All language subtitles for The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes 1970

Somewhere in the vaults
of a bank in London

is a tin dispatch box
with my name on it.

It is not to be opened until
50 years after my death.

It contains certain mementos

of my long association
with a man,

who elevated the science
of deduction to an art,

the world's first and undeniably

most famous consulting detective.

Subtitles by Prospero
prospero.13t@gmail.com

To my heirs,

in my lifetime,

I have recorded some 60 cases

demonstrating the singular
gift of my friend,

Sherlock Holmes,

dealing with everything

from "The Hound of
the Baskervilles"

to his mysterious
brother, Mycroft

and the devilish Professor Moriarty.

But there were other
adventures which

for reasons of discretion

I have decided to withhold
from the public

until this much later date.

They involve matters of a
delicate and sometimes

scandalous nature

as will shortly become apparent.

It was August of 1887

and we were returning
from Yorkshire

where Holmes had solved
the baffling murder

of Admiral Abernetti.

You may recall that he
broke the murderer's alibi

by measuring the depth
to which the parsley

had sunk in the
butter on a hot day.

I wish you'd give me
a bit more warning

when you come home unexpected.

I'd have roasted a goose,
had a few flowers for you.

My dear Mrs. Hudson,

criminals are as unpredictable
as head colds.

You never quite know when
you're going to catch one.

I'll unpack your bags.

Here is an advance copy
of "Strand Magazine."

They've printed "The
Red-headed League."

Very impressive.

Would you like to see
how I've treated it?

I can hardly wait. I'm
sure I shall find out

all sorts of fascinating things

about the case that I
never knew before.

Just what do you
mean by that?

Come now, Watson.

You must admit you have a
tendency to overromanticize.

You've taken my simple
exercises in logic

and embellished them, embroidered
them, exaggerated them.

I deny the accusation.

You've described me as 6'4"

whereas I am barely 6'1".

A bit of poetic license.

You've saddled me with
this improbable costume

which the public now
expects me to wear.

That is not my doing. Blame
it on the illustrator.

Made me out to be
a violin virtuoso.

There is an invitation from

the Liverpool Symphony
to appear as soloist in

"The Mendelssohn Concerto."
Really?

The fact is, I could
barely hold my own

in the pit orchestra of a
second-rate music hall.

You're much too modest.

You have given the reader
the distinct impression

that I'm a misogynist.

Actually, I don't dislike women.

I merely distrust them.

The twinkle in the eye and
the arsenic in the soup.

It's those little touches
that make you colorful.

Lurid is more like it.

You've painted me as a
hopeless dope addict

just because I occasionally
take a %5 solution of cocaine.

A seven percent solution.

Five percent.

Don't you think I'm aware
you've been diluting it

behind my back?

As a doctor as well
as your friend,

I strongly disapprove

of this insidious
habit of yours.

My dear friend as well
as my dear doctor,

I only resort to narcotics

when I'm suffering
from acute boredom

when there are no
interesting cases

to engage my mind.

Look at this.

An urgent appeal to find
some missing midgets.

Did you say midgets?

6 of them. The Tumbling Piccolos...

an acrobatic act
with some circus.

Disappeared between
London and Bristol.

Well, don't you find
that intriguing?

Extremely so.

You see, they're not
only midgets,

but also anarchists.

Anarchists?

By now they have been
smuggled to Vienna,

dressed as little girls
in organdy pinafores.

They are to greet the
czar of all the Russias

when he arrives at
the railway station.

They will be carrying
bouquets of flowers

and concealed in each bouquet

will be a bomb with a lit fuse.

You really think so?

Not at all.

The circus owner offers me
five pounds for my services.

That's not even a
pound a midget.

So obviously, he is
a stingy blighter and

the little chaps simply ran
off to join another circus.

It sounded so promising.

There are no great
crimes anymore, Watson.

The criminal class has
lost all enterprise

and originality.

At best, they commit
some bungling villainy

with a motive so transparent

that even a Scotland Yard
official could see through it.

Mrs. Hudson!

Yes? What is it?

What have I done now?

There is something
missing from my desk.

Missing?
Something very crucial.

What?
Dust.

You've been tidying up
against my explicit orders.

Look, I made sure I
hadn't disturbed anything.

Dust, Mrs. Hudson, is
an essential part

of my filing system.

By the thickness of it,

I can date any
document immediately.

Well, some of the
dust was this thick.

That would be...

March 1883.

How can you stand this?

Why don't you let me
air the room out?

Please, Mrs. Hudson,
he's working on a

definitive study
of tobacco ash.

I'm sure there is a
crying need for that.

In our endeavors, it
is sometimes vital

to distinguish between,
say, the ashes of

a Macedonian cigarette
and a Jamaican cigar.

So far he has classified 140
different kinds of ashes.

All of which will
wind up on my rug.

That will be enough, Mrs. Hudson.

All right,

if you gentlemen want
to stay and suffocate.

She is right. I am suffocating.

Let me open the window.

Not from lack of air.
From lack of activity.

Sitting here, week after
week, blowing smoke rings,

staring through a microscope.
There is no challenge in that.

Personally, I consider it
a major contribution

to scientific criminology.

How I envy you
your mind, Watson.

You do?

It is placid,
imperturbable, prosaic.

But my mind rebels
against stagnation.

It is like a racing engine
tearing itself to pieces

because it is not connected up with

the work for which it was built.

Holmes.

Holmes, where is
your self-control?

Fair question.

Aren't you ashamed of yourself?

Thoroughly...

but this will take care of it.

There was nothing I could do

when he went on one
of his cocaine binges

except hope and pray that
some interesting case

would come along to
snap him out of it.

Why are you being so
stubborn, Holmes?

Why won't you go?

It's the final performance of
the Imperial Russian Ballet.

The house has been
sold out for months.

Tickets are going
at a guinea apiece.

That's precisely it.

Why should someone
send us two free tickets?

Anonymously at that.

Well, whoever sent them
must be in great distress.

The note says...

"Please, you are the only man
in the world who can help me."

I suspect it is
some sort of plot.

You mean, somebody wants
to lure us into a trap?

Somebody wants to kill me.

Kill you?
That's right.

It's a plot to bore me to death.
I detest ballet.

But this isn't just any ballet.

It's "Swan Lake."

You know, of course, Holmes,

that swan isn't really a swan.

It's an enchanted princess.

Fabulous woman.

Don't you think so, Holmes?
Who?

The great Petrova.

Very strong arches,
I must admit.

They say twelve men
have died for her. Really:

Six committed suicide,

four were killed in duels,

and one fell out of the gallery

of the Vienna Opera House.

That's only eleven.

The man who fell
from the gallery

landed on top of another
man in the orchestra.

That makes an even dozen

in a messy sort of way.

Mr. Holmes.

Yes?

I am Nikolai Rogozhin

Director General of the
Imperial Russian Ballet.

So glad you accept invitation.

This is Dr. Watson.

Nice to meet you.

You're enjoying?

Immensely.

