Original subtitles

This is the monastery's accounts dating from the early 15th century.

Precisely what I thought.

But surely this has great political significance.

A matter of particular delicacy. Coming up. Sorry to disturb you, sir, but

Inspector Hopkins would like to see you. The promising Inspector Hopkins.

Go on after the fire and warm your trail.

I hope you've no designs upon us on such a night as this, Inspector.

This is my brother, Mycroft. Maybe you've not met before.

I'm sure I would have remembered.

May I shake your hand, sir?

What?

Yes, you must.

Now, Mrs Hudson, there is a prescription.

Containing hot water and a lemon.

I'll bring some up for you, Inspector.

It'll help keep out the chill.

Thank you, Mrs Hudson.

Where is Dr Watson?

The surgery, this dreadful weather has produced a queue into the street, I'm

told. Well, they're wasting their time.

Watson's only cure for any ailment is a linus powder and a grated apple.

Mr Holmes, you know you only say that because you miss the doctor.

Cigars? No, no, thank you.

It must be very important to bring you out in such a gale. It is indeed.

Did you see anything of the Yox? flea cake in the latest editions?

I see nothing later than the 15th century today.

We've been studying a 500 -year -old palimpsest.

Palimpsest? Enough of the 15th century!

You bring us news of the 20th.

Well, it's only a paragraph and all wrong at that, so you've not missed

anything. I'm relieved to hear it, Inspector.

It's down in Kent.

Seven miles from Chatham and three from the railway line. I was wired for at 3

.15. Got to Chatham at five, conducted my investigation, was back at Charing

Cross by the last train, and straight to you by cab.

Which means you're not quite certain of your case.

It means I can make neither head nor tail of it.

There's no motive, Mr. Holmes.

Motive, Inspector? What motive?

The man is dead, there's no denying that.

But I can see no reason between heaven and earth why anyone should wish him

harm.

Tell us about it.

A few years ago, Yoxley Old Place was taken by an elderly man by the name of

Professor Coram.

He's an invalid, keeping his bed half the time, and the other half hobbling

about the house on a stick or being pushed about the grounds by the gardener

a bath chair.

Quite stupid, aren't you?

Now, just take it easy. Very careful.

Careful.

Mrs. Markham.

The professor is writing a learned book and found it necessary about a year ago

to take on a secretary, Mr. Willoughby Smith, a young man straight from the

university.

And if one can accept the doctrines of monophysitism, then, of course, one must

also re -evaluate Christian theology.

Do you suggest?

Yes.

To suggest... Or to argue?

Which one of us is writing this book?

You or me?

You are, of course.

To suggest... From the first, it appears that Smith was a quiet, well -educated

fellow with hardly any weak spot in him at all.

And yet this is the lad who met his death this morning in the professor's

under circumstances that can point only to murder.

Murder?

Willoughby Smith was... Murder, do you say, Inspector?

Do go on.

Your hot lemon drink, Inspector.

Thank you, Mrs Hudson.

A man without a single enemy in the world. Mrs Hudson, we are underfoot

When you say hardly any weak spot, what exactly do you mean? We all have prices

of some kind or another.

Willoughby Smith had nothing against him, either as a boy at Uppingham or

as a young man at Cambridge.

Although I gather he was fond of a drink or two.

Well, nothing wrong in that.

and also had a bit of an eye for the ladies.

Each to his own. Perhaps he was hiding a terrible secret.

Smith knew no one in the neighbourhood and lived very much as his employer did.

The professor was buried in his work and existed for nothing else. A man of your

own heart, Sherlock.

Apart from the three people you have mentioned, who else can be found in the

house? An elderly housekeeper, Mrs Marker, and a young maid, Susan

So who found the body?

The maid, Mr Holmes.

She says she was working in an upstairs room when she heard a cry.

She says by the time she got to the study, Smith was lying on the floor,

wounded. She says.

The maid is prepared to swear that those were his exact words.

Professor, it was she.

I've drawn up a rough plan.

It should give you a general idea of the position of the professor's study and

also the various points of the case which seem to me to be essential.

As you can see, there are two corridors which lead from the study.

One goes directly to a door at the back of the house.

and the other straight to the professor's ground -floor bedroom.

Two corridors with a 90 -degree angle, joined at one end, outside the study.

Now, assuming the assassin entered the house, how did he get in?

Undoubtedly by the garden path in the back door, which gives direct access via

the corridor to the study.

