Murder Rooms: Mysteries of the Real Sherlock Holmes (2000–2001): Season 1, Episode 2 - The Photographer's Chair - full transcript

Murder Rooms: The Dark Beginnings of Sherlock Holmes
"The Photographers Chair"

First Aired: 11-Sept-2001

Life may be
stranger than fiction.

It is often more disturbing.

Before I wrote my stories
of the great detective,

I had access
to a terrifying world,

of mystery, and murder.

My companion and
teacher on this journey,

was Dr. Joseph Bell.

Here in this extraordinary
man was my inspiration,

but it is only known that
I have chosen to reveal,



the dark beginnings

of Sherlock Holmes.

I have come to believe,

that of all mankind's
remarkable faculties,

it is the gift of memory,

that makes us truly human.

But memory can be a
torment, as we!! as a joy.

For though it
makes love possible,

it gives grief,
the power to destroy us.

When Elspeth was murdered,

my friends and
family told me that

time would
heal the wound of loss.

But the wound grew deeper,

with every day that passed.



And though
Elspeth 's killer

was still alive and free,

I walked farther into
a dismal prison of anger,

desolation, and self-reproach.

It was then in
the winter of 1883,

I learned that even
places of profound darkness,

can be flooded with light.

(Music playing)

Can you hear me gentlemen.

You, are maids,

in the morning room

of a great house.

Look UP,

when I clap my hands,

you, will begin to
fill a lamp, with oil.

But you are careless,
you spill some oil,

your mistress is very strict.

She is particular,
she will beat you,

Mop up the oil
with your aprons.

Quick, quick, quick, quick.

Do not forget the candle.

Oh, it has fallen.

Oh, the tablecloth is alight.

Beat out the flames.

Beat, beat.

Your apron is alight.

Call for help.

Your arm is becoming lighter,

becoming lax,

soft,

and without feeling.

You feel, nothing.

(Crowd gasps)

Arthur.

Elspeth.

Arthur.

Arthur.

Let's go see if
she's still there,

whoa, mind yourself.

Polly, Polly.

You big brute,
you leave her alone.

Get your hands off me.

No.

You dirty, cheatin'
little bitch cheated me.

She wouldn't give
me what she promised.

She's diggin' in me pocket.

No, I never.

She lifted three
months pay, come here.

Only a coward
would strike a woman.

Inspector.

Dr. Doyle.

Or is it Sir Galahad.

Nasty business though,

that sort of thing can
ruin a young practitioner.

Make the carriage
trade think twice.

It was a mistake.

I thought she,

I thought I recognized her.

Pity I wasn't on duty
when they brought you in.

Funny thing though,

some idiot
spilled a bottle of ink

over the desk
sergeant's report book.

Try as I might,

I could not read your name.

Warner,

thank you,

if there's ever
anything I can do.

There is something
I'd like you to see.

It was found this morning.

In the harbor?

A waterman rowing
a ferry over to Gosport

saw the tide carrying
it out toward Spithead.

Has Dr. Ibbotson
examined her yet?

Dr. Ibbotson was sent
for but is indisposed.

Will you assist me?

No, now I regret I have
other matters to attend to.

I'll send over
Sergeant Richards.

He was a butcher

before he joined the force.

(Knock on door)

So, the victim was between
40 and 50 years of age.

Five feet, four inches tall.

Oh, forgive me.

No, sit down.

Have some chicken?

No, thank you.

She had green eyes

and brown graying hair.

The wasting
of her body indicated

that she may have been
suffering from consumption

and this
diagnosis was confirmed

when I dissected her lungs.

I've examined
the digestive organs

and the liquefied contents

but I can find
no traces of poison,

though I am obliged to admit

I am not an accomplished
analytical chemist.

Hmm.

It's a shame we're
unable to call upon

the expertise of Dr. Bell.

Indeed.

There are things
you should see, but,

they can wait until you've,
finished your supper.

No, let's do it now.

Cause of death, strangulation.

The bruising on her throat.

No finger marks.

Perhaps the
killer used a rope.

A rope would have left
an impression of its fibers.

The skin has no marks.

So how was it done?

I confess, it alludes me.

The marks on her
wrists and ankles indicate

that she was restrained
when she died, but,

again, not by any
kind of cords or shackles

that completely
encircled her limbs.

And her face.

It's postmortem.

Repeated blows from a,

heavy walking stick
or a length of pipe,

have completely
shattered her facial bones.

Certainly he wanted to
make her unrecognizable.

Possibly he thinks of
himself as a gentlemen.

He did not
remove her clothing.

That's where he
committed a serious blunder.

Madame Dupont,
costumier, Bond Street.

I'll wire a
description of the victim

and the dress
to Scotland Yard.

It amazes me he's been able to
retain his position so long.

In the meantime, you
should contact all the...

Well now, what the
devil's going on here.

Dr. Ibbotson, I
understood you were ill.

Well, as you can see
I am completely recovered.

Am I to understand that
an unauthorized autopsy

has been conducted?

Dr. Doyle has
performed a post-mortem.

His work has been of
material assistance to me.