Tell me, Mr. Holmes...

how is your health?

My health?

Better consult my doctor.

He is in excellent shape.

Any insanity in your family?
Diabetes? Asthma?

Would you mind telling
me what this is all about?

Certainly.

Madame Petrova...

she has problem.

Can you be more specific?

Certainly not.

Liaison with a crowned head?

Compromising letters?
Blackmail?

After performance,

there will be little
celebration backstage

and Madame requests
your presence.

We'd be delighted.

You are invited also.

Ah, Mr. Holmes...

Madame is expecting you
in her dressing room.

Dr. Watson, you will amuse
yourself meanwhile.

We have vodka, caviar, girls.

No, thank you.
No girls?

No caviar. It makes
me break out in hives.

Doctor Watson.

Any of your girls
understand English?

Nyet!

Well now, not one single word?

Nyet!

In that case, I don't
mind telling you

that you all have
lovely pooh-poohs.

Mr. Holmes, I must prepare you.

This is not ordinary case.

It's only the extraordinary
that interests me.

Good.

Because you'll find this
extra-extraordinary.

Madame Petrova...

Mr. Sherlock Holmes...

may I present Madame Petrova.

Madame.

Madame says you are
shorter than she thought.

I didn't mean to be.

Short, tall, who cares?

It is the brains that count.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Baskervilles.

Madame is great
admirer of yours.

She has read every story.

Her favorite is...

"Big Dog from Baskervilles."

I'm afraid it loses
something in translation.

Nikolai...

Mr. Holmes, you
know about fiddles?

What is your opinion of this?

"Antonius Stradivarius,
Cremonensis..."

"Anno 1709."

Well, the label is authentic.

Judging from the shape,
the color of the varnish,

and the tone, I would say it
is a genuine Stradivarius

of the best period.

You like?

It is magnificent.

Nikolai...

Here. Take it.

Madame says it is yours.
Mine?

For services you will render.

My fees as a detective
are not exactly trifling,

but a Stradivarius...
you're not serious.

I am not, but Madame is.

All right...

I will pour vodka and explain.

Mr. Holmes...

what you have seen
tonight is last

and positively final
performance

of Madame Petrova.
She is retiring.

What a shame.

She is been dancing since
she was 3 years old.

And after all, she is now 38.

I must say she doesn't
look thirty-eight.

That is because she is 49.

So Madame has decided
to leave ballet

and spend life
bringing up her child.

How admirable.

Problem is how to find father.

Is he missing?
Correct.

And that's why
you've called me in.

Also correct.
We must have father.

Because without father,
how could there be child?

I see.

The whole thing is still
in the planning stage.

Correct again.

Madame would like child

to be brilliant and beautiful.

Since she is beautiful, she
needs man who is brilliant.

What's in it?
What does it taste like?

Red pepper.
That's what is in it.

I beg your pardon?

Madame would like to know
when you can be ready.

Ready?
To leave for Venice.

All the arrangements
have been made.

You will spend one week
there with Madame...

This is all very flattering,
but surely there are other men

better men.
To tell truth,

you were not the first choice.

We considered Russian
writer, Tolstoy.

That's more like it.
The man is a genius.

Too old.

Then we considered philosopher,
Nietzsche.

Well, absolutely first-rate mind.

Too German.

Then we considered Tchaikovsky.

You couldn't go wrong
with Tchaikovsky.

We could and we did.

It was catastrophe.

Why?

We don't know.

Because Tchaikovsky...

how shall I put it?

Women not his glass of tea.

Pity that.

Madame is very happy
with her final choice.

Madame must not be too hasty.

She must remember that
I am an Englishman. So?

You know what they say about us. If
there is one thing more deplorable

than our cooking,
it's our lovemaking.

We are not the most
romantic of people.

Perfect.

We don't want
sentimental idiots,

falling in love,
committing suicide.

One week in Venice
with Madame,

she goes back to St.
Petersburg with baby;

you go back to
London with fiddle.

An equitable arrangement.

About my medical history

when you asked me, I
neglected to mention

one small detail.

There is hemophilia
in my family.

We're all bleeders.

Madame says not to worry,
she will not scratch you.

Well, that's reassuring
to know, but there...

Madame says you
talk too much.

You find her attractive or no?

Well, I...
Excuse me.

What does "prokyzhynik" mean?

It means you little devil.

It does? I am? Thank you.

I repeat question.

You find Madame
attractive or no?

I find her most attractive...

for a woman, that is.

Then no problem.

Maybe a slight one.

You see, I am not a free man.

Not free?

But you are bachelor.

A bachelor living with
another bachelor

for the last five years.

Five very happy years.

What is it you are
trying to tell us?

Well, I hoped I could
avoid the subject,

but some of us, through a cruel

caprice of Mother Nature...

Get to point.

The point is that Tchaikovsky

is not an isolated case.

You mean you and Dr. Watson...

He is your glass of tea?

If you want to be
picturesque about it.

Tchaikovsky?

Believe me, Madame,
the loss is all mine.

But I would rather
disappoint you now

than disappoint you
in a gondola in Venice.

It would have been
catastrophe.

Watson.
Watson, are you coming?

What is it, old boy?
We're going home.

Home? Not a chance.

Not the slightest, not
the remotest chance.

Toodle-oo!

Good luck.

Just one moment.

What's going on?

What happened to the girls?

Why, do you not
prefer it this way?

What way?

You don't have to pretend.

Mr. Holmes told us everything...

about you and him.

About me and him?

Come on. No need to be bashful.

We are not bourgeois.

Maybe between doctors
and detectives

is unusual, but

in ballet, is very usual.

What is?

Caprice of Mother Nature.

Look, Cahvel and Misha,

Boris and Demitri,
and llya and Sergei.

Sergei half and half.

Holmes!

Holmes!

There you are.

You wretch! You rotter.

You blackguard!

Of all the vile,
unspeakable fabrications!

What do you have
to say for yourself?

Well, don't just sit there!

Speak up, man.

Holmes?

Are you all right, Holmes?

Holmes?

From the sound of
your footsteps,

I gathered that you were not in
a particularly amiable mood.

How... how could you

invent such a dastardly lie?

What the deuce were
you thinking of?

Watson, you have my
most abject apologies.

But have you ever been
cornered by a mad woman?

It seemed like the only
way to get out of it

without hurting her feelings.

And what about my feelings

and my reputation?

You realize the gravity
of what you've done,

the possible repercussions?

So there'll be a little gossip
about you in St. Petersburg.

These things spread
like wildfire.

I can just hear those
malicious whispers

behind my back.

I'll never be able to show
my face in polite society.

And if it ever got back
to my old regiment,

you don't know the Fifth
Northumberland Fusioneers.

They'll strike me off the rolls.

They'll cut off my pension.

Watson, you're running amuck.

Dishonored, disgraced,
ostracized...

What am I to do?

Well, for one thing, I'd
get rid of that flower.

You may think this is funny,

but we're both in
the same boat.

We must take desperate measures.

We must stop this talk!

Maybe if we got married.

