Sherlock Holmes (2013–…): Season 1, Episode 1 - Beyker Strit, 221b - full transcript
After suffering a contusion, medical officer John Watson was sent into retirement. He came to London with the intention of opening a private medical practice, but he even dreamed of becoming a writer. It is not known how the fate of the doctor would have been if he had not witnessed one incident that eyewitnesses considered to be an accident. And only one of the crowd said with confidence when the police arrived at the scene that this was a premeditated murder, and suggested that the doctor go to the station to testify. A new acquaintance introduced himself by Sherlock Holmes. This unpleasant meeting the same day turned out for Dr. Watson an unexpected adventure.
The journal of John Hamish Watson,
late of the Army Medical Department.
In 1878, after graduating from the University of London and completing the course for military surgeons in Netley,
I received the position of assistant surgeon and was sent to Kandahar to join the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers.
The second Afghan campaign brought honours and promotions to many, but for me it had nothing but misfortune and disaster.
Due to the hot climate and the shortage of medicine, supplies, and drinking water,
two thirds of the patients whom we managed to save on the operating table subsequently died of blood poisoning and enteric fever.
During the fateful battle of Maiwand, concussed and barely alive, I was captured by the merciless Ghazis.
If it had not been for the bravery of Lieutenant Peter Small, my companion in misfortune, I would not be here writing these lines.
By some miracle, we managed to escape during the attack of the Royal Troops.
Amid the flurry, we stole a horse and managed to reach the location of our units.
Exhausted by the consequences of the concussion and weakened by constant attacks of pain,
I was discharged to a medical pension, along with many other crippled sufferers,
and sent back to the motherland, with my health irretrievably ruined,
but with permission from a paternal and charitable government to spend the next nine months in attempting to improve it,
along with a further allowance of 11 shillings and sixpence a day.
Financial difficulties did not bother me.
The first thing I did when I arrived in the capital was to buy a fashionable French perfume, “Le Jovial”.
Perhaps, despite my age and experience,
I was still a curious and adventurous young man at heart.
I had neither kith nor kin in England,
in other words I was alone and left to myself,
so it was not surprising that I came to London, that great cesspool
into which all the loungers and idlers of the Empire are irresistibly drained.
Some come here for easy money, others are perhaps looking for adventure.
Young ladies dream of a good marriage, boys dream of government service,
and everyone thinks that the capital will give them that opportunity they need.
I came to London with two intentions:
to open a private practice and, if possible, to become a writer.
“John H. Watson, Doctor of Medicine with a qualified license,
opens a medical practice. Now seeking patients.
Discounts for veterans and the disabled.” So what's wrong?
The address. Where are you opening the practice?
Neither veterans nor disabled persons will find you, sir.
Sorry, I really didn't think this through.
All right, I will come back when I find an apartment.
The thing is, sir, the next issue contains a two-week schedule of races at the hippodrome, so people will be keeping it for two weeks.
If you submit the notice tomorrow or any other day, it will only last a day and you will lose a lot of clients.
I see...
But the story I want to tell you should not begin here.
Chapter One: 221B Baker Street
Lady Nelligan.
Yes, do remain seated, won’t you.
Colonel Ferguson will be my witness.
The letters.
Just one?
And the rest? Where are the rest?
And where is my money?
Don't you dare to talk like that to a lady!
Hey, hey, hey, stop!
A thousand apologies.
Go to the Devil!
Thief!
Help! He's been killed!
A doctor! Quick, get a doctor!
It was a cabman who hit him, for sure!
Check him. Look what you've done.
Is there a doctor here?
Let me pass. Constable, help me to turn him over, quick.
He's got 30 seconds, 40 at best.
I'm afraid there's no need for a doctor anymore.
Mister, what's going on? Who are you?
I'm a friend of Inspector Lestrade. Have you heard of him?
- So you're not a doctor?
- Of course not.
Hold this. Excuse me.
He must be taken to the hospital immediately, he still has a pulse...
Not for long.
And what of it?? Have you no compassion even for a dying man?
Death is just an inevitability. We're all mortal.
I saw it! It was definitely the cabman!
Excuse me. Constable!
Save the living, not the dead.
It wasn't me sir, no, no, it wasn't me!
- Call the coroner.
- We did, sir.
Arrest him! It was definitely him, I saw it with my own eyes!
What did your passenger look like?
My passenger... sir, I didn't have time to see his face.
- Didn't have time to see his face.
- No wonder, someone could smell you coming from miles away.
A sober cabman is as rare a phenomenon in London as a sunny day.
Why did you stop your cab?
Because this poor man suddenly started screaming—
The only poor man here is you. Your memory had better improve or you’re going to be hanged.
When you stopped the cab, did your passenger go out to see the victim?
Yes, sir, yes! He jumped out, ran to him and started helping him, sir.
I remember now!
He was missing a finger, I'm sure of it!
You are standing a few steps away from the gallows. Try to remember, on which hand?
The right, the left? Which finger?
Well, I...
I saw it myself! It was him for sure!
I can't remember, sir, I got drunk yesterday.
One step closer.
The cabman hit him!
Constable, could you please turn him over?
"Le jovial"?
I beg your pardon?
The second and the third vertebrae are broken. Too precise for a weapon as cumbersome as a horse-drawn carriage.
You're an army doctor, you should know it.
I'm telling you it was the cabman, he hit him!
If I were you, constable, I would arrest this noisy gentleman and ask his name and profession.
Take him. Bring him to the station.
So, what happened here?
It wasn't an accident, it was willful murder. After you.
- Sir, the coroner has arrived.
- Take the body.
The perpertrator fixed the door, so it wouldn't open during the ride. Then he leaned out the carriage
and when he reached the victim, he dealt the blow.
Disperse the crowd, I need to examine this place carefully
Move along! We need to inspect the scene of crime.
There it is! An iron fence.
Sir, we've loaded the body.
From the Wilhelm era...
Now we can go.
No, Elizabethan... The murder weapon.
Constable, let's go to the police station.
Wait, wait, where are you going?
Doctor, would you join us? Another witness will always be helpful.
- ...leave it until the evening.
- Yes, sir.
Doctor, I must ask you to describe the criminal as tall, broad, and wearing a marine jacket.
And if he was small, fat, and wearing a coat?
He looked exactly the way I'm describing him.
Thats's a lie.
Sir, somebody searched him before me.
Think of it as a lie for good.
Listen... I'm a Catholic.
All the more reason!
- Sir, it's not me, sir!
- I said be quiet!
Your bag.
Sit down!
Excuse me, Mister, I still don't know your...
Listen to me, as a Catholic and as a doctor,
do you really want an innocent man to suffer?
Don't jump to any hasty conclusions.
- Attention!
- Oh sit down, lazybones.
Mr. Holmes, you’re going to have to pay for interfering with this investigation.
I don't understand.
Sergeant Wilkinson had just about resolved this simple traffic accident,
but then you appeared and twisted everything.
I’ve recorded all my thoughts on this “traffic accident”.
"The criminal was broad, above average in height, and wearing a marine jacket.
Before leaving the scene of crime, he searched the victim carefully".
That's what he told you?
No, his outturned pockets did. Tracey, confirm it.
That's right, sir.
Also, this button was firmly grasped in the hand of the victim.
It means that he was holding the criminal while he was searching him.
The murder was committed for robbery.
That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Clever-Cloggs!
The coroner searched him and found this.
So your robbery story...
And if he wasn't looking for money?
Exactly who do you think you are?
I'm a scientist.
Oh? I didn't know that. In what sphere?
In the sphere of deduction, it is a science.
A science of messing up an investigation.
It's a synthesis of facts and logic that builds up a continuous chain of reasoning, leading you to the right conclusion.
Looks like a brochure advertising charades.
Actually, solving charades is precisely the thing that I'm rather good at.
Well, this is news. Last time we met you claimed you were a detective.
I am a detective.
There is only one professional detective here!
Why don't you take a closer look at the victim then?
Why not to examine, for example, the nature of the injury?
Why are you quiet, Doctor?
Sir, it wasn't me, I swear!
Quiet! Be quiet!
I am not spending Scotland Yard's precious time on this trifling case!
Do you know why this body is here in the station?
Because the morgue is full!
This morning we had four robberies, two big raids, and two firefights,
in the evening each of you do-
But- that's Fiddle Bow!
Fiddle Bow?
Yes.
Sir, it's not me, sir!
Don't shake like that, man! The court will shorten your sentence, now I will take care of that myself.
This, gentlemen, is the face of the infamous pickpocket Jack Izzy, nicknamed Fiddle Bow! Look at his fingers,
he has a curious deformity in the middle and forefingers. It makes him a natural for theft, do you understand?!
A dozen cases closed!
Indeed, Fiddle Bow is ours!
Who are you?
John Watson.
Irish?