Exactly.

And he must have made his escape along the same line. For of the two other

from the study, one was blocked by the maid as she ran downstairs, and the

goes straight to the professor's bedroom.

But not the assassin have made his escape. The study window?

Locked, sir, from within.

I see.

It was an excellent opportunity to put your theories into practice.

I directed my attention at once to the garden path, which was saturated with

recent rain.

No footmarks were to be found on the path, but... there could be no question

that someone had passed along the grass border which lines it, and that he'd

done so in order to avoid leaving a track.

You found footmarks there?

Not exactly, but the grass was trodden down, and it could only have been the

murderer since neither the gardener nor anyone else had been in the area that

morning, and the rain had only begun during the night.

Bravo, Inspector.

I knew you'd appreciate my reasoning, sir.

Keep track from the ground.

Were they coming or going?

It was impossible to say. There was never any outline.

Pouring rain and blaring a hurricane of assistance.

It'll be harder to read now than the parrot says.

So, Inspector, what did you do?

After you'd made certain that you'd made certain of nothing?

Well, really, Mr. Holmes, I think I made certain of a good deal.

Somebody had entered the house cautiously from without, and then there

dying man's own words, and finally, there was a very important piece of

found clasped in his right hand.

Willoughby Smith had excellent sight. There can be no question that these were

snatched from the face or the person of the assassin.

The person you seek is a woman.

My craft?

That can be inferred from their delicacy.

And also, of course, from the last words of the dying man.

They're handsome, they're mounted in solid gold.

And of unusual strength.

She must have appalling eyesight.

A lady whose vision has been so extremely contracted for any great

time would surely bear the physical characteristics of such a vision.

Bucket forward.

Peering expression.

Round in shoulder.

They've also recently been repaired.

Of course, I'd intended to go the round of the London opticians.

There's a train from Charing Cross to Chapham at 6 o 'clock in the morning,

Holmes. Then I shall take it.

Have you anything more to tell us about the case, Inspector?

I think you know as much as I do, sir.

Perhaps more.

Perhaps.

Perhaps.

What puzzles me is the utter want of all object in the crime.

A man has been cruelly murdered, Mr. Holmes, and not a ghost of a motive can

anyone suggest.

Who alerted their local police?

Mortimer the guard, an innocent.

As soon as it became clear that it was a matter for Scotland Yard, the chief

constable sent for me.

Sorry, sir.

Can't go in there.

Just walk this way, please.

It's all right, Constable. These gentlemen are with me.

Ah!

Apart from this lethal paper knife and the path knife, has anything been

rearranged or removed in this room since yesterday morning? No, Mr Holmes.

Everything is exactly as it was.

And the body?

The body fell here.

The wound was in the right... side of the neck, from behind, forwards.

Excellent, Inspector.

And this bureau?

The Professor assures me that nothing is missing.

I'm satisfied that no robbery has taken place.

Why did you not tell me about this scratch, Hopkins?

Well, I noticed it, of course, but you'll always find scratches around a

keyhole.

It looks recent.

Very recent.

There's the varnish, too, like earth on either side of a furrow.

Is it significant?

That's Father's magnifying glass.

Yes.

He gave it to you?

Hmm.

How ironic.

Excuse me.

Who was the last person to enter this room before Willoughby Smith and his

murderer? I was.

Mrs. Marker.

The housekeeper.

Yes.

Please sit down.

Thank you. I prefer to stand.

You've probably heard of Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

No.

It's really not important.

You were in this room before Willoughby Smith was murdered?

About a quarter of an hour before.

Why? I am the housekeeper, Mr. Holmes.

I try to keep the study as clean and as tidy as possible.

Not that you'd notice a difference.

Were you alone in here?

I was alone.

I never come in here when the professor's at work.

As far as I know, Mr. Smith was upstairs in his room at the time. So you didn't

see him at all?

Not until after he... he was... been...

I'd finished my housework in here.

And I was preparing the professor's lunch... when I heard...

By the time I reached the study, Mr Smith was dead.

Then you were obviously too late to hear his last words.

I heard nothing except that dreadful cry.

Wake up, constable!

What did you do then?

I went straight to the professor's room.

He was horribly agitated.

He'd heard enough to know that something terrible had happened.

Did you dot this bureau this morning?

I did. Did you observe the scratch by the lock?

I did not.

Of course you didn't, Mrs. Marker.

Your duster would have swept away those scraps of varnish.

And where's the key?