Then they'd really talk.

Obviously, we cannot continue

to live under the same roof.

We must move apart.

Of course we

can still see each
other clandestinely

on remote benches
in Hyde Park

and in the waiting rooms

of suburban railway stations.

This whole thing is ridiculous.

We have nothing to hide.

That's what I've been
trying to tell you.

Let somebody start a
rumor, just one ugly word.

We'll sue them for slander.

No one would dare. After

all, you have an enviable
record with the fair sex.

Damn right.

I can get women from
three continents

to testify for me

and you can get women
to vouch for you too,

can't you, Holmes?

Can you, Holmes?

Good night, Watson.

Holmes.

Let me ask you a question.

I hope I'm not being
presumptuous,

but there have been
women in your life?

The answer is yes...

you're being presumptuous.

Good night.

Holmes.

What indeed was his
attitude towards women?

Was there some secret
he was holding back

or was he just a
thinking machine

incapable of any emotion?

I was not to get the answer

until we became involved
in what I considered to be

the most outrageous case
in all our years together.

Were you expecting someone?

Not at this hour.

Maybe Mrs. Hudson
is entertaining.

I never found her so.

I don't know nothing about it.

Then I'd like to
speak to the master.

Well, I think he is in bed.
It is important.

What is it, Mrs. Hudson?

There is a cabby here, says
you owe him two and six.

For what?

For the fare, guvnor.

The young lady don't
have no money.

What young lady?

This one.

Well, what have we here?

Who are you, miss?

What happened to you?

I don't know.

That's all she keeps saying:

"I don't know. I don't know."

Where did she come from?

From the river.

I was driving down
the embankment

just below Westminster Bridge

and there she was in
the water, drowning.

Wasn't easy, governor...

what with the cold water
and her fighting me.

Why did you bring her here?

Because I found
this in her hand.

"221-B Baker Street."

That's right, isn't it?

Young lady, what did you
want at this address?

I do not remember.

Rather perplexing,
wouldn't you say?

Rather.

Well, gentlemen,

you want her, it is two and six.

Or shall I throw her
back in the river?

Mr. Holmes, you
can't let him do that.

Watson, you better accept delivery.

Keep the change.

Thank you, guvnor.

No extra charge for the
use of the horse blanket.

You're shivering, my dear.
Come along! Let me get

you out of those wet clothes.

Sit here, my dear.

She is suffering from
shock and exposure.

There was some printing
on the back of this,

but it seems to have
come off in the water.

Look at this.

She is had a nasty
blow on the head.

Could she have hit her
head when she fell or

jumped into the river?

No. The blood had
already coagulated.

So, it would appear that
she was the victim

of a deliberate attack.

Get my bag, will you?

Who are you?

I'm Dr. Watson...

and this is Sherlock Holmes.

Do the names mean
anything to you?

No.

Think.

I'm trying.

Can you think of your own name?

No.

She is obviously had
a concussion...

which often leads to
temporary amnesia.

So, all we know is

that she was coshed on the head,
dumped into the Thames,

and subsequently
dumped into our laps.

We know a lot more than that.

From her accent, we
know she is foreign.

From her ring, we
know she is married.

There is one other clue
we have. Namely?

Something I deduced

when I was helping
her up the stairs.

No corset.

Good work.

Are you French?

How can she say she is
not French in French?

Bruxelles.

Oh, dash!

Will someone remove
this violin, please?

We just found out she is Belgian.

Poor thing.
From Brussels.

If you don't mind.

Is your name Gabrielle?

Gabrielle?

I don't know.

And your husband's
name is Emile?

Emile.
Where is he?

What are you doing in London?

I don't know.

When did you arrive
from Brussels?

Where are you staying?

I don't know!

What happened at the river?

Think!

That's enough, Holmes.

I will not permit you

to question her in
this condition.

Here, Mrs. Hudson.

Put her to bed, my bed.

I'll sleep on the couch.

Come on.

I better give her a
sleeping draught.

Watson, I think we should arrange
to have her removed to a hospital.

Under no circumstances.
She should have medical attention.

She can get that from me

but more important,
she must be protected.

There is already been
one attempt on her life.

This temporary amnesia,
how temporary is it?

It depends on the
extent of her injury.

It's like veils shrouding
her memory.

It could clear up
in a few days

or a few weeks.

Watson, this is a
very small flat.

We don't want to clutter
it up with women.

Holmes, we've never
had a case like this.

A woman comes to
us with a problem.

We don't know who the woman is.
We don't know what the problem is.

Don't you find that challenging?
Quite...

but we can't afford to
wait for these veils to lift.

We must break through
them as quickly as possible.

You really feel
it's that urgent?

I do.

The sooner we solve the case,

the sooner we can
get rid of her.

Emile?

Emile.

Emile.

Is that you, Emile?

Yes, Gabrielle.

Oh, Emile.

I thought I would
never find you.

Emile. Hold me tight.

It's been such a long time...

so many nights.

Do you know what I did
before I left Brussels?

What?

I hope you're not going
to be angry with me.

I bought myself an
expensive negligee.

Did you?

A pink negligee with
marabou feathers.

Don't you think it is
a little bit foolish

for a married woman?

Come on.

Where is the negligee?

In my luggage. Come here.

And where is your luggage?

I don't know.

Come, Emile. Come,
come here.

Please, please. Come here.

What is it, Emile?

What are you doing?

Dr. Watson.

Porridge is getting lumpy.

Hadn't you better get up?

I would like to
very much, but...

Mrs. Hudson, would you mind

planting your knee in
the small of my back?

Yes, I would.

Please. I'm in
excruciating pain.

A bit higher,

just below my seventh vertebra.

That's good. Put your
arms under mine.

Now fold them behind my neck.

Now give it a good snap.

No. No. Show no mercy.
Bear down on me.

Bless you.

That darn couch.

You better see if
our patient is awake.

Dr. Watson...

she is gone.

Gone?

Holmes! Holmes.

She is gone.

Well, I never.

I smell porridge.

Lumpy as usual, I suppose.

There you are, Holmes.
We were just wondering how...

We certainly were.

Mrs. Hudson, why don't you

go down to the kitchen,
get a towel, and wipe

that look of disapproval
off your face?

Liberties in my house.

You can't really blame her.

I mean, the way it looks.

If I didn't know you better,

I might suspect you'd taken
advantage of the young lady.

As a matter of fact, I did
take advantage of her.

Would you hand me the
butter knife, please? Of course.

You did what?

Thank you.

Holmes, this is reprehensible.

Where are your
professional ethics?

Have you no sense of
decency, no shame?

None whatsoever.
If you must know,

I found her body
quite rewarding.

You cad!

Especially the palm
of her right hand.

I'd rather not hear about it.

Very well. Then I
won't bother

to tell you how I
traced her suitcase.

That's her suitcase?

Remember that piece
of soggy cardboard...

with our address on it?

It was a luggage ticket.

The number had rubbed
off on her hand.