Has it really?

I shall of course submit
a full report of my findings.

Your findings sir,
are as superfluous

as your presence
here is offensive.

And I must inform you
that should your butchery

in any way interfere
with my investigations,

I shall advise the coroner

to institute
legal proceedings.

(Knock on door)

I've come for the tray sir.

If I may be so bold sir,

when the good
Lord may things bitter,

he did it for a reason.

The Lord didn't
make this, I did.

Well it doesn't
seem to agree with you,

your color's
something dreadful.

As a medical man,

you should know
opium's terrible binding.

Gelsemium, not opium,

I'm treating my neurology.

Well it can't
be of much account

if every night you've
got to take a bigger dose.

This is a new drug,

and it's very effective,

unlike the derivatives of
opium, it is non-addictive.

I hope to prove
that even in large doses

it will be safe to prescribe

to patients afflicted
with chronic pain.

Very well.

All I can say is I've
kept house for three doctors,

and you're the first one
who'd rather poison himself

than his patients.

Here, what do you
think you're doing?

I have some unfinished
business with Dr. Doyle.

Stop.

Come back here.

I've come for the doctor.

No.

Dr. Doyle, there's
a mad man in the house.

For heavens.

It seems one is always assured

of a warm
welcome in your house.

Bell.

I noticed many improvements
to your establishment

but this fine woman

is undoubtedly
the best of them.

Mrs. Williams, allow me
to present Dr. Joseph Bell.

How do you do madam.

Dr. Bell is
welcome here at any hour.

Even if he were not,

nothing short of an elephant
gun would keep him at bay.

It's grand to see you lad,

are you ready for some work.

We have an appointment
with Inspector Warner.

The second victim was
found yesterday morning

in number three basin
of the naval dock yard.

I should say Dr. Bell

that I notified
you of these cases

in the hope of an opinion.

I did not presume
to distract you

from your work in Edinburgh.

Give a bloodhound
the scent of a trail.

Dr. Doyle, we're in luck with
the first victim's dressmaker.

Apparently she was a good
customer of Madam Dupont's.

Do you have your name.

Mrs. Margaret Flemming,

formerly of Craven Hill
Gardens in Bayswater.

Have you found her doctor.

No, but we have
a current address.

She was a resident at
the Beach Mansions Hotel.

The management were
concerned by her absence,

and notified us
that she was missing.

When?
-- This afternoon.

Has her room been searched?

I shall do it tonight.

Good, and the police sergeant

has examined
the second victim?

He's in there now.

Hmm.

Warner, I find
this interference

highly irregular
and unnecessary.

The coroner has
given his consent.

Allow me to introduce...

I know who he is.

You're notoriety
proceeds you Dr. Bell.

If so, it pales into
insignificance beside your own,

if you are indeed
the Doctor Ibbotson

formerly of St. Bartholomew's
Hospital in London.

You have examined the corpse?

Yes .

Will you share your
observations with us?

He's dead.

The man's insufferable.

And drunk.

It amazes me he's been able to
retain his position so long.

Then you did not observe

the Masonic medallion
on his watch chain.

Doubtless, the coroner
and the chief constable

are members of the
same Masonic lodge.

What made him
notorious at Bart's.

To begin with, his surgical
technique was remarkable.

Swift and steady.

But then, alcohol
became his master.

One spectacularly botched
operation was his downfall.

His surgical saw,

amputated his own two fingers,

the patient's leg

and a pair of
perfectly healthy testicles.

Do you see
these bruises Doyle?

You seen anything
like them before?

No.

Let us see what Mrs.
Fleming might reveal.

Identical.

It is an extremely dark
and (unintelligible) motive

that can embrace two
such dissimilar victims.

If delight in torture
were his motive,

one would expect
to find more injuries.

Let us hope Mrs. Fleming's
personal effects

will yield more clues.

I do not doubt it Doyle.

But I fear we shall
learn nothing more

of this poor retch than
his mortal remains confide.

Have you formed
any conclusions yet.

No, not yet.

In his youth,

he was a soldier
and fought in the Crimean.

You see the letter
D below his breast.

A brand?

A tattoo in gun powder.

During the Crimean War,

deserters were
marked in this way.

Then, he was a coward.

No, he had great courage.

His wounds attest to that.

A sabre cut, a bullet
wound, grapeshot there,

sustained all at once, they
would have proved fatal.

So he was wounded,
recovered and fought again.

And thus had great courage.

Courage is a finite resource.

Eventually exhausted
by the terrors it fights.

Finally, he broke, deserted,

was caught and punished.

An experience that humbled
him and loaded him with shame.

So, he took to drink.

The condition of his
liver shows as much.

Yes .

We may take it
that his alcoholism

made it hard for
him to make a success,

of civilian life.

Indeed, he found his
existence so intolerable

that he tried to end it.

Look at the
scars on his wrists.

Deep cuts, but,

not so deep
as to prove fatal.

So, there was something
that tied him to this world.

His wife.

Excellent Doyle.

He loved her dearly.

And his decline was no doubt

accelerated when she died.

Died?

Two wedding rings.