The professor keeps it on his watch chain. At all times? At all times.

Good, good, good, good, good, good, good.

We're making progress.

Yes, thank you, Mrs. Marker. Would you be so good as to ask the housemaid to

come along to the study? Certainly, Inspector.

Let us see what this...

Reveal.

Ah, Mycroft, this is interesting.

What is it?

An entry for today in Willoughby Smith's handwriting.

Abbey, 7 .30.

How curious.

I think I can answer that one for you, sir.

Professor Coram is writing a book about early Christian heretics, and there are

a number of abbey ruins within reasonable travelling distance of the

It's 7 .30.

Why 7 .30?

Miss Dalton, please come in.

Please sit down.

Mr Holmes is a detective from London.

Would you tell him everything you saw and heard yesterday morning?

It was between 11 and 12.

Professor Colm was still in bed.

When the weather is poor, he seldom rises before midday.

Mrs. Markle was busy with some work in the kitchen.

Now you can look at me.

So where were you?

I was hanging some curtains in one of the bedrooms upstairs.

Mr. Smith had been in his own room.

At that moment, I heard him walk along the passage and descend to the study.

How can you be sure that it was Willoughby Smith?

Because he had a familiar tread, sir.

I didn't hear the study door close.

And a minute or so later, there came a dreadful cry.

It was a wild, hoarse scream.

So strange and unnatural.

It could have come either from a man or a woman.

I ran down to the study.

I found a little bit of blood.

A lot of blood.

I didn't realize.

I must be dead.

And then he spoke.

It was she.

The professor, it was she.

Yes.

Curious words.

Do you know a thingy?

Who, sir?

Are you sure?

No, sir.

Could anyone have left by the rear exit after the time you'd heard the scream?

Even before I got down the stairs, I'd have seen them in the passage.

And the bath door never opened, but we would have heard it.

Thank you, Miss Tarleton.

Mycroft, Inspector.

Perhaps he was the victim of a lover's quarrel. How very tiresome for the man.

It's nearly midday. Will the professor still be in his room?

Yes, he hasn't left it since yesterday morning.

Then he must introduce me.

Ah.

What is it, Mr. Holmes? Both corridors are lined with coconut matting. Thank

you, sir.

What of it?

It seems to me to be suggestive.

Indeed?

Close the door, Hopkins.

The cold air won't help my bronchial condition.

One of you gentlemen must be Sherlock Holmes.

This is my brother, Mycroft.

You're a smoker, Mr. Holmes.

I have few other voices.

Huh?

Alexandrian. Yeah.

Pray, take a cigarette. Thank you.

I have them especially prepared by Ionides.

Sends me a thousand at a time.

I grieve to say that I have to arrange a fresh supply every fortnight.

You, sir.

Thank you. No, I prefer this.

Tobacco and my work.

That's all that it left of me.

Tobacco and my work.

Now... only tobacco.

Who could have foreseen such a terrible catastrophe?

I assure you, Mr Holmes, that after what just a few months' training he was, he

was an admirable assistant.

What do you think of the matter?

I have not yet made up my mind.

I would indeed be indebted to you if you could throw a light where all is dark

to us.

Such a blow might paralyze into a poor old bookworm, invalid like myself.

Could you not continue with your work, Professor?

Alas, Mr. Holmes, I seem to have lost the faculty of thought.

Oh, dear.

My magnum opus.

My analysis of the documents found in the Coptic monasteries of Syria and

It is a work that I hope will cut deep at the very foundations of revealed

religion.

But with my enfeebled health, I don't know that I shall

ever be able to complete it without my assistant.

I don't want to trouble you with a lengthy examination.

Simply... to ask you what Willoughby Smith meant

by his last words.

The professor, it was she.

Susan.

A country girl, Mr. Holmes.

You must be aware of the incredible stupidity of that class.

I fancied the poor fellow moment some incoherent words and she twisted them

a meaningless message.

You've no explanation yourself of the tragedy.

Possibly.

I breathe this only among ourselves.

Possibly suicide.

Suicide?

Young men have their hidden troubles, Mr. Holmes.

An affair of the heart, perhaps, which we have never known.

It's a more probable supposition than murder.

Then what are the pants' names?

A fan?

A glove?

Eyeglasses?

Who knows what article may be carried as a token?

Treasured.

When a man puts an end to his life.

I must get out of here.

Possibly I speak as a child.

Seems to me Willoughby Smith met his fate by his own hand.

