyone. I'll go. I'll do it for you." She kisses his cheek. "But first we have to get you a doctor."


The next day, Laura and Mildred are in the back seat of a car. Laura is listening to the watch as Mildred frets. "They have his passports, you know. The police. Confiscated all five of them. Five different countries, five different names- but only ONE picture: HIS."

Laura closes the watch. "I know, Mildred."

"Miss Holt, I have a right to an explanation, you know."

"And I promise you you'll get one. But first we have to help Mr. Steele."

"Or whoever the hell he is."

"Now, remember, I'm the reporter, and you're my photographer. And you won't get any award winning pictures if you don't take off your lens cap."

Mildred taps the lens of the camera in her lap. "Got ya."


At the Earl's, the Earl shows them into a salon where a young woman is sitting, having her portrait painted. "Katherine, dear," he says, giving her a very proper, very chaste kiss, "This is the American writer I told you about."

Katherine smiles warmly. "Does that mean I can take a breather? I haven't sat this straight since Miss Percy's School for Young Ladies."

They all laugh at her joke. Laura tells Mildred, "Why don't you get a few shots of Miss Galt while I have a chat with His Lordship?" She taps the end of the lens, and Mildred removes the cover as Laura and the Earl move away.

Laura and the Earl are walking through the grounds. "According to my notes, you've been away from England about five years," Laura comments.

"Yes. Tending the family interests in Canada. That's where I met Katherine. But I decided to have the wedding here. England's really my home- and I must confess, it's been most rewarding."

"As you know, America has its own form of royalty- rocks stars, sports figures. I was wondering if you suffered the same- inconveniences?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well, because of your marriage, your picture is in all of the papers, on television- it must be difficult for you to go anywhere without being recognized."

He stops. "WHY do you suggest that I should have to go around London without being recognized?"

"As beautiful as it is here, you must get the urge to-" the Earl notices that his cigar has gone out, and starts looking for something in his pockets, "stroll through Hyde Park- visit a museum. Ride in a Hansom cab."

"Exactly what are you driving at? What sort of interview is this?" he demands as a hand appears with a gold lighter in it to light the cigar. He glances at the younger man.

"What's the matter? Lost your lighter again?" the man asks.

"It's around somewhere," the Earl shrugs, still upset over Laura's question. "Miss Holt- May I introduce Bradford Galt, Katherine's brother."

"Pleasure," Bradford says to Laura as they shake hands.

"Miss Holt is one of those American magazine writers," the Earl informs Bradford coldly. "No doubt with a deadline. Would you be kind enough to entertain her before she's FORCED to leave?" he stalks off, angry.

Bradford smiles at Laura. "I suppose I'll have to get used to this."

"What?" she asks as they start walking.


"You have something against publicity?"

"I led a very quiet life in Canada, Miss Holt. And I find it very disconcerting to have one trying to snap one's picture all the time."

"Your accent sounds more English than Canadian."

"Both Katherine and I were born in London. However, Canada seemed to offer more opportunity."

Laura notices a Hansom cab sitting in the courtyard. "This seems strangely out of place."

"The Earl's ancestors all rode to their wedding in one of these. He plans to carry on the tradition. His Lordship's a stickler for tradition. He even has Katherine and me sequestered in a Mayfair flat. No- hanky panky before the vows are exchanged."

Inside, there's a crash and Mildred cries out. Laura and Bradford take off in that direction.

Entering the salon, they find the maid and Katherine helping Mildred to her feet as the Earl stands by, watching, a frown on his face. "What happened?" Laura asks.

"She became dizzy," Katherine informs her.

Mildred gestures to the tea service that's all over the floor. "Oh, I am so sorry."

Katherine looks at Laura. "Perhaps you should take her upstairs for her to lie down for awhile."

"Nonsense," the Earl says. "I'm sure it's nothing serious."

Mildred starts to stand, then cries out again. "Oh, I'm so-I'm afraid I hurt my ankle."

Katherine looks at the maid. "Clara, make up some rooms. Do stay until Miss Krebs is ready to travel." The Earl scowls.

"You're so kind," Laura tells Katherine, then goes to Mildred. "Lean on me."

As they pass the Earl, Mildred says, "I am so sorry."

"Excuse me," Laura says.

The Earl watches them go, eyes narrowed.


After dark, Laura is at the bedroom window as Mildred paces. "What's going on?" Mildred asks. "Why do we have to make sure we spend the night? Oh, Miss Holt, come on. Tell me. I can keep a secret."

"You may have to keep more than one if things turn out the way I think they will," Laura tells her cryptically as her attention is caught by something in the courtyard below. The Earl comes out and climbs onto the carriage and leaves. "Hold the fort, Mildred."

Laura goes to the garage and finally gets into a jeep. She's grabbed from behind by Steele. "Why aren't you where I left you?" she asks.