And since she must've
arrived from Brussels

by the boat train, I
concluded that she had

checked her belongings
at Victoria Station.

By Jove, if you're right,

we should find a clue
to her identity.

Or at least a pink negligee
with marabou feathers.

Voila.

Well, let's see. What
else is in here?

Now we're getting somewhere.

Who do you suppose this is?

Good morning, Madame Valladon.

You are Gabrielle Valladon?

Yes.

And this is your husband
Emile Valladon.

Yes.

Sorry to have ransacked
your valise,

but since you came
to us for help...

Where am I?

221-B Baker Street.

Oh, yes.

Which one of you is
Sherlock Holmes

and which is Dr. Watson?

Dr. Watson is the handsome one.

That's the way he
affects most women.

Coffee. You want
some strong coffee.

It's all so confusing.

Well, let's try to sort it out.

You came to London looking
for your husband, right?

Yes.

He is a mining engineer.

We were married 5
years ago in the Congo.

Where your husband was
working in a copper mine.

How did you know?

Your wedding ring,
it's made of copper.

Last year, he invented a
new kind of air pump

and was hired by an English
company, Jonah Limited.

Here we are.

Jonah Limited. Go on.

We've been writing to
each other regularly,

then suddenly

3 weeks ago,
his letters stopped.

I kept on writing,
but no answer.

So, finally I decided
to go to that address.

"32 Ashdown Street."

Yes. It's just an empty store...

nobody there.

So, I tried to find
Jonah, Limited.

No such company exists.

How decidedly odd.

Madame Valladon, can
you think of any reason

why your husband
should've lied to you

about these things?

Emile? Never.

He loves me and I love him.

I gathered that much.

I went to the police.
They said they would

send out a missing
person report

but they didn't sound
too encouraging.

Then I went to the
Belgian embassy.

They suggested I
should consult you.

You could've done worse.

I was on my way here.

Then suddenly there were
footsteps behind me

and a hand over my mouth,

and a smell of chloroform.
And the next thing I knew

I was in the water.

And then a man was
wrapping me in a blanket.

Madame Valladon,

somebody tried to
kill you last night.

Do you have any idea
who could've done it?

I don't understand any of it.

What does it all mean, Mr. Holmes?

Where is my husband?

You must help me find him.

We'll do our best, I assure you.

Madame Valladon, I
want you to send

one more letter to your husband.

To Emile Valladon...

Ashdown Street.
What was that number?

Thirty-two.

What do you want me
to say in the letter?

Nothing.
Nothing?

Holmes,

you're sending an empty
sheet of paper

to an empty shop?

That empty shop is
obviously being used

as an accommodation
address or letter drop.

But what gets dropped
must be picked up.

The question is how
and by whom

and why?

Hammer.

Chisel.

Here.

It's so strange to think

I've been writing to a place
like this all these months.

Look. Canaries.

Suppose this could've
been a pet shop?

Maybe.

Here comes our letter.

Well, now we are faced with...

the most nerve-racking
part of a detective's job,

doing nothing, just waiting.

Mr. Holmes?

I don't know how I'm
going to pay for all this.

The purse with my money in it

is somewhere at the bottom of
the Thames. It could be worse.

You could be at the
bottom of the Thames

much to your discomfort
and much to my chagrin.

I don't understand how
anybody picks up letters here.

There is no footprints,
just tracks.

What does it mean?

I would surmise somebody
was using ice skates

if it weren't for a
conspicuous absence of ice.

What do we do now?

This way.

Good morning, my pretties.

Here is Mum with your breakfast.

You think I'd forgotten you?

Some of you will be going
on a little trip soon.

I hate to lose you

but even an old
woman's got to live.

Though you might well ask why.

You never told me.
We have a letter.

Got it?
Yeah. All right.

Come on, you old body.

Right. I'll be taking them.

Morning, duchess.

Good morning.

What have you been
doing with yourself?

What do you think?

Taking dancing lessons.

How many do you want this time?

Two dozen.

What are you doing with
all those canaries?

What's going on up there?

Now, duchess, we don't know,
and we don't want to know.

When you work for Jonah,

it's better not
to ask questions.

Come on.

Six, eight, ten... get in there.

Fourteen, seventeen...
in you go.

Twenty, twenty-four.

How about that letter?
Does that go too?

No. This is going to be
picked up in person.

Go on.

Right, you got it?

Wait.

All right. Up.

All right, my pretties.

Back to sleep you go.

I really thought
we were done for.

The art of concealment,
my dear Watson,

is merely a matter of
being in the right place

at the right time.

Did you hear what she said?

You really think Emile
is going to pick up

the letter himself?

It certainly would simplify
things, wouldn't it?

Letter drops, wheelchairs, canaries?

And what was all
that about Jonah?

And what do you suppose
they're doing up there?

And where is up there?

My guess would be Scotland...
Inverness, to be more precise.

Inverness?

Didn't you notice the paper
at the bottom of their cage?

"The Inverness Courier."

Mr. Holmes, this letter.

What about it?

It is addressed to you.

To me?

But that's impossible.
We sent it ourselves.

Nevertheless.

"My dear Sherlock,"

"I expect you and Dr. Watson
to join me at the club"

"immediately upon
receipt of this note."

"According to my calculations,"

"that should be at 11:40 A. M."

"Your brother Mycroft."

What time do you
make it, Watson?

11:43.

Either your watch is wrong or
Mycroft has miscalculated

and knowing Mycroft, I suggest
you reset your watch.

Right.

Holmes...

I don't mind telling you

I'm a bit apprehensive
about this.

I'm rather curious myself
to know what's going on

in that Machiavellian mind of his.

No. I don't mean Mycroft.
I mean Madame Valladon.

Don't worry. She'll be perfectly
safe with Mrs. Hudson.

To see Mr. Mycroft Holmes.

Right you are, sir.

He is expecting you
in the upstairs study.

Now, if you gentlemen
will sign in.

Surname, Christian name,
address, nature of business.

Gentlemen!

Jamaican, no doubt.

Either Tropical or Golacina.
I'm not quite sure.

Come in.

Come in, Sherlock, Dr. Watson.

Sit down.

You're looking very
fit, both of you.

Thank you.

How are you, Mycroft?
How is your gout?

Under control, except for
an occasional twinge.

I've got a treat for you...
very old Madeira, 1814.

There are only six bottles
left in the world.

I've got two of them and
I'm negotiating for a third.

If you don't mind
my saying so,

anybody who's susceptible
to gout shouldn't be...

The last doctor who
warned me about that

was crossing Picadilly,
slipped on an orange peel,

and was run over by
a delivery van

from Fortnum and Mason.

To your very good health.

Why are you wasting this
precious stuff on us?

I see you so rarely.
How long has it been?

Not since the case of
the Greek interpreter.

Isn't it ridiculous?

Two brothers, living
in the same town.

Same town, perhaps, but
not in the same world.

This is superb.

How old did you say it was?

1814. One year before Waterloo.

One year before Waterloo.

Think of that!

You do know where Waterloo
is, don't you, Doctor?