I'm a doctor.
Have you written your testimony?
Not yet.
Finish and leave the station.
Fiddle Bow!
Sir, he jumped out so suddenly that I didn't... nothing.
You did it all! Fiddle Bow is ours!
Oh, Mister! I don't know your name, but my wife can help you clean your house on Tuesdays...
You don't need to do that.
So what, then, justice changed its mind?
You wouldn’t believe it, sir, that noble gentleman wrote that the murderer was wearing a marine jacket! And do you know what else, sir?
I did in fact see a man in a marine jacket.
You're free!
Yes, sir, I'm free!
Even though freedom is not up to us!
So you did change your testimony after all.
But how did you know that I'm a doctor?
You arrived in London today.
- By the way, all the hotels will be full by this point...
- I’m sorry, but...
...not to mention prices are high enough. If you're looking for a cheap apartment, you need...
But how do you know that it was today, that I'm a doctor, I mean who are you?
Anyhow... 221B Baker Street.
There is one free room on the second floor. It’s half-board, the room is big enough, nice neighbours. The owner is Mrs. Hudson,
dreadful woman, but cooks very well.
Excellent, sir, and the notice, please.
Ah, Mrs. Hudson...
If you are Mr. Graham, then get out! Your student is not at home!
And tell that crackpot that we won't tolerate any violin screeching above our heads anymore!
You misunderstand, I'm your new tenant, John Watson... I came from Essex, I'm a doctor, John Watson-
- Why are you screaming like a steamship siren? I hear you perfectly Mr... Watson?
- John Watson.
Come in.
Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.
Come in. But I'm not Mrs. Hudson, I'm Mrs. Bokley.
Mrs. Hudson is away.
I mistook you for this horrible Mr. Graham!
He comes on Tuesdays to our neighbour upstairs to give him lessons on his awful violin,
and today is Tuesday.
If you like, I can have a word with your neighbour and if it will help I...
What a gentleman! You will do us such a big favour.
Bathroom, pantry, your neighbour's room, and this is your room.
Thank you.
Stop! Stop!
Bring him here.
Do you need any help, gentlemen?
Pit, he called you a gentleman!
Perhaps you could turn around, it won’t be very satisfying to beat you up from behind.
Drop him, he won't go anywhere.
Doctor!
What have you done?
I needed to interrogate them!
Hello!
- Help! Police!
- Well, the police will be here in three minutes.
Lestrade is definitely putting you in jail.
Listen... I'm sorry, but how did you plan on interrogating them?
You have no weapons, you can't fight, not even...
I take boxing lessons!
Go through that alley, it leads to the docks, it's easy to disappear there.
And if I were you, I wouldn't waste any time.
I'm not running anywhere, especially not following your... advice.
As you like! When they regain consciousness, they will blame you for the attack.
A retired officer with no money got engaged in robbery - a normal case.
According to statistics, a third of all crimes is committed by retired military men who couldn’t settle down for a peaceful life.
Finally!
Lestrade really loves statistics.
Look here, how do you know that I'm a retired officer?
Your curiosity, Doctor, is stirring my sympathy.
Run, Doctor, run. Run!
What took you so long, Watson? The police will catch us!
Maybe I could learn a thing or two from you about boxing.
You really do reek of that French perfume!
- Good night.
- Good night.
What do you have?
Gin. Just gin.
I suggest starting with Glenmorangie.
My name is Sherlock Holmes.
And my... well, you know my name already.
Not only your name. I know everything about you, or almost everything.
You hold yourself like an army man, so you're an officer.
The tan of your face suggests that you’ve come from a much warmer place than England.
You were wearing a scarf made of camel-hair - a work of masters from the East, we don't have these here,
and on your bag was a torn label of the Punjab railway, therefore you came from Afghanistan.
By the way, are you concussed?
Some excellent tobacco you have there, too.
You Devil.
This is my brother, Mycroft Holmes.
You know, we will die and nobody will remember us after a year, but he will be remembered forever.
At least that's what he thinks.
The button. You told the Inspector that this button belonged to the murderer of Jack Izzy.
- You have a very good memory.
- Thank you.
Also I noticed that you found something in the victim's clothes, but kept it from the Inspector.
I see you’re also a very attentive person!
I’ll let you in on a little secret. You see, pickpockets never carry anything valuable in their pockets, they hide it in their socks.
Considering Jack Izzy still had his wallet, the murderer wasn't looking for money, but for these letters. I've read them.
Someone else's letters?
Reading someone's letters and searching through someone's dirty clothes is not the worst thing in my profession, I can tell you. Listen.
"My dear,
my soul, my life, my passion!"
Listen. "It is only out of the anguish that consumed my heart that I decided to take this step,
but I did not succeed.
For a whole hour I wept, until I realised that these were the tears of happiness. I realised that he's alive,
- my soul, he's alive!"
- These are just love letters.
What are these stains?
- Looks like dried blood.
- Well...
But no, not this, no, it's not blood.
- It's a concoction of onion peel mixed with iodine.
- Yes, yes, of course.
This mixture is used to induce the premature and fatal expulsion of the foetus by all kinds of...
- But I can tell you there are more household poisonings because of this concotion rather than abortions.
- You're brilliant!
- I beg your pardon?
- Brilliant, you are right in every aspect. She did indeed attempt to induce an abortion,
but failed, and from this letter I also gather that her aunt is opposed to her marriage with a young man called Roger.
She has been under house arrest for a month now.
But what does it mean? Are you saying that the thief stole these love letters?
- Have a look at this.
- Oh, yes?
- Quite an expensive little thing.
- Yes, yes, you’re right...
Do you mean to say... that the thief stole this jewellery, and the murderer was...
- Logical, logical.
- Logical.
Don't jump to conclusions. Logic can lead you to a dead end.
How?
I’ve put a notice in all the papers
stating that I’ve found a pack of letters tied with a scarlet ribbon.
Let's hope this person doesn't take long.
And this person will be our murderer.
Why not?
What do you think? What can you tell me about this?
What?
It's a piece of a fence!
It was cut off from an Elizabethan fence.
There are two dozen of them in our city, I think, and we must find it.
I'm sorry, Holmes, but you said it yourself, a fence, more than two dozen, and not to mention how many of these...
Imagine yourself climbing the fence and sawing at it. Not only would it be extremely difficult,
but also rather pointless considering you could easily find a much more effective weapon.
True.
We need to find a fallen fence. Look, the cut is fresh.
I fancy that the fence is still there.
And beside it will be our murderer, standing with his hands outstretched for the shackles.
It seems five glasses of Glenmorangie has given you a remarkable sense of humour.
But why not?
This is what I found in the pockets of one of my assailants.
From the Ethan Drake warehouses. I found our fallen fence 20 yards away from this place.
So what does it mean?
The pub you followed me to, the "White Whale", is situated in the same area, as is the gang of sailors who are its frequent customers. No doubt they know the fingerless owner of this button.
If you hadn't interfered, I would have questioned one of them, and by now I would at least know a name.
I'm not convinced. Why did you need the disguise if it's not a secret?
It's not a secret.
The White Whale is a sailor's den, and they don't like gentlemen who come to nose about. They clam right up in front of strangers.
I beg of you, spare my nose,
throw out and never buy that French perfume, "Le Jovial".
Only gigolos and pimps use it.
And private detectives?
Promise me you will do the same.
And take a bath, this smell has attracted all the bees.
And not only bees, but policemen as well.
That man has been standing here since lunchtime.
It seems like the Inspector of Scotland Yard, Lestrade, has seriously got it in for my modest persona.
Why do you say he’s from Scotland Yard?
The workers of Scotland Yard are dressed by two tailors: Chilstone and Harris. His coat is a Harris, only one coat flap,
mousey, and loose-fitting enough to allow for brisk walking or even running.
But most importantly, this entire time he has only transferred his weight from one foot to another; this is the kind of stamina
that you will only find among the military or policemen.
You define people with such ease.
Did you want a boxing lesson?
So, Mr. Holmes, are you ready?
- Ready?
- Ready!
Is this a lesson or do you just want to beat me up?
That was a cross from the right to the head.
That was a cross from the right to the abdomen.
Did you think I could just show you some tricks and you’d suddenly become an expert fighter?
Learn how to take blows. Stand up.
What, had enough? Should we continue?
Why not, let's continue.
Be ready for the next hit - jab
I know jab.
What was that?
It was a hook from the right.
Had enough, or should we continue?
Continue.
Hook from the right, slowly.
- Are you ready?
- Ready.
Not bad.
Don't worry, I'm only using half of my strength, so...
Why half? What would your full strength be?
The hook is performed both from the right, and the left.
Mrs. Softley, I need your help.
- Goodness, Doctor, you are amazing!
- Bravo!
- It's about time this monster got what he deserves!
- Mrs. Softley!