His own, and the
other, his wife's.

He loved her,

until he joined her, in death.

Have you uh,

have you found
anything in his clothes?

Just this.

Despite his limited resources,

he's recently
attended an entertainment

at the king's assembly rooms.

I went to the assembly
rooms a few nights ago.

To see the mesmerist De Meyer.

Yes, how did you know?

Oh, a poster at
the railway station.

I attended one of his
performances in Edinburgh.

What did you
think of his powers?

Real enough, but
degraded by showmanship.

Did you see him push a needle
through a volunteer's arm?

I did, and I agree with you.

Hypnotism might
be put to good use,

in pain relief and anesthesia.

Forgive me, but I noticed
you've been experimenting

the roots of Carolina Jasmine.

So, the subject of analgesia
must be much on your mind.

Does that battle
scar trouble you Doyle.

No.

Warner told me about
your heroic bare knuckle bout.

Sometimes violence is a duty.

Granted, but it must
never become a pleasure,

even though
the mind is in turmoil

and the heart is heavy.

I cut this, from the hood,

of the second victim.

Do you see the
silver gray smear.

By the way it catches the
light, it could be metallic.

Hmm hmm.

There, lead monoxide.

You were right Doyle.

The murderer uses a lead pipe
to smash his victim's faces.

In here, Ibbotson.

Margaret, Margaret Fleming.

What have you come to tell me?

What dreadful
thing happened to you?

Sergeant, where's
Inspector Warner.

Gone to see
Mrs. Fleming's brother, sir.

Well, he agreed to
take us to her hotel room

so we could
examine her belongings.

They're all here doctor.

We made a though search,

and Inspector Warner
believes you'll find

these documents
most interesting.

They would have been of
even greater interest to me

if they had not been moved.

The room had
already been disturbed sir.

The maid had
cleaned it and tidied up,

so as for
leaving things in Situ,

we didn't see the point.

Sergeant, I suspect
there are points

you would fail to register

even if they were needle sharp

and you were sitting on them.

The brother, Elkins is
the only surviving relative.

Inspector Warner shall bring
him to the morgue at 1:00.

Right, we'll be waiting.

Are you ready, sir?

Is this your sister?

I'm very sorry, sir.

If you come to my office,

there are some, formalities.

When did you last
see your sister?

About two weeks ago.

At her hotel?

Yes .

And how was Mrs. Fleming?

Do you mean her
medical condition?

It appeared
to me that she was,

breathing more easily.

After she sold the
house in Bayswater,

she came to
Southsea to live with you.

She was, alone in London and,

we had always
been, very close.

We still are,

even though she has
passed on to a better place.

Did she make any
friends while she was here?

No.

Surely, you attended
spiritualist meetings

and s?ances together?

How did you know that?

Your sister
possessed many pamphlets

and books on the subject.

Did you not socialize
with others of like mind?

Not outside the meetings, no.

But, none of them

could have done
this, hideous thing.

No spiritualist would
damn his eternal soul.

Your sister stayed with you

for approximately six months.

Yes.
-- And why did she leave?

That is a private matter.

Murder is a crime that brings

all private matters
into public domain.

Poor Charles is desperate.

He begged me for
money again today

and again I had to refuse him.

I feel that under
the circumstances,

I could no longer
live under his roof.

Tomorrow, I shall tell him

that I intend
to move into a hotel.

We have a letter that
she received from you

two days before
she was murdered.

You begged her
for an interview.

Her diary tells us
that she consented,

and the next day...

One week ago, not two.

You went to the hotel,

she refused
a request for a loan.

An angry scene followed.

It was not a scene.

I may have raised
my voice a little.

It was the only
time that harsh words

were ever spoken between us

and they were
the last we ever spoke.

Can you possibly imagine

how that makes me feel.

Why are you in such
desperate need of money?

Last year, I bought a
brewery in Croxton town.

The venture has been
dogged with ill fortune.

Just before Christmas,

an explosion, demolished
the new steam boiler room

and killed two men.

My banker and investors

have refused to
advance funds for rebuilding.

So you face financial ruin.

We have examined
your sister's will.

Are you aware you are
her sole beneficiary.

Good God.

YOU...

you think,

you think me
capable of that outrage,

of murdering my
own sister for money.

Sir, you must understand.

Do you intend to charge me?

We have no evidence to do so.

And you never shall have.

He is a desperate man.

I believe he loved his sister.

Men murder things
they love every day.

It is a common place fact

of human existence.

It's true he has
a powerful motive.

And the vagrant,
our old soldier.

Perhaps he was a
witness to the murder

or chosen
at random and killed,

in an identical fashion

to make the
murder of the sister

appear to be
the work of a maniac.

Hmm.

There is something else
we must consider Doyle.

Think for a moment

about how the bodies
were discovered.

The first by a waterman,
the second in the dock yard.

So, the murderer
by some unknown means,

disposes of the
bodies in the harbor,

and relies upon the tide

to carry his victims away.

We've been incredibly
lucky, have we not.

Because the odds are
in favor of the tide

carrying the bodies
out into the channel.