He climbs into the front seat beside her, wincing and holding his stomach. "Why aren't you? I've been waiting for you to come back for some work on who I am."

"I didn't get around to that," Laura informs him. "What are you doing?"

"This is MY past we're chasing," he tells her.

"Alright, sit tight." She starts the engine.

"Have you ever driven one of these things before?" Steele asks.

"I saw Smokey and the Bandit," she tells him and they set off.

They follow the carriage till it stops before a house. The Earl climbs down and goes inside.

Steele watches, then says, "Now that we've seen London by night, would you mind telling me why we're following someone who could very possibly be a very, very close relative of mine? And why, incidentally, he's bouncing around on top of that carriage?"

Laura hesitates. "You've been a little- busy, trying to- track down your past- and you probably haven't paid much attention to- the news. The happenings of the day-"

"I can always tell when you're about to impart something very unpleasant," he tells her. "Your left eyebrow starts twitching."

Laura lifts a hand to her eyebrow. "Does not." She looks at the carriage as the front door of the house closes, and the black garbed driver climbs into the seat and sets out. She starts the engine.

"Laura, Laura, what the hell are we doing?" Steele asks.

"Chasing a murderer," Laura tells him.

"The Earl of Claridge is a murderer?"

"I didn't want to tell you this way-"

"What were you gonna do? Send me a postcard?"

She takes off after the carriage.

In Whitechapel, Laura turns a corner and finds the way blocked by the apparently abandoned carriage. She's forced to brake hard, and is thrown from the doorless vehicle to the road.

She's holding her knee when Steele gets to her. "Hey. You all right?"

"My knee," she tells him.

He half drags her to the car. "Okay, okay. Let's get up. Sit down here. Stay here." He takes off into the fog.

Laura watches him go, not seeing the shadow of the killer until he's right in front of her. He puts his hands around her neck and starts trying to strangle her. She struggles, finds the car horn and blows it.

Steele hears it, stops. "Laura!" he calls and takes off to return to her.

The killer knocks Laura unconscious and dumps her into the carriage, then climbs onto the perch and using the whip on the horses.

Suddenly Steele is there, grabbing the horses' harness. "Whoa!" he says. "Whoa!" The killer flicks the whip at Steele, who finally manages to grab it and pull him down from the carriage.

Thinking him stunned, Steele stumbles to the carriage. "Laura? Laura?"

The killer flies at him again, and they struggle. Steele gets the upper hand and removes the killer's mask as Laura regains consciousness. "Bradford Galt!" she exclaims, surprised.

"Who the hell is he?" Steele asks.


"One of the most cold blooded killer I've ever encountered," Lombard says the next day in his office. "We're still trying to sort out the grisly details, but- from what we've been able to piece together so far, Bradford Galt worked as an odd job man in a boarding house for women several years ago. Rumor had it that the old lady who kept the place had a considerable sum of money hidden somewhere in the house." Laura and Mildred listen as he continues. "So, being an ambitious young man, hungry for a proper start, Galt began searching for the treasure. Unfortunately for her, she surprised him and he killed her. And then fled to Canada. However, he did leave a bloody fingerprint on the hammer that he used to bludgeon the poor woman."

Laura tells Mildred, "And he realized the publicity surrounding his sister's marriage would spill over onto him."

Lombard agrees. "There he'd be, escorting her up the aisle, picture in all the newspapers and on the television- surely one woman from that boarding house would recognize him."

"But I still don't understand why the Earl runs around in this carriage," Mildred says.

"Galt supplied the answer to that," Laura says. "The Earl is a very- proper man. And he didn't want anyone to know he was- seeing his fiancée before they were married.

"Reporters from some of our more sensational tabloids were camped outside the estate," Lombard continues. "With the Hansom cab, he could cut across the grounds- and leave without being seen."

"Galt knew he had several uninterrupted hours to use the Earl's carriage," Laura finishes.

Lombard looks at his watch. "Mr. Steele IS going to join us, isn't he?"

Laura looks at him. "Uh, he just needed a few moments to- make himself presentable," she assures him.

Lombard picks up the passports. "I'm afraid I can't look the other way on these. I do hope he has a passport in his real name."

Laura and Mildred exchange a look.


Steele- wearing a suit, clean shaven, hair cut and combed, walks down the street. As he passes a car, he's accosted by two men, one of whom has a gun. "You're late," one of them declares.

"I am?" Steele asks, confused. They shove him toward the car. "Didn't know you'd take it this hard." They push him into the back seat and he sits back, then does a double take as he sees Felicia's smiling face.

"Nice to see you again," she tells him.

"It's nice to be seen," he responds uncertainly.

"I hope you're prepared."

"Prepared? For what?" he asks.

Felicia smiles. "Why, darling, you're going to kill the Earl of Claridge."

Steele looks worried as the car pulls into traffic.
The End of "Steele Searching Part I"