- Mr. Holmes, your leg is in my room! Move it, please!
Mrs. Softley, you're an admiral's widow, what can you tell about this button?
Cad!
- Please let me...
- I'm fine!
- Hell of a mischievous old woman, but she knows everything about the navy.
- St. Marten's whaling!
How are you feeling? We'll continue later.
- Excuse us, we were... Mrs. Hudson...
- I'm not Mrs. Hudson, Mr. Holmes.
Holmes... is me. Excuse me, Mrs...?
Lady, with your permission. Lady Emma Nelligan. I came here because of your notice in the newspaper.
Come in, Lady Nelligan.
And you, Doctor.
I should like to receive the letters you found.
As far as I know, they don't belong to you.
Are you telling me that you've read them?
No, but I've looked through them.
So you know everything.
The letters were written by your niece, Louise Berkett, addressed to a young man named Roger. Thank you.
They had a whirlwind romance.
You are opposed to this romance because Louise is to marry Count Lengton in a month. All the newspapers were writing about it.
And that means...?
It means that the romance must be kept a secret, otherwise there will be no wedding.
But someone has appeared who knows both Louise and Roger, and has evidence of their romance - these letters here.
Don't worry, the secret will not leave this room.
If you tell us everything, the whole truth, we will try to help you.
Isn't that so, Doctor?
Of course.
The blackmailer is one of your servants, am I right?
A maid, Mrs. Carey.
Louise was passing her letters through her to Roger. There should be 12 letters in total.
So... everything was held by Mrs. Carey...
Strange
that neither Louise nor Roger suspected anything and just continued endless writing...
If you loved, you would know that a love message without an answer gives life to another one,
and if this one is left with no answer, you write more and more in hope of getting anything in response!
How did you learn about their romance?
One 'beautiful' morning, I received this letter.
"Dear Lady Nelligan, my name will mean nothing to you...
When I discovered the future marriage of your niece Louise Berkett and Count Lengton...
I turned...
Lady Nelligan, your only next of kin, your much-loved niece, Louise Berkett, has made secret plans with another young man who, while handsome, has no other notable qualities.
I hope, Lady Nelligan, that you will take action to suppress this romance, for it is one which can destroy the reputation not only of your ward, but of your whole family."
Yes, anonymous, as usual.
When you received this very letter, you put your niece under house arrest?
Yes.
And from this moment on their romance took a somewhat epistolary nature, am I right?
Absolutely.
I must tell you that this is not a woman's handwriting - it is a man's. It is unlikely that your maid wrote this.
She didn't.
Mrs. Carey was just an implementer.
There are only 6 letters, so the other half is in the hands of...
Peter Carey. He found out about Louise and Roger and started blackmailing me.
If you don’t mind my asking, how much does Peter Carey want from you?
Fifteen hundred pounds.
Fifteen hundred pounds?
That's an indecently huge sum for a mortal.
And also for a lady. I don't have this money.
Tell you what,
if you pay us 35 pounds, my assistant and I guarantee that by tomorrow evening all of your niece's letters will be in your hands.
This is so sudden... I wouldn't want to-
Well, if you don't agree, we won't insist.
Please.
Deal?
Mr. Holmes,
I really hope I may rely on your honour as a gentleman.
It was a pleasure to meet you.
And you, Doctor.
Can I ask you a question?
Yes?
Did anything disappear recently from your house? Jewellery, diamonds, rings, perhaps?
No. Why do you ask, Mr. Holmes?
Well, it's my business to ask silly questions.
Lady Nelligan!
One last question.
Who is Peter Carey?
He was just a sailor when he served under my late husband Admiral Nelligan, then he became captain of his own ship.
He even had his own whaler.
A whaler...
Isn't he missing one of his fingers?
I'm afraid I don't remember.
Goodbye, Mr. Holmes.
Why didn't you return the letters to her?
Things are a lot more serious than I thought.
Stay here and receive anyone who visits, and notice everything:
how are they dressed, what their faces are like,
and don't talk too much.
Actually, I am the soul of discretion.
Where did he go?
Take it.
Thank you.
Go!
This necklace is part of a much larger jewellery set. You’ll find it belongs with a bracelet, a ring, and two earrings.
Altogether, I would value it at 500 pounds.
Yes, that is a very large set.
You’re sailing in dangerous waters, Captain.
Don't tell me what to do, Strotter.
Give the letters back. It's not your game.
Not, it's not.
But now we are going to play by my rules.
The old fart will cough up and I’ll finally redeem my little ship...
...and return to the sea, oh yes.
Is that all you have to say?
I'm not finished!
Tell your employer
that it was Black Peter who did him in.
And if you show your face here again
I will hook you up by your ribs,
and I will find the one who sent you
and disembowel him like a flounder!
Understood.
So go to hell, Strotter.
Well, Captain,
let's drink in honour to the ones...
who died in the North Seas.
All right.
Sir.
I hope you didn't touch anything.
No, sir, but the first one on the scene was Constable Python. Python!
Report.
At half past nine I finish my round, sir,
and I always go to Mrs. Carey and her husband Peter at this hour, you know, to drink.
I know veeeery well what alcoholism is, Constable, continue.
So that's what I find...
Sir.
Put the lantern down.
Continue.
We should go to the outhouse, sir, you will see for yourself.
Holmes, let's go. Come on!
Come in, sir.
All the footprints have been trampled over.
Come in, sir.
Who is this?
It's Peter Carey, an ex-sailor.
We need to take our shoes off.
I think we will need-
Mr. Holmes, I don’t think you will be needing anything.
Tracey!
Yes, sir.
- Bring the criminal in.
- Yes, sir!
You’ve already arrested the culprit?
Give that to me.
Mr. Holmes!
All fingers present. It's not Peter Carey.
Mr. Holmes!
Holmes, at least you say something to these gentlemen!
Wait! Wait!
Anything you say might be used as evidence against you.
Were you barefoot the whole time?
Uh, well, yes...
John Watson was arrested on suspicion of murder,
and if you don't tell me everything you too will be arrested as an accomplice!
What do you want to hear?
Brodigan!
Brodigan!
Hello.
Help Mr. Holmes remember who visited him yesterday afternoon.
Lady Nelligan visited Mr. Holmes.
And whose house is this?
This is the house of Peter Carey.
His wife Jessica Carey works as a maid in Lady Nelligan's house.
Peter Carey was murdered and his wife has disappeared,
but we found your neighbour here, Mr. Holmes, - John Watson.
He was lying on the doorstep of this outhouse,
covered in blood and unconscious.
Take a look at the stains.
The detainee's face is all covered with blood.
It means
that there was a fight between John Watson and Peter Carey.
I think that the events of yesterday morning - the murder of Jack Izzy -
are connected to this crime.
I also think that there's a connection between you and John Watson.
I think that the attempted burglary of your flat
is connected to these murders.
You will wet your feet.
I think this must be Jessica Carey.
It's her!
Tracey, call the coroner.
Yes, sir.
John, tell me, did they interrogate you?
I'm afraid they did...
Well, then. Let's compare my thoughts to your testimony.
So!
Peter Carey had a guest,
and not just any guest, but a man whom he knew.
The conflict began here, with the blow from this mug!
A fight began, though it would be more accurate to call it a beating.
Peter Carey, thoroughly intoxicated,
had no hope of defending himself.
Considering the frequency of hits, their accuracy and strength, and his footprints,
Carey’s opponent must have been a first-class boxer!
Thanks to the humidity of the night, the soil was wet,
and so our guest has left his footprints everywhere, revealing every single one of his movements.
Look at how he was moving. He wasn't just moving, he was dancing,
striking from left and right like a predator!
He attacked from every angle, not giving the victim a single chance of surviving. He acted like a professional fighter,
like a shark that circles its prey, biting off piece after piece!
I don't know what the reason was for the conflict...
Where are the letters, you little piece of filth?
...but I
can tell you what happened next.
The murderer wanted something from Peter Carey.
Where are the letters? Where did you hide them, old fart?
After he killed Peter Carey, he started searching through his house.
Maybe he found what he was looking for,
maybe he did not.
The noise of the fight and then of the search
woke Peter Carey's wife, Jessica Carey.
Evidently frightened by the shouting and commotion, she released the dog,
whose barking scared the murderer, leaving him unable to finish what he had started.
He stopped searching and was forced to leave the house.
On his way out, he encountered poor Watson, whom he knocked out with a single blow.
Sir! It's true what the suspect is saying-
Of course it's true. Does Watson look like a murderer?
With his war injury, could Watson stand up against Peter Carey?
I have my doubts.
Furthermore, there are no traces of bare feet, but instead another set altogether.
There are a woman's footprints, there they are.
Obviously, these are the footprints of Jessica Carey, who came in with a gun,
but of course there was nobody to shoot at.