Therefore there is
the highest probability,

that there are victims
we have not recovered.

(Playing piano)

Mr. Elkins is here Mum.

Show him in.

Good morning, Doyle.

Quite a dawn chorus.

I confess I prefer
Larks to artillery.

It's the Royal Marines
on Whale Island.

I've come to the conclusion

that their commander
is an insomniac

with a malevolent
sense of humor.

Did the guns awaken you?

I have not slept,

after several restless hours,

I caught myself manipulating
the facts of our case,

to accommodate
fanciful theories

and so I came down
to find something to read.

I had no idea
you were published.

Did you enjoy it?

Oh, it's
certainly well written.

But, like many
literary efforts,

it's main interest,

lies in the things
it reveals about the author.

John Barrington Cowles, an
Edinburgh medical student

develops an obsession with a
mysterious woman, a werewolf.

He tries to free himself,

of her grip upon his soul,

but reason is vanquished,

by her elemental charms.

She clasps him in
an amorous embrace

and they plunge from a cliff.

Cowles is destroyed by
darkness from within himself

and evil
influences from without.

It's a story.

It's a work of fiction.

No, it is a work
of psychological truth.

I've realized you
have been unfortunate,

but for most of us
the consequence of love

is not spiritual annihilation.

Oh you make too much
of a simple ghost story.

Because it tells me
how you are haunted.

Bell, even if your
supposition is accurate,

it's none of your concern.

But it does concern me Doyle,

as a friend
and as a colleague.

Do you truly believe
that goodness and reason

are powerless when
matched against evil?

Did reason save
her from destruction?

Did we, did your method,

preserve Elspeth from the
agony of strychnine poisoning.

(Knock on door)

Oh doctor.

Oh thank God you're here.

I need your help, desperately.

How long has
she been like this?

All night.

Yesterday in the afternoon

she complained of
a terrible headache

and then the
shivering started and,

do something doctor,

I can't bear it
please, do something.

Mrs. Casey.

She has meningitis.

There's nothing I can
do for her, I'm sorry.

But there must
be something, there must...

I'm sorry.

How long?

Another day,
then she will sleep,

soon after it will be over.

A day.

Another day like this.

Can you give her any
medicine for the pain?

Laudanum, anything...

Laudanum can kill her I...

But she can't
suffer like this.

It can't go on.

Do you have milk?

What are you
doing, she needs it.

If I carry on, she will choke.

Keep bathing her
head with cold water.

That's all that can be done.

I shall return in a few hours.

Dr. Doyle, doctor.

She's pushed me out,

she's run over me
she's locked the door.

Please, please come back.

Mrs. Casey.

You understand you can tell no
one what really happened here.

Yes, the child
choked after you left.

So much for the police.

Right, overcome by grief,

Mrs. Casey shut
herself in the room

and tried to end her life.

George, over here.

What?

Well, would you look at that.

You did everything
within your power.

I knew the case was hopeless.

I could have injected
the girl with morphine.

Would you rather you
had been the murderer.

As it is, you've
arranged matters

so that the mother need
not face criminal charges,

and at
considerable personal risk

were the full
facts of the incident

ever to come to light.

(Knock on door)

Excuse me, sir.

There's a gentlemen
to see you both.

He's in the waiting room.

Do you believe
me to be guilty?

Inspector Warner
is hounding me.

His men are watching my
home and my business.

He has interrogated my
bankers, my solicitor,

my employees,
even my servants,

and all because
I have no proof

of my whereabouts on the night
of my sister's disappearance.

Where were you?

Working, in my office,

at the brewery
trying to extricate myself

from financial disaster.

I implore you,

to help me clear my name.

There is one person who
can prove my innocence.

Perhaps even give us
the murderer's name.

I want you to talk to her.

Who is she?

My sister.

Come to a s?ance, tonight.

This is ridiculous.

You may depend upon
our attendance Mr. Elkins,

and if your sister speaks,

we will listen.

The time, and place.

Thank you.

If she speaks, we will listen.

Why on earth do you humor him.

We shall simply witness a,

a meaningless charade
that will prove nothing.

Those present may
be his confederates.

Then we shall at
least discover that.

And Elkins has saved
us much effort Doyle.

For his arrangements will
enable us to observe him

and all his
sister's acquaintances

in circumstances
that may prove favorable

to self betrayal.

Whoa, there.

Thank you.

What does
Sergeant Richards want?

This is one
of the rare occasions

when amputated fingers are
able to point to some things.

Dr. Ibbotson.

I doubt there's another man
at Portsmouth of this stature,

wealth and digital deficiency.

Might I suggest that you
visit his home immediately

and make inquiry
of his servants.

If he, and his
evening clothes are missing,

then I believe
we may be certain.

Right.

You know Doyle,

this may be the first time

that Dr. Ibbotson's
presence in this room

is of practical
benefit to anyone.

Doctor?

We are in luck Doyle.

The body was evidently
not immersed in water

long enough to
remove all traces

of the chemical
that caused this.

So we should be able
to analyze the residue.

Doyle, it's getting late.

Not the s?ance.