Willoughby Smith was murdered. He did not commit suicide.

Good afternoon, sir.

Yes, I agree.

So the professor's theory has no bearing on the case.

It'll be good enough to arrange carriage and escort for me as far as the railway

station. Of course, sir. I have to go back to town, so I'll take you there

myself. You're very kind.

I think you might find this more beneficial than Alexandrian

tobacco.

Remember what the power used to tell us when we were young?

Eliminate the impossible.

And whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.

I forget his exact words, but those are near enough.

See you in London.

Fine ideas.

I'm overlooking something, and it's Jeremy and the Fang.

Bad news, I'm afraid, sir. There isn't another train to Charing Cross until

this evening.

You should double -check the railway timetable before dragging me to this

wretched place.

I know, sir, and I'm sorry, sir.

Just a minute, Inspector.

London can wait.

I think we should postpone our trip for a little while to attend a political

meeting. We hear of reform after reform.

Do you mind?

Thank you, gentlemen, for your sensitivity.

We hear of reform after reform.

and yet still nothing is done to improve the position of women in society.

The fate of our country is still being decided by men alone, and yet women, who

are subjected daily and equally to the laws of the land, are not permitted to

vote.

That must be, Miss Abigail Crosby, formidable.

Votes for women, indeed.

Whatever next?

Women police?

Women politicians?

I'm not going to tell you again!

The struggle for female enfranchisement has so far been a peaceful one.

The time has come when we must ask ourselves how much longer this state of

affairs can continue.

How much longer we should allow ourselves to be treated like second

citizens.

Tell them, Abigail.

I would like to read to you a letter which I received two days ago from Mrs.

Garrett Fawcett, urging us to continue the fight until we achieve our aims.

That should interest you, Inspector.

Well, well, well.

every side.

Those in a position to help are stricken by deafness.

We're told that the country has more important things to worry about than

for women. But tell me, what can be more important than the rights of half of

the population?

Was the late Queen not also a woman?

Quite enough of the criminal classes for one day, Inspector.

Where's that carriage you promised?

Was Willoughby Smith acquainted with the schoolteacher, Miss Abigail Crosby?

I don't know!

You do know, Miss Tarleton. It's useless to lie.

Yes, he was.

Oh, they knew each other all right.

And they had a blazing rap.

Abby, will you listen to me, please?

The day before yesterday.

You're wasting your time on these suffragettes.

Can't you see that?

Thank you, Willoughby. Your support is an overwhelming one.

He said he loved me.

Take care of me.

And I believed him.

Don't you touch me. Abby, Abby, Abby.

Don't touch me. All right, all right.

I'm just trying to make you see reason.

You're spending your time with these people you barely know when you should

building a life with me. Take your hands off!

God knows half of them are the lowest of the low. These are not the sort of

people that you should be mixing with. This is my life.

What I choose to do with it and who I choose to do it with is my business.

No one is going to stand in my way. Do I make myself clear?

If that's what you want. I know exactly what I want.

And at the moment it doesn't include you.

And that's what emancipation does for a woman, is it?

You've been drinking.

I've told you not to come near me when you've been drinking.

Makes you turn down a good offer of marriage.

A chance to be really happy.

Instead of a... a miserable boat docking.

You'd better leave.

It's empty.

I think you might find this more beneficial than Alexandria.

Nothing wrong with her side.

Miss Abigail Crosby.

Miss Crosby.

Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

Inspector has no doubt explained the theater things to you.

Then you know the theater's moved in your position.

Do you have anything to say on your defense?

Only that I am innocent of the crime of which I am accused.

But you did know the deceased.

Is that also a crime?

We were close friends until... Until?

I meant more to him than he did to me.

I realize that now.

But for all the world, I would not have wished him any harm.

Inspector informed me that you had a violent quarrel with Willoughby Smith

day before he died.

There were harsh words spoken on both sides, but with good reason.

You probably know that I'm an active member of the women's suffrage movement.

Willoughby believed, selfishly, I think, that my future way of life and my

liberty were at great risk.

I reassured him that our campaign here was as peaceful as may be.

I have no wish to break the law in order to change it.

Unless... Regarding your bureau in the study, does it contain anything which

someone might wish to steal?

Nothing of value that I know of. Family papers and letters from my poor wife.

Diplomas from universities that have done me honour.

And the tea can not be yourself.

Your lunch, Professor.

Not hungry, Mr Holmes?