Curse you, Peter Carey, curse you to hell!
But there are other footprints - a man's.
Exactly the same fashionable soles you will find near the dog's body.
I think it was him who murdered her.
This man was standing away from the house as Watson was the whole time, waiting for the outcome.
You?
Wait a second...
But I'm sure that these two crimes were committed by one man-
Wrong! Just look at the footprints: the first one was a huge, strong man.
He pierced Peter Carey with one hit like a butterfly under a pin.
If he wanted to, he could have twisted the poor woman's neck with a single hand,
but he preferred to stab, stab, and stab her with a knife.
Did he hate her that much? Was it a crime of passion? I don't think so.
Coroner, what do you say?
You should serve with us, sir.
- No, thanks.
- No, thanks.
Perhaps,
you can tell what was in the hiding place?
No, I can't.
Uno, dos, tres!
Only four blows, but sooo many consequences.
Rupture to the left eardrum, concussion, and an excellent fracture to the jaw.
The body: kidneys weren't touched, although they were already in a pitiful state, but the ribs...
The third and sixth ones are broken, and here is a wonderful bruise in the right upper quadrant.
The blow to the abdomen was so forceful that it caused variceal bleeding.
Lestrade, look, there’s a space in the bruising where the middle finger ought to be.
The man who murdered Peter Carey was missing a finger.
- Where do I find the murderer?
- Just follow my lead.
Hello, Charlie! You’ve got to take on this one. He wants to fight with the Shark!
Where did you find him?
In the "White Whale".
I don't like him!
You check him, then!
All right, listen up, boy, around here I call the shots. You fight, you’re judged, and you get the hell out of the ring. If I get any trouble, I’ll shoot you.
Why are you standing here? Go!
Your name! Name!
Name!
Barbarian.
I'm not asking for your nickname, I want your real name!
Spit it out!
Basil Rathbone!
You will be Barbarian Rathbone. Go, you're next.
He liked you!
Holmes, wait, you’re not seriously going up there?!
I told you, I take boxing lessons.
Listen, this is insane! He's going to kill you!
Let me do it.
You can't forgive him the double knockout? Look, Watson, I fully appreciate your offer, but I'm afraid I must refuse.
Barbarian Rathbone versus Shark Strotter!
Police!
Take this!
- Quick, quick, John!
- Thank you.
So, who dobbed me in?
There is only one person who could've done it.
Did you think the one who ordered you the murder would spare you? Why?
Did you take him?
We did.
But he ingeniously confessed and was released on bail.
Well, well, look how generous England’s laws have become...
Fine, but take the handcuffs off first.
Stop!
Wilkinson, go after him, but make sure he isn’t actually caught.
Do you think your plan will work?
I'm sure. Anyhow, there's not much time left and Watson and I must pay someone a very important visit.
Until tonight!
If this fails, you will be accused of everything, Mr. Holmes!
This Mr. Holmes is a very interesting gentleman.
Louise, don't resort to tobacco, it will only make things worse. Your mother is watching you from the sky.
Aunt, there's nothing in the sky apart from clouds and birds. I want to be free like a bird - not like you, auntie.
Everybody knows about your romance with Colonel Ferguson. Why do you still pretend that he only visits for a cup of tea?
My dear, it is harmful to smoke in your condition. It can harm... the foetus.
"Harm the foetus"? All this distress, the assault on my nerves this past month, that didn't harm the foetus?
- I will open it myself.
- Impossible...
Roger!
Roger!
- I didn’t think I would ever see you again!
- Roger!
Roger! Roger!
Your aunt asked me to come here. She said there was important business.
- What business?
- I don't know.
Come in. Come in. Come in. Everyone come in!
Allow me to introduce you.
Mr. Sherlock Holmes, a notary,
Mr. John Watson, his assistant,
Colonel Ferguson, and finally my niece, Louise Berkett, and Mr. Roger Smith.
Mr. Smith, you are exactly as I imagined.
Who, me?
Naturally the fiance of this beautiful lady must be like a prince.
Fiance?
Yes, Mr. Smith. If this is the way things are, then so be it.
As a respectable Christian I have neither the strength nor desire to oppose the wishes of Heaven.
That's why I invited all of you, so I can announce my final decision.
Aunt!
Mr. Smith, do you agree to marry my niece Louise Berkett?
You...
But what about that wedding?
I will cancel it. But you did not answer the important question: do you agree to marry Louise?
- It's... it's such...
- Aunt!
- ...a sudden decision... I need... I don't even feel well, I need to think it through, to be-
Are you leaving already, Mr. Smith? There’s no need to hurry.
After all, you won’t be returning, isn’t that right?
What do you mean?
Well, you are a handsome young man, why should you have to lose your independence and freedom?
I imagine that this married life, with its doilies and worries, does not suit you.
I have an offer to make. Watson. Could you sit down? Please sit down.
If you will immediately write an acknowledgement in which you renounce Louise once and for all, you will be a free man.
- What do I have to write?
- Roger!
- Louise!
"Dear Lady Nelligain, I, Roger Smith, confirm that I have never been connected to your niece, Louise Berkett,
and at the present moment have no personal claims against her, be they to love, property, or otherwise.
Yours respectfully, Roger Smith."
Finished?
The anonymous letter Lady Nelligan received a month ago was written by you.
What is happening here?
So what, what does this prove?
Absolutely nothing.
Except that you are an utter scoundrel.
You planned it very neatly, starting with the letter you sent to Lady Nelligan.
You calculated that it would strike panic into her heart and lead to the detainment of Louise, forcing her to begin a written correspondence.
It was with these letters which you planned to blackmail this honourable woman.
But you were interrupted, weren't you?
Do you know by whom?
The husband of the maid, Peter Carey.
He didn't just steal the letters, he stole the whole idea of blackmailing.
After this, you approached someone called Jack Strotter,
who, as it happened, was a longtime crewmember of Peter Carey's ship and held a grudge against him over his becoming Captain.
You paid Strotter to retrieve the letters using any means. Strotter killed Peter Carey.
He escaped from the crime scene, but didn't find the letters.
However, the moment Peter Carey’s wife revealed the hiding place, you went in and murdered her, inflicting 12 stab wounds!
Sorry.
My God! This is monstrous slander, Mr. Holmes! What evidence do you have of this...
Your handkerchief...
...which you left at the scene of the crime.
It’s not as if it has my name on it...
No name, but it smells of your fashionable French perfume, which is familiar not only to me, but also to my assistant.
Moreover, the letter you sent to Lady Nelligan has the same scent. Even though a month has passed, the aroma still lingers.
This is ridiculous.
Some odour can't possibly be a sound...
...basis...
...to prove my guilt.
Perhaps I can leave now?
Get the hell out, but take my advice. Go straight to the police and confess everything, your life will depend on it.
Lady Nelligan,
if the letters are still in the hands of malefactors, you will still have to pay, otherwise there will be a scandal. Goodbye.
The cursed scoundrel!
Aunt, I'm scared!
I said that the letters were in my safe, but I was always carrying them with me.
I suspect the second half is in Smith's pocket.
Are you in a hurry?
It’s a shame you decided to turn me in, sir.
A cab, sir? It’s a bargain, fivepence to any end of the city.
To Baker Street.
Christ.
French cologne.
I can't stand the French.
Call the coroner, Tracey.
Why? We have Watson.
The second and the third cervical vertebrae are broken.
But he has been...
...dead...for no more than ten minutes.
Well, Lestrade, I promised you we’d catch Strotter in the act.
Yes.
But for that we had to sacrifice the life of another Londoner.
His wasn’t the greatest loss.
Believe me.
Begin the search.
Holmes!
What did you take there?
News! News! Breaking news!
Well, all's well that ends well.
I wouldn't say so.
Look at the bride, the newly formed Mrs. Lengton.
She doesn't love her husband.
And I bet if Roger Smith rose from the dead right now, she would run away with him straight from the wedding.
Not to mention the future heir of Count Lengton is not exactly... his.
We haven’t seen the end of this affair just yet, I assure you.
You promised to tell me about the murder of Jack Izzy.
Lady Nelligan
hired Jack Izzy.
What?
Yes, she didn't have the money to pay the blackmailer, so she hired the best thief in the city to retrieve the letters from Peter Carey.
Are you saying that the thief agreed to do this job for free?
An honorable woman, in an attempt to further her standing in society, paid a thief
an expensive necklace from her jewellery set, and you think this act is worth public reprimand?
Oh leave it, Doctor.
When it comes to personal matters,
nobody cares about society.
I suppose you’re right.
So you want to give the necklace back to her?
Mr. Holmes, I was away only for a few days and you’ve already filled the entire house with smoke.
And you are Mr. Watson?
Yes... please excuse me, ma'am, you are...?
Mrs. Hudson.