But surely we have more
important work at hand.

I will continue here,
you'll have to go alone.

Doctor.

It is vital that one of
us keeps the appointment.

Very well.

Keep your eyes
and ears open Doyle.

Be one upon whom
nothing is lost.

One last favor before you go.

Good God.

He must have
been in terrible pain.

You recall how he flinched
when he put his coat on.

I'd say, these wounds
are about a week old.

But the amount of
scar tissue indicates

that this form of
mortification was habitual.

The wounds cannot
have been self inflicted.

Perhaps they were,

in a manner of speaking.

But where is Dr. Bell?

He has been
unavoidably detained.

He hopes you will
pardon his absence.

Forgive me doctor,

please come in.

Miss Petchey.

Permit me to
introduce Dr. Doyle.

How do you do?

Doctor.

Mr. Elkins informs me
that you are a skeptic.

No, I...

There's no need
for embarrassment.

I welcome skeptics.

Since my gift is genuine,

I have nothing to fear,

and they have much to gain.

Allow me to introduce
you to Mrs. Norton.

Hello.

Miss Morston.

Hello.

Sir Edward Rhodes.

How do you do?

General Grayson.

How do you do?

How do you do sir?

Are we as sinister
as you supposed?

Miss Petchey, I've
come with an open mind.

I never make a diagnosis

without conducting
a thorough, examination.

And you shall sit here.

Thank you.

Thank you.

We shall wait now.

You must be still, and silent.

Never let go of my hand.

The circle cannot be broken.

If a spirit comes,
do not be alarmed.

No harm will come to you.

There's nothing to fear.

Do you understand?

Margaret.

Margaret.

Charles has some
questions for you.

Margaret.

Can you speak to us?

Please try.

Speak through me.

Margaret.

Speak through me.

Be careful.

Enough.

Dr. Ibbotson left his
house at about 8:00 p.m.

two days ago
and did not return.

Why did his servants
not report him missing?

Apparently it was not unusual

for him to leave his home

with no word of
where he was going.

He'd been missing
for two or three days.

When he did return,
he was always so exhausted,

he took to his bed
and slept around the clock.

Well, was his
coachman of no assistance?

No sir.

Ibbotson left on foot.

You say these wounds
are four or five days old?

Yes .

And there are rope burns

on his wrists and ankles?

You have seen those before.

Yes, I can tell you
where he got them,

riding the Barkley horse.

Doyle?

I thought I heard you come in.

Ibbotson went
missing two nights ago.

Doyle, is there
something wrong?

Did Margaret Fleming
make an appearance?

No.

No, yet you look like
you've seen a ghost.

Who was there?

Besides Elkins and the medium,

um, General Grayson,

Sir Edward Rhodes,

a Mrs. Norton and
a younger woman, Miss Morston.

Everyone, seemed to be quite,

sane and respectable.

And the medium?

Miss Petchey.

She...

No, I don't know
what to make of her.

Did you observe
any trace of intimacy

between her and Elkins.

No.

(Unintelligible) perhaps.

Nothing more that I could see.

Doyle, what
exactly did you see?

I SSW...

Elspeth spoke to me.

Spoke to you,

through the medium.

It was her voice.

And her face.

Doyle, I'm so very sorry.

I should not have
asked you to go alone.

It is much harder to
fall prey to mesmerism

and conjures tricks
when a companion is...

Dr. Bell, I tell you.

Was the room dark,

and since it is the custom

to form a circle of hands,

did the medium just
happen to be holding yours?

Yes .

In so holding your hand,

did her eyes engage yours

while she spoke in a soft,
but commanding voice.

Yes .

Hypnotism Doyle.

I was not hypnotized.

But how would you know?

And being entranced,

who knows what secret
you could have revealed.

Such questioning
would have required

the complicity
of everyone present.

You met them Doyle.

Do you think it's likely?

What motive
would be strong enough

to bind them
all in a conspiracy?

(Knock on door)

What is it?

Supper sir.

What was it you
said about Ibbotson.

The bleaching
on his trouser leg

was caused by oxalic acid,

and I found traces
of magnesium oxide

embedded in the back
seam of his tail coat.

He was in a
photographer's studio.

Oxalic acid is used in the
preparation of Platinotype prints.

And magnesium oxide came,

from, burned flash
powder, excellent Doyle.

Was Ibbotson an
amateur photographer.

Oh, even if he were, he'd
hardly develop his prints

wearing white tie and tails.

And the
magnesium on his back...

Indicates that the corpse was
lying on the floor of the studio.

Our murderer
is a photographer.

Are you sure about the
Platinotype process Doyle.

I attended a
lecture given by the,

the editor the journal,

British journal
of Photography.

Bolten, W.B. Bolten.

Well we have to
pick his brains.

Where is he to be found?

London.

Then you'll take
the morning train.

But I should
start to investigate

the people
involved in the s?ance.

No, no, no.

Warner's men can
make discreet inquiries

in that direction.

Warner's men?

Hmm, Hmm.

What will you be doing.

Visiting a brothel.

Doctor Ibbotson
was a good customer.