Why, it's...

It's in Belgium, isn't it?

Quite.

And speaking of Belgium,

it has come to my attention

that you are interested
in the whereabouts

of a certain engineer.

Yes, I am.

Well, I can save you
a lot of trouble.

I'd be grateful for
any suggestion.

My suggestion is that
you pursue it no further.

For any particular reason?

Because it involves
the national security.

We are handling the
matter ourselves.

We? Who is we?

The Diogenes Club, of course.
I didn't say that.

I've always suspected

there was some kind of
underground connection

between this stodgy

and seemingly calcified
establishment

and the Foreign
Office in Whitehall.

That is neither here nor there.

It seems to me the Diogenes Club
is here, there and everywhere.

When there are rumblings
of revolt in the Sudan,

an expedition subsidized
by your club

conveniently shows up to
study the source of the Nile.

When there is trouble
along the Indian frontier,

some of your fellow members
pop up in the Himalayas,

allegedly looking for the
Abominable Snowman.

What a vivid imagination
my brother has.

At the age of five,

by carefully observing
a neighbor's house,

he deduced that babies
were brought

not by the stork but
by the midwife

in her satchel.

As good an explanation as any.

Yes, Wiggins?

An immediate answer
is requested, sir.

Oh, yes.

Tell them that the 3
boxes go to Glennahurich

and the red runner
goes to the castle.

The 3 boxes to Glennahurich.

The red runner to the
castle. Very good, sir.

Why don't you crumple
it up and swallow it

just to make sure?

My dear Sherlock, there
are certain affairs

that do not come
within the province

of the private detective.

They have to be dealt with

on an altogether different level.

In other words,

you want me to stay
within my limits.

I do indeed.

And speaking of limits,

what exactly is
"Jonah, Limited"?

Sherlock, when I said
drop this case,

it was not merely a suggestion.

It was an order.

By whose authority?

By the authority of Her
Majesty's government.

I hope I have made myself clear.

Perfectly.

And now if you'll
excuse me, gentlemen.

Good-bye, sir.

A pleasure as always.

Just a minute.

You forgot your "tool kit."

You will be gentle, won't you,

when you tell her you're
dropping the case?

Watson, what does the
word Glennahurich

suggest to you?
Absolutely nothing.

It's Scottish.
Is it?

And like all Scottish names,
it's really a word picture.

Glen means "valley,"
na means "of the",

and hurich, if
memory serves me,

means "yew tree."

You're just trying
to impress me.

So the 3 boxes go to the
valley of the yew tree.

And I'll be in Scotland before...

You are dropping the case,
aren't you, Holmes?

Open that door.

Don't shoot, Mrs. Hudson.

You're liable to lose
two excellent tenants.

Oh, at last.

It's been a ghastly experience.

Why? What happened?

Did you ever try
doing embroidery

with a gun in your hand?

You'll be relieved to
know it was not loaded.

Holmes, are you planning to
disobey Mycroft's orders?

He is not just your
brother, you know.

You'll be defying Her
Majesty's government.

Any news? Did you
find out anything?

Let's just say I know what
the next step will be.

Yes? I want you to
pack your things.

Where are we going?

Holmes, let me caution you...

At 7:30 this evening,
Dr. Watson and I

are going to take you
to Victoria Station

and put you on the boat train.

The boat train?
That's better.

You're sending me
back to Brussels,

is that it? Madame Valladon,
you must understand...

I came here to find my husband.

You were going to help me.

Yes, my dear, but
circumstances have changed.

The great detective.

Maybe this case is
too small for you.

On the contrary, it's being

handled on a much higher...

I won't go back to Brussels.

Maybe you're giving
up, but I am not.

I'm going to go on
looking for him

and nobody is
going to stop me.

Even if they try to kill me.

Are you quite finished?

If you recall, what
I said was we

were going to put
you on the boat train.

I didn't say you were going
to stay on it. She is not?

At 7:30, Mr. Holmes
and Dr. Watson will

be seen waving good-bye
to Madame Valladon at

Victoria Station.

At 8:12, Mr. and Mrs. Ashdown

accompanied by their
valet, John,

will appear at Euston Station

and board the Highland
Express to Inverness.

Mister and missis.

Thank you.

I'm sorry for what I said.

That's not necessary.

I'll go and pack.

Maybe I should do it
since I'm the valet.

Holmes, exactly
what are you up to?

As you like to put it
in your chronicles,

the game is afoot.
But what game?

Are you really that interested
in the Belgian engineer?

Or is it the wife of
the Belgian engineer?

You don't like me
very much, do you?

Nothing of the sort.
Quite the opposite...

but there is more to this
case than meets the eye.

Looking for something?

Yes. My other glove.

Let me help you.

Here it is.

Thank you.

All right. You can look now.

Am I embarrassing you,
Mr. Holmes?

Not at all. Would
it surprise you

if I told you I once spent
a night with 121 women?

A very interesting case in
a harem in Constantinople.

I'm sorry, Father.

I mean, Friar. Or is it Abbot?

Going to Scotland,
you gentlemen?

So are we.

I'm a valet.

My master and mistress and I
are on our way to Inverness.

Ever been there?
Beautiful country.

Forgive me.

You must be one of those orders
that's taken the vow of silence?

Trappists, I think
you're called.

I see you're reading
"The Book of Jonah."

Funny. We were just talking
about Jonah this morning.

Never mind.

"Women are never to
be entirely trusted,

"not the best of them."

What did you say?
I didn't say it.

You did, according
to Dr. Watson.

He gave me some old copies
of "Strand Magazine."

The good doctor is constantly
putting words into my mouth.

Then you deny it.

Not at all.

I am not a wholehearted
admirer of womankind.

I'm not very fond
of them myself.

The most affectionate woman I
ever knew was a murderess.

It was one of those
passionate affairs

at odd hours right
in my laboratory.

And all the time,
behind my back,

she was stealing cyanide

to sprinkle on her husband's
steak and kidney pie.

You mustn't judge
all women by...

Of course not.

Only the ones I was
involved with

and I don't just
mean professionally.

Kleptomaniacs, nymphomaniacs,
pyromaniacs...

Take my fiancee, for instance.

Your fiancee?

She was the daughter
of my violin teacher.

We were engaged to be married,
the invitations were out.

I was being fitted
for a tailcoat

and twenty-four hours
before the wedding,

she died of influenza.

I'm sorry.

It just proves my contention
that women are unreliable...

and not to be trusted.

Good night, Mrs. Ashdown.

Good night, Mr. Ashdown.

I will take that.

Let's see now. One,
two, three, four, five.

How do you get to Glennahurich?

How far is it?

Glennahurich...

You know, a valley
with a yew tree.

It's about a mile
out of the town.

Why do you want
to go there?

Well, it sounds like a nice,
peaceful place for a picnic.

It's a peaceful place,
right enough

but it's no place for a picnic.
Why not?

Because it's a cemetery.

The three boxes.
Is that it, Holmes?

I would think so.