Mr. Holmes, there are a few matters I would like to discuss with you. First of all, your rent has been overdue for one and a half months.
Secondly, I simply cannot keep ignoring the complaints of the tenants below you regarding your horrible musical skills.
Thirdly, we agreed that you will not carry out these horrendous chemical experiments in my house.
Fourthly...
Welcome back, Mrs. Hudson!
221B Baker Street
late of the Army Medical Department.
In 1878, after graduating from the University of London and completing the course for military surgeons in Netley,
I received the position of assistant surgeon and was sent to Kandahar to join the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers.
The second Afghan campaign brought honours and promotions to many, but for me it had nothing but misfortune and disaster.
Due to the hot climate and the shortage of medicine, supplies, and drinking water,
two thirds of the patients whom we managed to save on the operating table subsequently died of blood poisoning and enteric fever.
During the fateful battle of Maiwand, concussed and barely alive, I was captured by the merciless Ghazis.
If it had not been for the bravery of Lieutenant Peter Small, my companion in misfortune, I would not be here writing these lines.
By some miracle, we managed to escape during the attack of the Royal Troops.
Amid the flurry, we stole a horse and managed to reach the location of our units.
Exhausted by the consequences of the concussion and weakened by constant attacks of pain,
I was discharged to a medical pension, along with many other crippled sufferers,
and sent back to the motherland, with my health irretrievably ruined,
but with permission from a paternal and charitable government to spend the next nine months in attempting to improve it,
along with a further allowance of 11 shillings and sixpence a day.
Financial difficulties did not bother me.
The first thing I did when I arrived in the capital was to buy a fashionable French perfume, “Le Jovial”.
Perhaps, despite my age and experience,
I was still a curious and adventurous young man at heart.
I had neither kith nor kin in England,
in other words I was alone and left to myself,
so it was not surprising that I came to London, that great cesspool
into which all the loungers and idlers of the Empire are irresistibly drained.
Some come here for easy money, others are perhaps looking for adventure.
Young ladies dream of a good marriage, boys dream of government service,
and everyone thinks that the capital will give them that opportunity they need.
I came to London with two intentions:
to open a private practice and, if possible, to become a writer.
“John H. Watson, Doctor of Medicine with a qualified license,
opens a medical practice. Now seeking patients.
Discounts for veterans and the disabled.” So what's wrong?
The address. Where are you opening the practice?
Neither veterans nor disabled persons will find you, sir.
Sorry, I really didn't think this through.
All right, I will come back when I find an apartment.
The thing is, sir, the next issue contains a two-week schedule of races at the hippodrome, so people will be keeping it for two weeks.
If you submit the notice tomorrow or any other day, it will only last a day and you will lose a lot of clients.
I see...
But the story I want to tell you should not begin here.
Chapter One: 221B Baker Street
Lady Nelligan.
Yes, do remain seated, won’t you.
Colonel Ferguson will be my witness.
The letters.
Just one?
And the rest? Where are the rest?
And where is my money?
Don't you dare to talk like that to a lady!
Hey, hey, hey, stop!
A thousand apologies.
Go to the Devil!
Thief!
Help! He's been killed!
A doctor! Quick, get a doctor!
It was a cabman who hit him, for sure!
Check him. Look what you've done.
Is there a doctor here?
Let me pass. Constable, help me to turn him over, quick.
He's got 30 seconds, 40 at best.
I'm afraid there's no need for a doctor anymore.
Mister, what's going on? Who are you?
I'm a friend of Inspector Lestrade. Have you heard of him?
- So you're not a doctor?
- Of course not.
Hold this. Excuse me.
He must be taken to the hospital immediately, he still has a pulse...
Not for long.
And what of it?? Have you no compassion even for a dying man?
Death is just an inevitability. We're all mortal.
I saw it! It was definitely the cabman!
Excuse me. Constable!
Save the living, not the dead.
It wasn't me sir, no, no, it wasn't me!
- Call the coroner.
- We did, sir.
Arrest him! It was definitely him, I saw it with my own eyes!
What did your passenger look like?
My passenger... sir, I didn't have time to see his face.
- Didn't have time to see his face.
- No wonder, someone could smell you coming from miles away.
A sober cabman is as rare a phenomenon in London as a sunny day.
Why did you stop your cab?
Because this poor man suddenly started screaming—
The only poor man here is you. Your memory had better improve or you’re going to be hanged.
When you stopped the cab, did your passenger go out to see the victim?
Yes, sir, yes! He jumped out, ran to him and started helping him, sir.
I remember now!
He was missing a finger, I'm sure of it!
You are standing a few steps away from the gallows. Try to remember, on which hand?
The right, the left? Which finger?
Well, I...
I saw it myself! It was him for sure!
I can't remember, sir, I got drunk yesterday.
One step closer.
The cabman hit him!
Constable, could you please turn him over?
"Le jovial"?
I beg your pardon?
The second and the third vertebrae are broken. Too precise for a weapon as cumbersome as a horse-drawn carriage.
You're an army doctor, you should know it.
I'm telling you it was the cabman, he hit him!
If I were you, constable, I would arrest this noisy gentleman and ask his name and profession.
Take him. Bring him to the station.
So, what happened here?
It wasn't an accident, it was willful murder. After you.
- Sir, the coroner has arrived.
- Take the body.
The perpertrator fixed the door, so it wouldn't open during the ride. Then he leaned out the carriage
and when he reached the victim, he dealt the blow.
Disperse the crowd, I need to examine this place carefully
Move along! We need to inspect the scene of crime.
There it is! An iron fence.
Sir, we've loaded the body.
From the Wilhelm era...
Now we can go.
No, Elizabethan... The murder weapon.
Constable, let's go to the police station.
Wait, wait, where are you going?
Doctor, would you join us? Another witness will always be helpful.
- ...leave it until the evening.
- Yes, sir.
Doctor, I must ask you to describe the criminal as tall, broad, and wearing a marine jacket.
And if he was small, fat, and wearing a coat?
He looked exactly the way I'm describing him.
Thats's a lie.
Sir, somebody searched him before me.
Think of it as a lie for good.
Listen... I'm a Catholic.
All the more reason!
- Sir, it's not me, sir!
- I said be quiet!
Your bag.
Sit down!
Excuse me, Mister, I still don't know your...
Listen to me, as a Catholic and as a doctor,
do you really want an innocent man to suffer?
Don't jump to any hasty conclusions.
- Attention!
- Oh sit down, lazybones.
Mr. Holmes, you’re going to have to pay for interfering with this investigation.
I don't understand.
Sergeant Wilkinson had just about resolved this simple traffic accident,
but then you appeared and twisted everything.
I’ve recorded all my thoughts on this “traffic accident”.
"The criminal was broad, above average in height, and wearing a marine jacket.
Before leaving the scene of crime, he searched the victim carefully".
That's what he told you?
No, his outturned pockets did. Tracey, confirm it.
That's right, sir.
Also, this button was firmly grasped in the hand of the victim.
It means that he was holding the criminal while he was searching him.
The murder was committed for robbery.
That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Clever-Cloggs!
The coroner searched him and found this.
So your robbery story...
And if he wasn't looking for money?
Exactly who do you think you are?
I'm a scientist.
Oh? I didn't know that. In what sphere?
In the sphere of deduction, it is a science.
A science of messing up an investigation.
It's a synthesis of facts and logic that builds up a continuous chain of reasoning, leading you to the right conclusion.
Looks like a brochure advertising charades.
Actually, solving charades is precisely the thing that I'm rather good at.
Well, this is news. Last time we met you claimed you were a detective.
I am a detective.
There is only one professional detective here!
Why don't you take a closer look at the victim then?
Why not to examine, for example, the nature of the injury?
Why are you quiet, Doctor?
Sir, it wasn't me, I swear!
Quiet! Be quiet!
I am not spending Scotland Yard's precious time on this trifling case!
Do you know why this body is here in the station?
Because the morgue is full!
This morning we had four robberies, two big raids, and two firefights,
in the evening each of you do-
But- that's Fiddle Bow!
Fiddle Bow?
Yes.
Sir, it's not me, sir!
Don't shake like that, man! The court will shorten your sentence, now I will take care of that myself.
This, gentlemen, is the face of the infamous pickpocket Jack Izzy, nicknamed Fiddle Bow! Look at his fingers,
he has a curious deformity in the middle and forefingers. It makes him a natural for theft, do you understand?!
A dozen cases closed!
Indeed, Fiddle Bow is ours!
Who are you?
John Watson.
Irish?
I'm a doctor.
Have you written your testimony?
Not yet.
Finish and leave the station.
Fiddle Bow!
Sir, he jumped out so suddenly that I didn't... nothing.
You did it all! Fiddle Bow is ours!
Oh, Mister! I don't know your name, but my wife can help you clean your house on Tuesdays...
You don't need to do that.