Twice a month
regular as clock work

and paid handsomely.

I gather this is
your own invention.

Yes Sir.

You have no other,
recreational apparatus.

No sir.

The Barkley horse suffices.

Most peculiar form
of equestrianism.

But very popular,

with the ladies and gentlemen.

Uh, may we examine it?

I'm afraid the horse
is about to be used.

A clerical gentlemen
come for a canter.

One of several
who find it rewarding.

And not so surprising when
you consider church traditions

regarding how the
flesh ought to be governed.

Well the client
puts his feet here,

his head and his hands
through here and here.

And I take
it that this aperture

permits the passionate
parts to receive attention.

A practical demonstration
could be arranged.

That won't be
necessary, Mrs. Barkley.

There are no
restraints of any kind.

Some cords of
the very finest silk.

And, uh,
Dr. Ibbotson was obliged,

by the application of a birch.

Quite correct sir,

except during
the summer months,

when we stock a supply
of fresh stinging nettles.

As you can see
the Platinotype process

requires tremendous skill,

patience, and well, cash.

I gather the glass is
coated of an emulsion

of gelatin and
silver halides.

Yes quite so, you're
a quick study Dr. Doyle.

In the present circumstances,
I have little choice.

You mentioned
you're involved

in the investigation
of a criminal case.

Yes, but, as you
will appreciate I'm,

unable to, discuss it.

Yes of course, in deed.

You know, very few people

still make platinum prints.

And one of them
lives in Portsmouth.

John Mitchell is a
genius, true genius,

tries to show us
the world as it is,

both wonderful and cruel.

Mention the
Crimean War in photographic's

and everyone
immediately thinks Mitchell.

His studies of
the fighting man and,

the hardships
they endured, well,

you shall see for yourself.

I shall seek him out tomorrow.

Surely we should both go.

No, no, your
work lies elsewhere.

I beg you to be strong,

and keep your wits about you.

Good morning doctor.

Good morning.

I'm sorry for calling
without an appointment.

I hope I'm not disturbing you.

Not at all.

I knew you would come.

Please sit down.

I, expect you would
like to talk about...

Mr. Elkins.

Very well.

No, he did not
murder his sister.

She came to me one night
shortly after she passed over.

If Mr. Elkins were guilty,

Margaret would have told me.

Did you summon her.

No, the spirits
often come unbidden.

They ask for my assistance.

They never come
to seek revenge but,

only to help their loved ones.

That is why
Elspeth came to us.

She wants you to
know that she loves you,

she's always by your side.

Have you not
felt her presence?

Yes .

Elspeth knows you did
everything that you could to,

protect her from the madman

that ended her life on earth.

It grieves her to see you
torture yourself needlessly.

And now she is afraid,

because you are
in great danger.

I know this is,

difficult for you doctor.

As a man of science,

and as an atheist.

Agnostic.

Come to a meeting tonight.

Twice a month I hold a public
meeting at the assembly rooms.

I want you to see proof of the
good that spiritualism can do.

Good morning.

Is Mr. Mitchell at home?

No.

You want your picture took?

No, I have business
to discuss with him.

You're a bailiff?

No, but if he has creditors,

my proposal may
enable him to satisfy them.

Hey you, get away from there.

Bugger off.

Out.

Ladies.

Mr. Mitchell, I'm here
to offer you a commission,

my card.

I no longer undertake
portrait work, Dr. Bell.

I have neither the
inclination nor the time.

No, I observe your
condition is advanced.

Your joints are
stiff and enflamed.

Physical exertion causes

shortness of
breath and chest pain.

Your eyesight
is not as it was,

and the ulcers
on your skin have returned

after an
interval of many years.

Sometimes it's
difficult to concentrate

and hard to
govern your temper.

You think I can be cured?

I'm afraid it's
too late for that.

An honest doctor.

No wonder you strayed
so far from Edinburgh.

Judd, pack up my gear.

Mr. Mitchell, I am a
great admirer of your work.

Your street life of
London is exceptional.

I was deeply moved.

Then you sir are part
of a discerning minority.

I am here
as the representative,

of an association of
people of means and influence.

Their goal is social reform.

We want you to document
the lives of the poor.

We will exhibit

and then publish

the work you do.

Judd.

Give it back.

Thank you.

Judd.

I found him in
the rookery of St. Giles.

He was half starved, feral.

By the time the boy
was nine years old,

he was subjected to
more misery and degradation

than any human being

could reasonably
be expected to survive.

He's irredeemable of course.

Certainly beyond redemption.

Then why do you employ him?

As long as he stays by me,

I can keep him from
jail or the hangmen.

This commission of yours,

I would have to
finish my work here first.

I understand.

Do you?

How much money do you need?

How much have you got?

No, no I have
just enough, money.

Christ, I sometimes wonder,

if the money I spend
on plates and prints,

would not be better employed
buying food for my subjects.

Mr. Mitchell, you
belittle a great talent.

You think so?

You really think so?

Would you care to see

the work I've done here.

I should be honored.

You bugger!

Get him off of me,
get him off of me!

Get him off of me!

See that!