The two small ones. They
must be children's coffins.

Earth to earth, ashes
to ashes, dust to dust.

In sure and certain hope

of the Resurrection
to eternal life

through our Lord Jesus Christ.

The grace of our
Lord Jesus Christ

and the love of God

and the Communion
of the Holy Spirit

be with us all.

Amen.

It's so sad.

Sad and rather odd.

There were no flowers
and no mourners.

Good morning.

Morning.

Working you hard, dad?

No, not really.

You see, this is
healthy country.

Sometimes, you sit around
for weeks with nothing to do.

Then you get three in one day.

What happened?
An accident, aye.

A father and two sons,
they say.

They were found
floating in the loch.

Local people?

No. No one around
here knows them.

The story is their boat
capsized in a swell,

but I don't believe it.

What do you believe?

Well, you may think
I'm an old fool

an old drunk, but

I've been living around
Loch Ness all me life.

Are you trying to tell
us it was the monster?

Damn right.

MacLaren saw the kids' faces

when they were pulled
out of the water.

Looked just like old men.

They must've died of fright.
That's incredible.

Is it?

Last Easter Sunday,
the wife and me

on our way to services,
when suddenly...

Ah, what's the use?

Here you are, dad.

Thank you. Thank you.

You seem like nice people.

If you're wanting a
holiday in Scotland,

go to Loch Lomond,
go to Holy Loch,

but stay away from Loch Ness.

To think that people still
believe in that nonsense.

I mean, here we are, living
in the nineteenth century.

I'm ashamed to admit it,
but I was relieved

when he mentioned a
father and two boys.

It couldn't have anything
to do with Emile.

It would appear not.

However, there still remains
the clue of the castle

and the red runner,
whoever he may be.

If they're unidentified graves,

why are those boys
bringing flowers?

Because it's their brothers
who have just been buried.

Their brothers?
And they're not boys.

They're as tall as
they'll ever grow.

Hand me some pebbles.

Pebbles?

Take a look at their faces.

They are... how do you
call them in English?

Midgets.

Boys with the faces of old men.

I still don't see...

Would it help if I told
you they were acrobats?

Not at all.

Do you remember
a tumbling act,

6 brothers missing
from the circus?

That case you turned down.

I completely forgot.

Some of us are cursed with
memories like flypaper

and stuck there is a
staggering amount

of miscellaneous data,
mostly useless.

Mr. Holmes, if those
are not children, then...

Quite.

The question now is, who
is in the third grave?

Holmes! She is fainted.

Hand me that lantern.

It is Valladon, isn't it?

Obviously but what
is not so obvious

is why his wedding ring
has turned green.

And why there are 3
dead canaries in the coffin.

White canaries.

You've a lovely view
of the loch from here

as soon as the morning
mist rolls away.

If you have a mind to
do any sightseeing,

here is a guide to all the
local points of interest.

Thank you.

This way, please. I'll
show you to your room.

I suppose you're putting
me in the basement.

No, your room's in the attic.

Good.

It's the privy that's
in the basement.

May I have your
wedding ring, please?

Just as I thought,

there is a distinct
difference in color

between your ring
and your husband's

which leads me to believe
that the cause of death

was not drowning.

I wish you would stop that.

Stop it!

If we are to continue,
if we are to find out

what really happened
to your husband,

you cannot act the
grief-stricken widow.

I'm... I'm... sorry.

I know it's not easy, but
you must remember

we're that nice
couple from London

on holiday in the Highlands.

I'll try.

That's much better.

Thank you.

Now, if I may proceed without
further interruptions.

Mr. Ashdown!

Holmes, I saw it.

I saw it from the attic window.
It's out there in the lake.

You saw what?
Telescope!

Where is the telescope?

What did you see?

The monster.

The monster?

There... there it is.

Look for yourself.

There it is there. There, there.

See it?

There. See it?

I see nothing.

Nothing?

It's gone.

Gone? Maybe it was never there.

Holmes, I swear to you, I
saw it as clear as anything.

Watson, as you so
succinctly put it,

we are living in the
nineteenth century.

Maybe that grave
digger was right;

the swell and the
boat overturning.

Monsieur Valladon may have
been found in the lake,

but he did not drown.

He died of asphyxiation.

Asphyxiation?
There is only one substance

that can turn a copper ring green

and bleach the color out
of canaries... chlorine gas.

Well, that may be, but
the fact remains

that I saw something out there.

A figment of your imagination.

Now let us be logical.

The only concrete lead we have
is the reference to the castle.

The question is... which castle?

You call yourself logical?

You're the least
logical man I know.

Am I?

How can you say it's a
figment of my imagination

when for years you've
been saying

I have no imagination whatsoever?

We have so far investigated
8 drafty castles,

had our bicycles
attacked by sheep,

and our ears assaulted
by bagpipes,

and we are exactly
where we started.

Would you like some more
cranberry sauce, dear?

Yes, dear.

Would you pass the
cranberry sauce, John?

Yes, dear.

I say there.

Good afternoon. Remember me?

There is some chaps
I met on the train.

We had a long conversation,
or rather

I had a long conversation

because they are
not allowed to talk.

Trappists, you know?
Just study their bibles.

You'll never guess

what the one next to
me was reading;

"The Book of Jonah."
Isn't that odd?

Quite.

What is it, dear?
What's the matter?

Oh, a bee.

Well, I don't think we have
to bother with this castle.

It's just a pile of rubble.

Then why are they taking
all these precautions?

Why indeed?

Let's go.
Go where?

When rebuffed at the front door,

one's only choice is to try
the tradesman's entrance.

Sorry. No visitors allowed.

Are you the guide here?

Yes, but the castle is
closed to the public

while work is going on.

What are they doing?

It's being restored by the Society

for the Preservation
of Scottish Monuments.

That's too bad.

I particularly wanted my
wife to see Urquhart Castle.

The tower is one of the
most interesting examples

of medieval architecture.

About 1400, wasn't it?

That's right.

Let me see, was it built
by James ll or James III?

The III, but if you'd like
to come back next year,

we'll be finished then and I'll
be glad to show you around.

Thank you.

Pleasant sort, isn't he?
Pleasant, but ignorant.

He was off one hundred
years and one James.

It's actually 1500 and James IV.

If he is an official guide,
shouldn't he know?

If he is an official guide.

Listen, do you hear
anything, Watson?

No. Those birds are making
too much of a racket.

They're not just birds.

They're our old friends.

Sulfuric acid.

The more we find out,
the less sense it makes.

To a graduate chemist, it
makes a great deal of sense.

Sulfuric acid when
exposed to salt water,

produces chlorine gas.

John, would you mind
clasping your hands, please?

Like that?

No, like that. Lower.

Thank you.

That tower may be more
interesting than I thought

and not just architecturally.

Holmes, I have a feeling
we're redundant here.

We have now observed the castle

from the front, from the back,

from the side, from
land, from water.

What now? Planning to
spend the night out here?

If necessary.

You're gonna catch your
death of cold, you know.