So what, then, justice changed its mind?
You wouldn’t believe it, sir, that noble gentleman wrote that the murderer was wearing a marine jacket! And do you know what else, sir?
I did in fact see a man in a marine jacket.
You're free!
Yes, sir, I'm free!
Even though freedom is not up to us!
So you did change your testimony after all.
But how did you know that I'm a doctor?
You arrived in London today.
- By the way, all the hotels will be full by this point...
- I’m sorry, but...
...not to mention prices are high enough. If you're looking for a cheap apartment, you need...
But how do you know that it was today, that I'm a doctor, I mean who are you?
Anyhow... 221B Baker Street.
There is one free room on the second floor. It’s half-board, the room is big enough, nice neighbours. The owner is Mrs. Hudson,
dreadful woman, but cooks very well.
Excellent, sir, and the notice, please.
Ah, Mrs. Hudson...
If you are Mr. Graham, then get out! Your student is not at home!
And tell that crackpot that we won't tolerate any violin screeching above our heads anymore!
You misunderstand, I'm your new tenant, John Watson... I came from Essex, I'm a doctor, John Watson-
- Why are you screaming like a steamship siren? I hear you perfectly Mr... Watson?
- John Watson.
Come in.
Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.
Come in. But I'm not Mrs. Hudson, I'm Mrs. Bokley.
Mrs. Hudson is away.
I mistook you for this horrible Mr. Graham!
He comes on Tuesdays to our neighbour upstairs to give him lessons on his awful violin,
and today is Tuesday.
If you like, I can have a word with your neighbour and if it will help I...
What a gentleman! You will do us such a big favour.
Bathroom, pantry, your neighbour's room, and this is your room.
Thank you.
Stop! Stop!
Bring him here.
Do you need any help, gentlemen?
Pit, he called you a gentleman!
Perhaps you could turn around, it won’t be very satisfying to beat you up from behind.
Drop him, he won't go anywhere.
Doctor!
What have you done?
I needed to interrogate them!
Hello!
- Help! Police!
- Well, the police will be here in three minutes.
Lestrade is definitely putting you in jail.
Listen... I'm sorry, but how did you plan on interrogating them?
You have no weapons, you can't fight, not even...
I take boxing lessons!
Go through that alley, it leads to the docks, it's easy to disappear there.
And if I were you, I wouldn't waste any time.
I'm not running anywhere, especially not following your... advice.
As you like! When they regain consciousness, they will blame you for the attack.
A retired officer with no money got engaged in robbery - a normal case.
According to statistics, a third of all crimes is committed by retired military men who couldn’t settle down for a peaceful life.
Finally!
Lestrade really loves statistics.
Look here, how do you know that I'm a retired officer?
Your curiosity, Doctor, is stirring my sympathy.
Run, Doctor, run. Run!
What took you so long, Watson? The police will catch us!
Maybe I could learn a thing or two from you about boxing.
You really do reek of that French perfume!
- Good night.
- Good night.
What do you have?
Gin. Just gin.
I suggest starting with Glenmorangie.
My name is Sherlock Holmes.
And my... well, you know my name already.
Not only your name. I know everything about you, or almost everything.
You hold yourself like an army man, so you're an officer.
The tan of your face suggests that you’ve come from a much warmer place than England.
You were wearing a scarf made of camel-hair - a work of masters from the East, we don't have these here,
and on your bag was a torn label of the Punjab railway, therefore you came from Afghanistan.
By the way, are you concussed?
Some excellent tobacco you have there, too.
You Devil.
This is my brother, Mycroft Holmes.
You know, we will die and nobody will remember us after a year, but he will be remembered forever.
At least that's what he thinks.
The button. You told the Inspector that this button belonged to the murderer of Jack Izzy.
- You have a very good memory.
- Thank you.
Also I noticed that you found something in the victim's clothes, but kept it from the Inspector.
I see you’re also a very attentive person!
I’ll let you in on a little secret. You see, pickpockets never carry anything valuable in their pockets, they hide it in their socks.
Considering Jack Izzy still had his wallet, the murderer wasn't looking for money, but for these letters. I've read them.
Someone else's letters?
Reading someone's letters and searching through someone's dirty clothes is not the worst thing in my profession, I can tell you. Listen.
"My dear,
my soul, my life, my passion!"
Listen. "It is only out of the anguish that consumed my heart that I decided to take this step,
but I did not succeed.
For a whole hour I wept, until I realised that these were the tears of happiness. I realised that he's alive,
- my soul, he's alive!"
- These are just love letters.
What are these stains?
- Looks like dried blood.
- Well...
But no, not this, no, it's not blood.
- It's a concoction of onion peel mixed with iodine.
- Yes, yes, of course.
This mixture is used to induce the premature and fatal expulsion of the foetus by all kinds of...
- But I can tell you there are more household poisonings because of this concotion rather than abortions.
- You're brilliant!
- I beg your pardon?
- Brilliant, you are right in every aspect. She did indeed attempt to induce an abortion,
but failed, and from this letter I also gather that her aunt is opposed to her marriage with a young man called Roger.
She has been under house arrest for a month now.
But what does it mean? Are you saying that the thief stole these love letters?
- Have a look at this.
- Oh, yes?
- Quite an expensive little thing.
- Yes, yes, you’re right...
Do you mean to say... that the thief stole this jewellery, and the murderer was...
- Logical, logical.
- Logical.
Don't jump to conclusions. Logic can lead you to a dead end.
How?
I’ve put a notice in all the papers
stating that I’ve found a pack of letters tied with a scarlet ribbon.
Let's hope this person doesn't take long.
And this person will be our murderer.
Why not?
What do you think? What can you tell me about this?
What?
It's a piece of a fence!
It was cut off from an Elizabethan fence.
There are two dozen of them in our city, I think, and we must find it.
I'm sorry, Holmes, but you said it yourself, a fence, more than two dozen, and not to mention how many of these...
Imagine yourself climbing the fence and sawing at it. Not only would it be extremely difficult,
but also rather pointless considering you could easily find a much more effective weapon.
True.
We need to find a fallen fence. Look, the cut is fresh.
I fancy that the fence is still there.
And beside it will be our murderer, standing with his hands outstretched for the shackles.
It seems five glasses of Glenmorangie has given you a remarkable sense of humour.
But why not?
This is what I found in the pockets of one of my assailants.
From the Ethan Drake warehouses. I found our fallen fence 20 yards away from this place.
So what does it mean?
The pub you followed me to, the "White Whale", is situated in the same area, as is the gang of sailors who are its frequent customers. No doubt they know the fingerless owner of this button.
If you hadn't interfered, I would have questioned one of them, and by now I would at least know a name.
I'm not convinced. Why did you need the disguise if it's not a secret?
It's not a secret.
The White Whale is a sailor's den, and they don't like gentlemen who come to nose about. They clam right up in front of strangers.
I beg of you, spare my nose,
throw out and never buy that French perfume, "Le Jovial".
Only gigolos and pimps use it.
And private detectives?
Promise me you will do the same.
And take a bath, this smell has attracted all the bees.
And not only bees, but policemen as well.
That man has been standing here since lunchtime.
It seems like the Inspector of Scotland Yard, Lestrade, has seriously got it in for my modest persona.
Why do you say he’s from Scotland Yard?
The workers of Scotland Yard are dressed by two tailors: Chilstone and Harris. His coat is a Harris, only one coat flap,
mousey, and loose-fitting enough to allow for brisk walking or even running.
But most importantly, this entire time he has only transferred his weight from one foot to another; this is the kind of stamina
that you will only find among the military or policemen.
You define people with such ease.
Did you want a boxing lesson?
So, Mr. Holmes, are you ready?
- Ready?
- Ready!
Is this a lesson or do you just want to beat me up?
That was a cross from the right to the head.
That was a cross from the right to the abdomen.
Did you think I could just show you some tricks and you’d suddenly become an expert fighter?
Learn how to take blows. Stand up.
What, had enough? Should we continue?
Why not, let's continue.
Be ready for the next hit - jab
I know jab.
What was that?
It was a hook from the right.
Had enough, or should we continue?
Continue.
Hook from the right, slowly.
- Are you ready?
- Ready.
Not bad.
Don't worry, I'm only using half of my strength, so...
Why half? What would your full strength be?
The hook is performed both from the right, and the left.
Mrs. Softley, I need your help.
- Goodness, Doctor, you are amazing!
- Bravo!
- It's about time this monster got what he deserves!
- Mrs. Softley!
- Mr. Holmes, your leg is in my room! Move it, please!
Mrs. Softley, you're an admiral's widow, what can you tell about this button?
Cad!
- Please let me...
- I'm fine!
- Hell of a mischievous old woman, but she knows everything about the navy.
- St. Marten's whaling!
How are you feeling? We'll continue later.
