We must get rid of Adamant.
Try blowing up the club, you might just catch him.
Adam Adamant Lives! · Season 1
We must get rid of Adamant.
Try blowing up the club, you might just catch him.
What was all that about?
The Sheik merely wished to purchase you for his harem.
(:laughs:) No!
If you would wear more orthodox garments, Miss Jones, these matters would not arise.
The dirty old man.
Not at all. He probably felt you needed some decent clothes, a few good meals and a lesson or two in manners. On second thoughts, it might do you the world of good.
We hope you’ve given some thought to what we said earlier.
About going to sleep and leaving your problems behind.
Behind?
Suppose you were announced officially dead?
It'd be the end of your tax problems, wouldn't it?
I was just thinking that if you’ve killed me now, I’d have cooperated at my own murder. It’s an amusing thought, don’t you think?
You fight in the exact style as my great-grandfather.
I ought to. He taught me.
Remind me to phone my solicitor after we kill him.
(to the captive Adamant) So you’re with us again. For a while I thought I’d killed you. It was quite terrifying.
(acting as a tour guide to Pearmain's stately home) You seem lost.
Bewildered, madam.
Which party are you with?
Well, I'm a liberal, madam.
The great majority of people who come here hope to gain something spiritually. Since most of them are quite incapable of gaining anything at all, they feel cheated. The zoo and the funfair are there to rectify the situation.
You do realise that I abhor your interference in this affair.
Oh, when you say things like that I go all warm and cuddly.
Simms! Weekend bag, Simms, to include my evening clothes.
The grey again, sir?
Perhaps you should come with me. I might need a runner.
(nervously) That is very civil of you, sir, but seeing as we have the plumber coming tomorrow to see about that pipe, one of us ought to be here and I can hardly ask you.
(knowingly) Have no fear, Simms, have no fear. I take your point.
Fear, sir? Me, sir?
If only Miss Jones had one ounce of your prudence, Simms. If those fiends lay so much as a finger on her…
Oh she’ll be alright, sir. She probably hanging around, waiting for something to happen.
Here, what happens now?
Do you believe in the power of good and the power of evil?
No, only in good and bad taste.
Yesterday, I was walking in the park and I saw a little lad no higher than my thigh, standing at the edge of a great pond, holding a piece of string. A piece of string. And I approached the lad no higher than my thigh and spoke to him. “Lad, why are you standing at the side of this great pond, holding a piece of string?” “Sir this is a boat on the end of this string and it has sunk.” “Then how do you know that its still there if you cannot see it?” “Because, sir, I can feel the tug.”
He’s a crank.
Possibly, my dear Miss Jones.
No, a phoney.
Well, every decade has its Doctor Mort. I remember myself, very clearly, in 1895, a professor Forbes Micklewhite prophesied the Great Flood on July the 10th.
What happened?
Brighton had 14 hours of sunshine. It was a record, I believe.
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