Did you see that!

Judd, I'm a doctor.

Let me have a look.

Photography is
like no other art.

Painters must
use oil and brushes.

Their work is
adulterated by their talent,

distorted by
imagination and style,

but here you see these
people as they really are.

The same light
that touched them

burned their image
onto the photographic plate,

and if that light
illuminated their souls,

then here are their souls.

Who is he?

A vagrant.

He told me he was a
soldier in the Crimea.

He did not speak of the
hardships he'd endured,

but they are plain enough.

For those are eyes
that long for death.

I know it is a sin,

but I do pray to
whatever God he believes in,

that he will soon deliver
him from his sufferings.

Mr. Mitchell, may I?

Take it. I can print another,

it's yours, on one condition.

Oh, I'm quite prepared.

No, no.

I want to make
a portrait of you,

please, take a seat.

Today, do me this.

Steady.

We're going to
need more light.

Judd.

Doctor, look toward the light,

and remember the old soldier.

Dr. Doyle.

Sir Edward.

Full house in prospect.

Miss Petchey will
do well this evening.

Miss Petchey is
independently wealthy.

Any profits accruing
from her public meetings,

are directed towards
charitable institutions.

As a matter of fact,
I have the honor

of arranging those
donations on her behalf.

I'm sorry.

I did not wish
to cause offense.

Ladies and gentlemen,

it is a great pleasure

to see so many
of you here tonight.

Before we begin,

I would like to address
a few words to those of you

who have never attended
a spiritualist meeting.

We spiritualists believe

in a continuous
existence of the soul,

in personal responsibility,

in compensation
and retribution

for all good and
evil deeds done on earth.

To set your minds at rest,

I assure you
I am not a witch.

No magic will be practiced

neither black nor white,
nor any other color.

I do not
communicate with the dead.

There is no death.

A medium is nothing
more than a servant,

a servant of two worlds.

We help those
who have passed over

communicate with
their loved ones,

and we comfort and
educate those left behind.

There is no sickness or
deformity in the next world.

On the other side,

we have the power
to see ourselves clearly.

Heaven and hell
are states of mind,

that spring from that
knowledge of our true selves.

When the spirits
visit us tonight,

there is no
reason to be afraid,

it is love that
brings them here.

Your love, and theirs.

A little girl has joined us.

She lived on
earth for 10 years.

She tells me
her name is Elsie.

She wants me to give
a message to her mother.

Would Elsie's
mother stand up please?

Please stand up.

There's nothing to fear.

She is beside you now.

Her hair is fair.

She has green eyes.

She's wearing a blue dress,

and a belt with a buckle
in the shape of a butterfly.

Is this your Elsie?

Don't be sad Mummie.

My headaches gone and
I don't feel sick any more.

I'm sorry I couldn't
swallow the doctor's medicine.

Thank you, for
letting me come here.

It's very lovely,
it's warm and bright.

Everyone is so kind.

And Daddy's looking after me.

He wants me to say
how much he misses you.

I have to go now.

Other people want to speak.

I love you.

It was a trick Doyle.

A description of the
girl and the family history

were probably
obtained from a friend.

What about the reference to the
medicine I tried to give the child.

There was another woman in the
room with you, she saw everything.

I'm going to
tell you something,

that I would never confide

to another living soul.

I once mentioned
that something happened

that made me unsure
how to go on living.

I presumed you are
speaking of your wife's death.

I was desolate.

And I even sought comfort
and reassurance from a medium.

No, she was a fraud.

One night I grasped
a luminous hand

that materialized
out of the darkness.

It belonged to an
assistant dressed in black

and hidden in the shadows.

Once this trick was exposed,

the medium confessed

to the entire cruel deception.

I'm sorry, but Miss Petchey,

oh, you should see
her for yourself.

Has she made a
convert of you Doyle?

No.

Was there any
photographic apparatus found

at Dr. Ibbotson's house?

No.

So, Mitchell,

is fast becoming
our primary suspect.

What's he like?

He is one of the most
remarkable men I've ever met.

He has tertiary syphilis.

His sight is
going, his mind too,

and the dementia
makes him dangerous.

With my own eyes,

I saw him try
to throttle a taverner,

and, there is this.

That's the second victim.

Taken two weeks ago.

Mitchell claims never to
have seen him before or since.

Have you ever seen
a posing chair Doyle?

No.

There's an
adjustable headrest,

that inhibits the
movement of the subject,

and prevents blurring
during long exposures.

A two-pronged fork,

with rounded ends,

about five inches apart.

Oh no.

What is it Doyle.

Do you recognize her?

It's Mrs. Casey,

the dead girl's mother.

He must've
discovered her movements

after she left the meeting.

What was the
name of her neighbor?

Mrs. Johnson.

Right.

Besides Miss Petchey,

did you see her
talking to anybody else?

Elkins,
General Grayson, Mrs. Norton,

and Rhodes to whom I spoke,

before the meeting began.

I think I rather gave offense.

Really, then may I suggest,

you seek him
out and apologize.

And then when
we've finished here,

I, will visit Mitchell.

Keep your eyes open.