- Excuse us, we were... Mrs. Hudson...
- I'm not Mrs. Hudson, Mr. Holmes.
Holmes... is me. Excuse me, Mrs...?
Lady, with your permission. Lady Emma Nelligan. I came here because of your notice in the newspaper.
Come in, Lady Nelligan.
And you, Doctor.
I should like to receive the letters you found.
As far as I know, they don't belong to you.
Are you telling me that you've read them?
No, but I've looked through them.
So you know everything.
The letters were written by your niece, Louise Berkett, addressed to a young man named Roger. Thank you.
They had a whirlwind romance.
You are opposed to this romance because Louise is to marry Count Lengton in a month. All the newspapers were writing about it.
And that means...?
It means that the romance must be kept a secret, otherwise there will be no wedding.
But someone has appeared who knows both Louise and Roger, and has evidence of their romance - these letters here.
Don't worry, the secret will not leave this room.
If you tell us everything, the whole truth, we will try to help you.
Isn't that so, Doctor?
Of course.
The blackmailer is one of your servants, am I right?
A maid, Mrs. Carey.
Louise was passing her letters through her to Roger. There should be 12 letters in total.
So... everything was held by Mrs. Carey...
Strange
that neither Louise nor Roger suspected anything and just continued endless writing...
If you loved, you would know that a love message without an answer gives life to another one,
and if this one is left with no answer, you write more and more in hope of getting anything in response!
How did you learn about their romance?
One 'beautiful' morning, I received this letter.
"Dear Lady Nelligan, my name will mean nothing to you...
When I discovered the future marriage of your niece Louise Berkett and Count Lengton...
I turned...
Lady Nelligan, your only next of kin, your much-loved niece, Louise Berkett, has made secret plans with another young man who, while handsome, has no other notable qualities.
I hope, Lady Nelligan, that you will take action to suppress this romance, for it is one which can destroy the reputation not only of your ward, but of your whole family."
Yes, anonymous, as usual.
When you received this very letter, you put your niece under house arrest?
Yes.
And from this moment on their romance took a somewhat epistolary nature, am I right?
Absolutely.
I must tell you that this is not a woman's handwriting - it is a man's. It is unlikely that your maid wrote this.
She didn't.
Mrs. Carey was just an implementer.
There are only 6 letters, so the other half is in the hands of...
Peter Carey. He found out about Louise and Roger and started blackmailing me.
If you don’t mind my asking, how much does Peter Carey want from you?
Fifteen hundred pounds.
Fifteen hundred pounds?
That's an indecently huge sum for a mortal.
And also for a lady. I don't have this money.
Tell you what,
if you pay us 35 pounds, my assistant and I guarantee that by tomorrow evening all of your niece's letters will be in your hands.
This is so sudden... I wouldn't want to-
Well, if you don't agree, we won't insist.
Please.
Deal?
Mr. Holmes,
I really hope I may rely on your honour as a gentleman.
It was a pleasure to meet you.
And you, Doctor.
Can I ask you a question?
Yes?
Did anything disappear recently from your house? Jewellery, diamonds, rings, perhaps?
No. Why do you ask, Mr. Holmes?
Well, it's my business to ask silly questions.
Lady Nelligan!
One last question.
Who is Peter Carey?
He was just a sailor when he served under my late husband Admiral Nelligan, then he became captain of his own ship.
He even had his own whaler.
A whaler...
Isn't he missing one of his fingers?
I'm afraid I don't remember.
Goodbye, Mr. Holmes.
Why didn't you return the letters to her?
Things are a lot more serious than I thought.
Stay here and receive anyone who visits, and notice everything:
how are they dressed, what their faces are like,
and don't talk too much.
Actually, I am the soul of discretion.
Where did he go?
Take it.
Thank you.
Go!
This necklace is part of a much larger jewellery set. You’ll find it belongs with a bracelet, a ring, and two earrings.
Altogether, I would value it at 500 pounds.
Yes, that is a very large set.
You’re sailing in dangerous waters, Captain.
Don't tell me what to do, Strotter.
Give the letters back. It's not your game.
Not, it's not.
But now we are going to play by my rules.
The old fart will cough up and I’ll finally redeem my little ship...
...and return to the sea, oh yes.
Is that all you have to say?
I'm not finished!
Tell your employer
that it was Black Peter who did him in.
And if you show your face here again
I will hook you up by your ribs,
and I will find the one who sent you
and disembowel him like a flounder!
Understood.
So go to hell, Strotter.
Well, Captain,
let's drink in honour to the ones...
who died in the North Seas.
All right.
Sir.
I hope you didn't touch anything.
No, sir, but the first one on the scene was Constable Python. Python!
Report.
At half past nine I finish my round, sir,
and I always go to Mrs. Carey and her husband Peter at this hour, you know, to drink.
I know veeeery well what alcoholism is, Constable, continue.
So that's what I find...
Sir.
Put the lantern down.
Continue.
We should go to the outhouse, sir, you will see for yourself.
Holmes, let's go. Come on!
Come in, sir.
All the footprints have been trampled over.
Come in, sir.
Who is this?
It's Peter Carey, an ex-sailor.
We need to take our shoes off.
I think we will need-
Mr. Holmes, I don’t think you will be needing anything.
Tracey!
Yes, sir.
- Bring the criminal in.
- Yes, sir!
You’ve already arrested the culprit?
Give that to me.
Mr. Holmes!
All fingers present. It's not Peter Carey.
Mr. Holmes!
Holmes, at least you say something to these gentlemen!
Wait! Wait!
Anything you say might be used as evidence against you.
Were you barefoot the whole time?
Uh, well, yes...
John Watson was arrested on suspicion of murder,
and if you don't tell me everything you too will be arrested as an accomplice!
What do you want to hear?
Brodigan!
Brodigan!
Hello.
Help Mr. Holmes remember who visited him yesterday afternoon.
Lady Nelligan visited Mr. Holmes.
And whose house is this?
This is the house of Peter Carey.
His wife Jessica Carey works as a maid in Lady Nelligan's house.
Peter Carey was murdered and his wife has disappeared,
but we found your neighbour here, Mr. Holmes, - John Watson.
He was lying on the doorstep of this outhouse,
covered in blood and unconscious.
Take a look at the stains.
The detainee's face is all covered with blood.
It means
that there was a fight between John Watson and Peter Carey.
I think that the events of yesterday morning - the murder of Jack Izzy -
are connected to this crime.
I also think that there's a connection between you and John Watson.
I think that the attempted burglary of your flat
is connected to these murders.
You will wet your feet.
I think this must be Jessica Carey.
It's her!
Tracey, call the coroner.
Yes, sir.
John, tell me, did they interrogate you?
I'm afraid they did...
Well, then. Let's compare my thoughts to your testimony.
So!
Peter Carey had a guest,
and not just any guest, but a man whom he knew.
The conflict began here, with the blow from this mug!
A fight began, though it would be more accurate to call it a beating.
Peter Carey, thoroughly intoxicated,
had no hope of defending himself.
Considering the frequency of hits, their accuracy and strength, and his footprints,
Carey’s opponent must have been a first-class boxer!
Thanks to the humidity of the night, the soil was wet,
and so our guest has left his footprints everywhere, revealing every single one of his movements.
Look at how he was moving. He wasn't just moving, he was dancing,
striking from left and right like a predator!
He attacked from every angle, not giving the victim a single chance of surviving. He acted like a professional fighter,
like a shark that circles its prey, biting off piece after piece!
I don't know what the reason was for the conflict...
Where are the letters, you little piece of filth?
...but I
can tell you what happened next.
The murderer wanted something from Peter Carey.
Where are the letters? Where did you hide them, old fart?
After he killed Peter Carey, he started searching through his house.
Maybe he found what he was looking for,
maybe he did not.
The noise of the fight and then of the search
woke Peter Carey's wife, Jessica Carey.
Evidently frightened by the shouting and commotion, she released the dog,
whose barking scared the murderer, leaving him unable to finish what he had started.
He stopped searching and was forced to leave the house.
On his way out, he encountered poor Watson, whom he knocked out with a single blow.
Sir! It's true what the suspect is saying-
Of course it's true. Does Watson look like a murderer?
With his war injury, could Watson stand up against Peter Carey?
I have my doubts.
Furthermore, there are no traces of bare feet, but instead another set altogether.
There are a woman's footprints, there they are.
Obviously, these are the footprints of Jessica Carey, who came in with a gun,
but of course there was nobody to shoot at.
Curse you, Peter Carey, curse you to hell!
But there are other footprints - a man's.
Exactly the same fashionable soles you will find near the dog's body.
I think it was him who murdered her.
This man was standing away from the house as Watson was the whole time, waiting for the outcome.
You?
Wait a second...
But I'm sure that these two crimes were committed by one man-
Wrong! Just look at the footprints: the first one was a huge, strong man.