Wouldn't it be ironic
if Holmes' last case

were a case of pneumonia?

Sorry.

What's that?

Holmes!

There is... a...

Quick, Watson! After it.

Holmes, what are we doing?

We should be going away from it.

Keep rowing, damn it.

We've lost it.

At least you admit
there is an it,

not just a figment
of my imagination.

Quiet!

Do you have your
stethoscope with you?

Never without it.

What is it?

I can hear something.

It's getting closer...

and closer...

Holmes!

Get back! Get back!

Get back... you beast...

Are you all right?

I lost my parasol.

Where is Watson?

Watson!

Thank you.

I have come face to face
with man-eating tigers.

I was once caught in a stampede

of wild elephants...
India, you know.

But I wasn't half as frightened.

This beast seems to have a
personal grudge against us!

Well, I just hope it
doesn't come back.

I don't think it will.

Look.

What strange goings-on.

Not really.

I would say that the monster
after a hard day's work,

has returned home for his supper.

Yes, I know.

But would you believe
you can't borrow

a decent pair of trousers in this place?

All right, Holmes.
Want to confide in us?

Whenever he starts whistling,

I know he is getting
close to a solution.

It's nothing new actually.

We've come across
this situation before.

We have? Where?

At the ballet.
Ballet?

There is a lake and
there is a castle,

and there is a swan that isn't
really a swan or in this case

a monster that isn't
really a monster.

Then what is it?

What is it indeed that
feeds on canary birds

and sulfuric acid and has
an engine for a heart?

An engine?

The stethoscope is a very
sensitive instrument

and water is an excellent
conductor of sound.

There is no doubt that
we are dealing with

a mechanical monster.

Not only is it equipped
with an artificial heart,

it also has artificial lungs.

Judging from the bubbles
on the surface of the lake,

it uses some form of air pump.

You think my husband
was involved in all this?

Yes, Madame Valladon,
I'm sure of it.

But why would anybody want
to build a mechanical monster?

Just to scare people?

Not very likely.

Why did they try to keep me
from finding my husband?

And why was he
buried anonymously?

I think I have a
pretty good notion

of what they're up to...

the Society for the Preservation
of Scottish Monuments,

better known as the Diogenes Club.

Diogenes Club?

Come in.

Mr. Ashdown, I have a bottle
of champagne for you.

A bottle of champagne.

I didn't order it.

No, indeed. You are to deliver it.

Those are my instructions.

Instructions from whom?
Deliver it where?

I wouldn't know, sir,

but there is a carriage
waiting for you downstairs.

Are you sure you've got
the right Mr. Ashdown?

Quite sure, Mr. Holmes.

Well, Watson...

I would say the curtain is
going up on the last act.

I don't like the sound of it.

Please be careful.

Holmes, you'd better
take this with you.

Well, who is minding the castle?

You'd better get on.
It's getting late.

Where are we going?
Some sort of party?

You won't be disappointed
in the guest list.

Who is the host?

Jonah.

Mr. Ashdown, I presume?

The red runner, I presume.

You shouldn't have gone to
all this trouble just for me.

It's not for you. McKennah?

May I have the champagne, please?

1886.

Not a very good vintage, is it?

Mediocre, but then again,
it's not for drinking.

Tie it up, will you?

In here.

Interesting and educational.

Despite my most emphatic warning,

you persisted in meddling.

It would have served you
right if you had all drowned.

Sorry to be so unobliging.

"E. Valladon."

I imagine that this belongs
to the pretty lady

and this belongs to your valet.

We found them floating in the lake.

Speaking about things
floating in the lake...

How much do you know?
Or think you know?

I think you're testing some
sort of underwater craft,

camouflaged to mislead the gullible.

I think it's an experimental model

operated by a crew of midgets.

I think it is powered by
sulfuric acid batteries

and uses canaries to
detect escaping gas.

Altogether, a unique contraption.

Not quite that unique.

Right now, 4 countries
are trying to develop

what we call a submersible,

but none of them could
solve the critical problem

how to stay submerged long
enough to make it effective.

What does the good book say?

"And Jonah lived in the
belly of that fish"

"for 3 days and 3 nights."

That was our goal

and thanks to Valladon's air pump,

we got a jump on
the rest of them.

It's a highly complex
system of filtration

so we had a series of trials...

And at least one error.

During a test run in
the Moray Firth,

pressure caused a leak in the hull,

sea water mixed with the
acid in the batteries

to produce chlorine gas.

Before they could reach the surface,

Valladon and two of
the crew were dead.

So you had them buried
in unmarked graves

to preserve your secret.
It was essential

to keep the information
from your client.

You went to all those lengths

to prevent Madame Valladon
from finding her husband?

Your client isn't Madame Valladon.

It's the Imperial
German Government.

They were after the
Belgian engineer

or rather his invention.

They knew he was employed by us
but they couldn't find out where.

So they enlisted the best
brain in England to help them.

You, my dear brother,

have been working for
the Wilhelm Strasse.

And Madame Valladon...

what part did she
play in all of this?

Madame Valladon is dead.

Dead?

The Germans disposed of her
3 weeks ago in Brussels.

This is Gabrielle Valladon.

The woman who was
brought to your house

in the middle of the night,

apparently fished out of the Thames

and apparently suffering
from amnesia

is in fact llsa von Hoffmanstal,

one of their most skillful agents.

Am I going too fast for the
best brain in England?

Go on.

They planted her on you
quite neatly, I must admit

so that you could lead them...
to their objective, the air pump.

Very much like using
a hog to find truffles.

And now perhaps you'd
care to join me.

I'm expecting a certain royal
personage from Balmoral.

Your Majesty.

I trust you had a
pleasant journey, ma'am.

It was long and it was tedious,

and it had better be worth
our while, Mr. Holmes.

I can assure you,
ma'am, it will be.

Now, what is this curious ship
we are supposed to christen?

We call it a submersible, ma'am.
It travels under water.

Under water?
What a fantastic idea!

Ma'am, may I present
some of the scientists...

responsible for this achievement?

J. W. Ferguson, naval architect.

Your Majesty.

Professor Simson, our
leading expert in hydraulics.

Your Majesty.

W. W. Prescott, co-inventor
of the revolving periscope.

Your Majesty.

And this is my brother
Sherlock, ma'am.

Ah, yes! Sherlock Holmes.

We have been following your exploits

with great interest.

Thank you, ma'am.

Are you engaged in one of your
fascinating cases at the moment?

In a manner of speaking, ma'am.
When can we expect to read

Dr. Watson's account of the case?
I hope never, ma'am.

It has not been one of my
more successful endeavors.

There she is, ma'am,
Her Majesty's Ship Jonah.

And what, may we ask

is the purpose of that
hideous gargoyle?

Merely a decoy, ma'am.

To frighten away the
sharks, we imagine.

Something of the sort.

The crew will now demonstrate
the workings of the submersible.

Stand to!

Aren't they rather
small for sailors?

They are, ma'am, but because
of the size of the craft,

the Navy made an exception.