No cigarettes don't help your appetite.

For the same reason, Nadar, that the Professor returns to the kitchen more

than he eats.

To assume there have been further developments, Inspector?

So I'm told, Professor.

I fail to see, Mr Holmes, how I can be of any further assistance to you.

I've forged and tested every link of my chain, Professor Coram, and I'm sure

that it is sound.

What on earth is he talking about?

Two days ago, a woman entered your study.

She came with express intention.

of taking certain papers which were held in your bureau.

She had a key of her own.

Your own key does not have that bright decoloration which the

scratch made upon the varnish would have produced.

She came, as far as my evidence will tell me, without your knowledge, to

rob you.

Surely, having traced this lady so far, you can also say what has become of her.

I shall endeavor to do so.

On the first day, she was seized by your strategy.

She stabbed him in order to escape.

It was an unhappy accident, for I am convinced that the lady had no intention

inflicting so grievous an injury.

Audified by what she had done, she rushed wildly away from the scene of the

tragedy. Unfortunately for her, she lost her parent's name.

She ran down a corridor which she imagined to be that by which she had

Both were lined with coconut matting.

Only when it was too late did she understand that she had taken the wrong

passage and that her retreat was cut off.

What was she to do?

She could not go back.

She could not remain where she was.

She must go on. She went on.

All very fine, Mr. Holmes.

You mean to say that I could lie in that bed and not be aware that a strange

woman had entered my room? Of course you were aware of it, Professor.

You recognized her through this haze of your existence.

You spoke with her. Young man.

You helped her to elude the police.

I helped her to elude the police.

Eh?

Where?

Where is she now?

Here.

Where she has been all along.

You are right.

Well, I'll be damned.

I am here.

I could hear everything.

And I know that you have learned the truth.

But you were right to say it was an accident.

I did not know it was a knife in my hand, for in my despair I snatched at

anything and struck at him to make him let me go.

I have only a little time here, and I would have that you know the whole

But I am this man's wife.

He's not an Englishman. He's a Russian.

Why should you cling so hard to that wretched life of yours, Sergei?

It has done harm to so many and good to none. Not even yourself.

You were 50, and I...

A young girl, when we married in St. Petersburg.

I loved you so much.

More than that, I idolized you.

I would have done anything for you, and I did.

Because then, you were everything to me.

But we were reformers, naively.

Soon they can't time off great travel.

Forget your husband. He has betrayed us all.

No. Yes, Anna.

We are betrayed.

We were all arrested upon your confession.

Some of us went to the gallows and some of us to Siberia.

After 20 years, I was released.

You came to England with your blood money and lived in quiet ever since.

Knowing well that if the Brotherhood ever found out where you were, not a

would pass before justice would be done.

I'm in your hands, Anna.

You're always good to me.

My brother, Alexei, was noble, unselfish. He hated

violence and wrote many letters trying to dissuade us from such a course.

These letters would have proved his innocence.

But you stole them from me and hid them.

So Alexei was sent to Siberia. But he is, even now.

As soon as my time of imprisonment is over, I

determined to get the letters that would procure my brother's release.

I knew that my husband had come to England.

And after many months of searching, I determined where he was.

So at last, I determined to get the letters for myself.

I had just removed them from the bureau when the young man seized me.

The same young man I had met earlier that morning.

I'd asked him if Professor Gorham lived, not knowing that he weren't. For him.

And he must have told the professor about you. The professor, it was she.

When he had fallen, I ran blindly to the wrong door and found myself

in his room.

You, you talked of giving me up.

I showed you that if you did so, your life was in my hands.

If you...

Give me to the law.

I couldn't you.

That as our lives had once been

bound together in marriage, so our destiny would forever be.

You had your meals served in here so they could share your food.

It was agreed that when the police left that you should slip away into the night

and never be seen again.

These are the letters that will save my brother's life.

Make them to the Russian embassy.

A letter by hand, Mr Holmes.

Thank you, Mrs Hudson.

Sleep well.

It was clear to me, from the strength of the spectacles, that the wearer must

have been almost blind without them, and I therefore considered the hypothesis

that she'd remained within the house.

You might say it was elementary.

Oh, by the way, don't mention the snuff to Watson.

Tell him you dropped a cigarette ash or something. Leave me out of it.

But why on earth did the wretched woman feel compelled to take her own life?

She'd achieved her purpose.

Past hope and in despair.

Before your sin will find you out.