He pierced Peter Carey with one hit like a butterfly under a pin.
If he wanted to, he could have twisted the poor woman's neck with a single hand,
but he preferred to stab, stab, and stab her with a knife.
Did he hate her that much? Was it a crime of passion? I don't think so.
Coroner, what do you say?
You should serve with us, sir.
- No, thanks.
- No, thanks.
Perhaps,
you can tell what was in the hiding place?
No, I can't.
Uno, dos, tres!
Only four blows, but sooo many consequences.
Rupture to the left eardrum, concussion, and an excellent fracture to the jaw.
The body: kidneys weren't touched, although they were already in a pitiful state, but the ribs...
The third and sixth ones are broken, and here is a wonderful bruise in the right upper quadrant.
The blow to the abdomen was so forceful that it caused variceal bleeding.
Lestrade, look, there’s a space in the bruising where the middle finger ought to be.
The man who murdered Peter Carey was missing a finger.
- Where do I find the murderer?
- Just follow my lead.
Hello, Charlie! You’ve got to take on this one. He wants to fight with the Shark!
Where did you find him?
In the "White Whale".
I don't like him!
You check him, then!
All right, listen up, boy, around here I call the shots. You fight, you’re judged, and you get the hell out of the ring. If I get any trouble, I’ll shoot you.
Why are you standing here? Go!
Your name! Name!
Name!
Barbarian.
I'm not asking for your nickname, I want your real name!
Spit it out!
Basil Rathbone!
You will be Barbarian Rathbone. Go, you're next.
He liked you!
Holmes, wait, you’re not seriously going up there?!
I told you, I take boxing lessons.
Listen, this is insane! He's going to kill you!
Let me do it.
You can't forgive him the double knockout? Look, Watson, I fully appreciate your offer, but I'm afraid I must refuse.
Barbarian Rathbone versus Shark Strotter!
Police!
Take this!
- Quick, quick, John!
- Thank you.
So, who dobbed me in?
There is only one person who could've done it.
Did you think the one who ordered you the murder would spare you? Why?
Did you take him?
We did.
But he ingeniously confessed and was released on bail.
Well, well, look how generous England’s laws have become...
Fine, but take the handcuffs off first.
Stop!
Wilkinson, go after him, but make sure he isn’t actually caught.
Do you think your plan will work?
I'm sure. Anyhow, there's not much time left and Watson and I must pay someone a very important visit.
Until tonight!
If this fails, you will be accused of everything, Mr. Holmes!
This Mr. Holmes is a very interesting gentleman.
Louise, don't resort to tobacco, it will only make things worse. Your mother is watching you from the sky.
Aunt, there's nothing in the sky apart from clouds and birds. I want to be free like a bird - not like you, auntie.
Everybody knows about your romance with Colonel Ferguson. Why do you still pretend that he only visits for a cup of tea?
My dear, it is harmful to smoke in your condition. It can harm... the foetus.
"Harm the foetus"? All this distress, the assault on my nerves this past month, that didn't harm the foetus?
- I will open it myself.
- Impossible...
Roger!
Roger!
- I didn’t think I would ever see you again!
- Roger!
Roger! Roger!
Your aunt asked me to come here. She said there was important business.
- What business?
- I don't know.
Come in. Come in. Come in. Everyone come in!
Allow me to introduce you.
Mr. Sherlock Holmes, a notary,
Mr. John Watson, his assistant,
Colonel Ferguson, and finally my niece, Louise Berkett, and Mr. Roger Smith.
Mr. Smith, you are exactly as I imagined.
Who, me?
Naturally the fiance of this beautiful lady must be like a prince.
Fiance?
Yes, Mr. Smith. If this is the way things are, then so be it.
As a respectable Christian I have neither the strength nor desire to oppose the wishes of Heaven.
That's why I invited all of you, so I can announce my final decision.
Aunt!
Mr. Smith, do you agree to marry my niece Louise Berkett?
You...
But what about that wedding?
I will cancel it. But you did not answer the important question: do you agree to marry Louise?
- It's... it's such...
- Aunt!
- ...a sudden decision... I need... I don't even feel well, I need to think it through, to be-
Are you leaving already, Mr. Smith? There’s no need to hurry.
After all, you won’t be returning, isn’t that right?
What do you mean?
Well, you are a handsome young man, why should you have to lose your independence and freedom?
I imagine that this married life, with its doilies and worries, does not suit you.
I have an offer to make. Watson. Could you sit down? Please sit down.
If you will immediately write an acknowledgement in which you renounce Louise once and for all, you will be a free man.
- What do I have to write?
- Roger!
- Louise!
"Dear Lady Nelligain, I, Roger Smith, confirm that I have never been connected to your niece, Louise Berkett,
and at the present moment have no personal claims against her, be they to love, property, or otherwise.
Yours respectfully, Roger Smith."
Finished?
The anonymous letter Lady Nelligan received a month ago was written by you.
What is happening here?
So what, what does this prove?
Absolutely nothing.
Except that you are an utter scoundrel.
You planned it very neatly, starting with the letter you sent to Lady Nelligan.
You calculated that it would strike panic into her heart and lead to the detainment of Louise, forcing her to begin a written correspondence.
It was with these letters which you planned to blackmail this honourable woman.
But you were interrupted, weren't you?
Do you know by whom?
The husband of the maid, Peter Carey.
He didn't just steal the letters, he stole the whole idea of blackmailing.
After this, you approached someone called Jack Strotter,
who, as it happened, was a longtime crewmember of Peter Carey's ship and held a grudge against him over his becoming Captain.
You paid Strotter to retrieve the letters using any means. Strotter killed Peter Carey.
He escaped from the crime scene, but didn't find the letters.
However, the moment Peter Carey’s wife revealed the hiding place, you went in and murdered her, inflicting 12 stab wounds!
Sorry.
My God! This is monstrous slander, Mr. Holmes! What evidence do you have of this...
Your handkerchief...
...which you left at the scene of the crime.
It’s not as if it has my name on it...
No name, but it smells of your fashionable French perfume, which is familiar not only to me, but also to my assistant.
Moreover, the letter you sent to Lady Nelligan has the same scent. Even though a month has passed, the aroma still lingers.
This is ridiculous.
Some odour can't possibly be a sound...
...basis...
...to prove my guilt.
Perhaps I can leave now?
Get the hell out, but take my advice. Go straight to the police and confess everything, your life will depend on it.
Lady Nelligan,
if the letters are still in the hands of malefactors, you will still have to pay, otherwise there will be a scandal. Goodbye.
The cursed scoundrel!
Aunt, I'm scared!
I said that the letters were in my safe, but I was always carrying them with me.
I suspect the second half is in Smith's pocket.
Are you in a hurry?
It’s a shame you decided to turn me in, sir.
A cab, sir? It’s a bargain, fivepence to any end of the city.
To Baker Street.
Christ.
French cologne.
I can't stand the French.
Call the coroner, Tracey.
Why? We have Watson.
The second and the third cervical vertebrae are broken.
But he has been...
...dead...for no more than ten minutes.
Well, Lestrade, I promised you we’d catch Strotter in the act.
Yes.
But for that we had to sacrifice the life of another Londoner.
His wasn’t the greatest loss.
Believe me.
Begin the search.
Holmes!
What did you take there?
News! News! Breaking news!
Well, all's well that ends well.
I wouldn't say so.
Look at the bride, the newly formed Mrs. Lengton.
She doesn't love her husband.
And I bet if Roger Smith rose from the dead right now, she would run away with him straight from the wedding.
Not to mention the future heir of Count Lengton is not exactly... his.
We haven’t seen the end of this affair just yet, I assure you.
You promised to tell me about the murder of Jack Izzy.
Lady Nelligan
hired Jack Izzy.
What?
Yes, she didn't have the money to pay the blackmailer, so she hired the best thief in the city to retrieve the letters from Peter Carey.
Are you saying that the thief agreed to do this job for free?
An honorable woman, in an attempt to further her standing in society, paid a thief
an expensive necklace from her jewellery set, and you think this act is worth public reprimand?
Oh leave it, Doctor.
When it comes to personal matters,
nobody cares about society.
I suppose you’re right.
So you want to give the necklace back to her?
Mr. Holmes, I was away only for a few days and you’ve already filled the entire house with smoke.
And you are Mr. Watson?
Yes... please excuse me, ma'am, you are...?
Mrs. Hudson.
Mr. Holmes, there are a few matters I would like to discuss with you. First of all, your rent has been overdue for one and a half months.
Secondly, I simply cannot keep ignoring the complaints of the tenants below you regarding your horrible musical skills.
Thirdly, we agreed that you will not carry out these horrendous chemical experiments in my house.
Fourthly...
Welcome back, Mrs. Hudson!
221B Baker Street