They should make it a rule.

It is quite fatiguing to
pin on all those medals

while standing on our toes.

This is the main engine which
propels us under water

at the rate of two knots.

The reciprocating
stabilizer mechanism,

the high-voltage acid batteries,

the multi-stage compressor,
ballast tank trimmer,

the air pump which filters
and recirculates the air.

How charming.

The air pump, ma'am?

Canaries! Must make
the crew feel at home.

Yes, ma'am.

These are for firing the torpedoes

which are accurate up
to as much as 120 feet.

The telescope for scanning
the surface of the water...

But where is the glass bottom?

The what, ma'am?

The glass bottom.

You know to observe the fish.

And the plants and the cockles.

That's not quite the idea, ma'am.

H. M. S. Jonah has been
commissioned as a warship.

A warship?

Stop that noise.

Stop it!

Ma'am, if I may explain...

You had better.

The admiralty regards this craft

as the ultimate weapon
in naval warfare.

It can seek out enemy ships

and destroy them with
those torpedoes

while remaining completely invisible.

You mean it can fire
at other vessels

while under water?

Yes, ma'am.
Without any warning?

That is correct, ma'am.
Without showing her colors?

Indeed, ma'am.

Mr. Holmes, we are not amused.

It is unsportsmanlike,
it is un-English

and it is in very poor taste.

We will have none of it.

I beg your pardon, ma'am.

Sometimes we despair
at the state of the world.

What will scientists think of next?

That's precisely it, ma'am.
At this very moment,

the Germans under
Count von Zeppelin

are experimenting with a dirigible.

A dirigible? And
what pray is that?

A rigid balloon which
could fly over London

and drop a bomb on
Buckingham Palace.

It is being developed
at the express orders

of Kaiser Wilhelm ll.

Nonsense! We refuse to believe
that our grandson Willie

would do a thing like that.

We have conclusive proof, ma'am.

Our agent in Friedrichshafen,
a man named Ibidson

actually saw the dirigible
and made a drawing of it.

Unfortunately, he was apprehended

before he could cross the border.

Nevertheless, we want no
part of this beastly invention.

Get rid of it! Scuttle it.

The sooner the better.

May I point out, ma'am...

And do not concern yourself

about that dirigible
dropping bombs on us.

We shall write a very
sharp note to the Kaiser.

Now we wish to return to Balmoral.

Well, Mycroft,

it seems we have both
been undone by a woman.

What a shame! All that
superb engineering

and all that cunning
espionage for naught.

Not necessarily.

If the Germans want that
submersible so badly,

why don't we give it to them?

Give it to them?

Invite them aboard
for the final journey,

700 feet straight down.

And how are you going
to arrange that?

I'm rather counting
on you to do it

since you're on such
intimate terms

with Fraulein von Hoffmanstal.

Shall we say good-bye
to Her Majesty?

Sorry about that, but
as long as you're up,

what is the German word for castle?

Schlos, isn't it?

I think so.

And how would you say
"under the castle"?

Unten das schlos...
or die schlos?

I don't know. My German
is not that good.

Your Trappist friends

are waiting outside
to hear from you.

It's a chilly morning. We
don't want to keep them

standing around too long, do we?

Fraulein Hoffmanstal.

Come now, it's too late
to play cat and mouse.

Unten dem schlos.

Thank you.

Here is your signaling device.

It's rather bent, I'm afraid.

Would you care to tell them

where they can find the submersible?

No?

Then I shall just
have to do it myself.

I only hope my Morse code
is adequate to the occasion.

Well, it's up to the good monks now.

You can consider your part of
the mission accomplished,

Fraulein Hoffmanstal.

You're all wrong about me.
My name is not Hoffmanstal.

It isn't?
It's von Hoffmanstal.

I stand corrected.

I suppose once they
are in the castle...

Must amuse you, Mr. Holmes,
Trappists walking into a trap?

It's more amusing than that.

Once in the castle,
they will encounter

surprisingly little resistance.

It will take but a small
bottle of chloroform

to overcome the guards.

You mean you're going to
let them have the air pump?

Better than that. We're going to
let them have the submersible.

They will find it with its
engines running all set to go.

I assume they're all expert sailors.

And since there is a
German battleship

cruising off the coast of Scotland,

I expect they'll try to
sail it out of the loch

and rendezvous at sea.

Did you say try to?

I would suggest you get
your things together.

Mycroft will be here to
take you into custody.

I never had you fooled
for a moment, did I?

You knew right from the beginning

when the cabby brought
me to Baker Street.

Let me see.

Not quite that soon.

It's so funny.

I asked for this assignment, you know.

I was scheduled to go to Japan,

but I couldn't resist the challenge

of coming up against the best.

I'm sorry I didn't give
you a closer game.

Close enough.

You're just being kind.

I failed miserably.

We all have occasional failures.

Fortunately, Dr. Watson
never writes about mine.

Holmes!

Holmes! I saw it again.

That thing. It came from the castle.

It's out there.

It was out there. Now it's gone.

It's gone?
Forever.

Look for yourself.

A bottle of champagne?

And a Bible?

That's all that's left
of H. M. S. Jonah.

Holmes!

For once, would you mind
being a little less cryptic?

It would seem that someone
carelessly loosened

the bolts of the submersible.

What a fitting end for Trappists.

Now they are resting
in eternal silence

at the bottom of the lake.

Do you know what
he is talking about?

Fraulein von Hoffmanstal.

Yes, Mr. Holmes. I'm all ready.

If there is one thing I like
about the Prussians,

it's their punctuality.

If there is one thing I
dislike about the British,

it's their climate.

I understand your
jails are very damp

and your heating facilities
totally inadequate.

They are, but you're
not going to jail.

You're going back to Germany.

Germany?

You will be conducted to
the Swiss/German border

and be exchanged for
one of our agents,

a man named Ibidson.

Thank you.

Don't thank me.
Thank my brother.

It was his idea.

Frankly, I think we're
making a very poor deal.

You're much better
than most operatives

working for British intelligence.

Don't you agree, Sherlock?

And better than some
consulting detectives.

Shall we?

I'll take that.

Gentlemen.

All right, Holmes. You don't
have to explain anything to me

if you don't want to.
I appreciate that, Watson.

After all, I'm only your
official biographer.

Anyway, I don't think
she would care to have

this story spread all over
the "Strand Magazine."

The public has a right
to know these things.

If she is a German spy,

why should we concern
ourselves about her feelings?

Giddyup.

Holmes, if I promise not
to write a word about it,

would you enlighten me, as
your friend, as your valet?

Quiet.

I'm trying to read a
personal message.

Message?

What's she saying?

Auf... wiedersehen.

Auf wieder... the nerve.

A letter from the Diogenes Club.

Maybe Mycroft is putting
you up for membership.

If only to have the
distinct pleasure

of blackballing his brother.

Aren't you going to
finish your breakfast?

Holmes, I'm terribly
sorry about this.

Where is it, Watson?

In the files. May to July, 1885.

You're getting better.

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