Aye, alright.

He's always in his studio.

Mr. Mitchell?

Forgive my curiosity,
I was wondering if my...

Dr. Doyle sir.

Come in.

Will you take sherry?

Thank you.

I have come to apologize

for my, conduct last night.

It was not my
intention to cast doubt

upon Miss Petchey's
motives or abilities.

Oh, then I shall forgive you,

if you will
overlook my reaction.

In matters
pertaining to Miss Petchey,

I'm inclined to be
a little overprotective.

Of course.

Your very good health doctor.

Sir Edward.

Be honest with me Doyle.

You came here with more
on your mind than an apology.

Yes .

Well.

Sir Edward.

I'm a man of science.

Your quiet realm
of reason has been disturbed

by voices from another world.

Come, sit down.

Doctor, I am not surprised
that you are disturbed.

The shock of first
contact with the spirit world,

is much easier to weather,

when one has
actively sought it.

Three years ago
I was much like yourself.

But when the doctors
told me that my wife,

was infected with the most,

villian in consumption,

my world began to crumble.

For two years
she has suffered.

The last two weeks,
the most terrible.

But I stayed by her side.

Her torment and
my unanswered prayers,

had stripped me
of my faith in God,

and almost of my reason.

But then,

just at the moment
of her passing, a miracle.

I saw her spirit Doyle.

I saw it leave.

A cruel prison
of wasted flesh and,

rise up into the night.

From that moment onward,

I sought out anyone

who could help me reach her.

I was disappointed many times.

But finally,
I met Miss Petchey.

I've been so
accustomed to charlatans,

at first I was
unwilling to believe

the messages that came.

But at last,

I heard
Elizabeth's sweet voice.

Have the courage
to accept the truth,

and your path
will become clear.

Trust Miss Petchey.

Judd,

Judd.

I'm up here!

Where are you?

What have you done?

He ain't from no charity.

He was down here
waitin' with the police.

Investigating the murders.

I just don't want to go
out and get all strung up.

Ah, you've noticed
my rogue's gallery.

Who are they?

Four different
mediums I exposed.

Some of them photographed with
their apparatus of deception.

Mademoiselle Michele Bonet

and her ectoplasm,

It was astonishing
how much muslin

that woman could swallow

and regurgitate on demand.

France?

Spain.

Landscape studies,

I, took of my travels.

They're very good.

I wish they were.

They're more for sentimental
value than, technical merit.

Bell?

Bell?

He's not here sir.

He's been out since you were
both called away this morning.

I want you to
give him a message.

Tell him I'm watching
Sir Edward's house

and that he could be the man.

Have you got that.

You've gone to Sir Edward's
house, he could be the man.

Good, the instant he returns.

Yes sir, the
instant he returns.

(Groaning)

A couple of pennies
for a poor, blind man?

A couple of pennies
for a poor, blind man?

(Dog barking)

Come here.

Who's there, who's there?

I shall be late
tonight Hoskins.

There's no need for
anyone to wait up.

Very good, sir.

Whoa.

Fetch Dr. Doyle.

Dr. Bell is in
urgent of attention.

I am perfectly
all right Warner.

Fetch him.

He's gone out sir.

I was to tell Dr. Bell,

he's gone to
Sir Edward's house.

No, don't be afraid.

I saw fear, pain and grief.

Which seems nothing
but an absurd memory.

Elspeth will
be waiting for you,

as surely as my
Elizabeth waits for me.

You will you forgive me,

just as the
other have done.

You are embarking
on a great quest.

If I'm able
to photograph your soul

as it leaves
your body tonight,

That image will
offer undeniable proof,

of the soul's immortality.

A miracle, that would change
the course of human history.

Good luck, boy.

(Pounding on door)

Are you in there?

Doyle?

Break it open.

Quick, after him.

Damn you.

Keep your head
up, come on now,

breathe slowly, slowly.

Doyle, you should be resting.

So should you.

Is there any word of Mitchell.

Gone, vanished.

Leaving only this behind.

I have instructed
Warner to desist

from making any inquiries.
-- But the assault?

It was nothing less than
I deserved, I was careless.

And I made false promises

to win his confidence.

Perhaps a bodyguard should
have been following you.

Yes, forgive
the subterfuge Doyle,

but I realized very quickly,

you were in need of
someone to watch your back.

No doubt you
sensed their presence.

Not ghosts at all,

but former officers
of the royal marines.

Has the warehouse
been searched?

Yes .

I found his journal and
all the exposed plates.

How many victims?

Twelve.

People he met at
s?ances or in the streets.

His charitable work
brought him much into contact

with the diseased
and the desperate.

And Ibbotson?

We were right.

A member of the
same Masonic lodge.

No doubt he lured
him with promises

of some novel
debauchery he'd arranged.

Have the
cameras been examined?

Not yet, Doyle,
where are you going?

I have an appointment.

I beg you to remember.

Obsession with
the supernatural

has been the ruin

of many an
exceptional intellect.

You must go your own way.

The message is brief,
but of great importance.

What is it?

Go back to the warehouse.

There's something
you must see.