Original subtitles

When I glance over my notes and records of the cases solved...

by the great detective, Dorlock Homes...

one inevitably rises to mind:

The Case of the Shropshire Slasher.

It all began at our Beeker Street digs, one gloomy September night.

A quiet enough evening as I recall it.

Homes was moodily engaged in his favorite pastime: deducting.

Let's see now. I can deduct L6 and 8 shillings...

for magnifying glasses and gumshoes.

Two guineas, sixpence for entertaining footpads...

pickpockets, and sneak thieves.

Then there's cab fares to and from murders.

Watkins, in a moment there will be a knock at the door...

heralding the start of The Mystery of the Shropshire Slasher.

Answer it. My pants are caught on a nail.

Don't touch that body!

A clear case of Karrer poisoning...

of one of Her Majesty's cold cream guards.

Telegram.

You would best have that step fixed, governor!

Just for that, you receive no gratuity.

I could tell by his tense, eager expression...

that Homes was bringing his immense faculties of observation to bear.

By george, I've solved it!

Have you now, Homes? That's ripping.

Yes, by Jove, I can take my old maiden Aunt Clotilda, as a dependent!

As I read the message, I realized we were in for a rum go.

It was 3:00 a.m. precisely, when we left Beeker Street...

on the trail of the Shropshire Slasher.

It wasn't 10 minutes of the hour...

when we approached a known haunt of the Shropshire Slasher.

I may be down, but the jig is up.

Clues.

Lady Ashtabula, the last time we met was at Ascot...

was it not? Ascot not?

You're still a fine figure of a woman.

These look like a woman's fingerprints.

Could it be possible that the Shropshire Slasher is a...

Alfy, this comb's annoying me.

Is he now?

Alfy, is it? Where was you on the night of...

He has eliminated him as a suspect.

What will it be now, governors?

- Hot buttered gin. - Nut brown October ale, over the rocks.

Trifle with me, will you, you ruddy coastermongers!

A clue!

Really, Homes, you never cease to amaze me.

That weapon belongs to none other than the Shropshire Slasher!

Watch me and learn, Watkins.

Amazing fellow.

I say, old chap, beastly weather we're having, what?

Deny it if you dare!

And deny, too, that you're the Shropshire Slasher!

Thought you could match wits with the great Dorlock Homes, did you?

Why, you fool.

You poor chap, it's too...

Me, you...

Come along now, my man.

We have an engagement with Scotland Yard.

Mustn't keep the bobbies waiting.

Let's go.

I think it only fair to warn you that I have studied jujitsu.

You may be big, but I'm small.

I fail to see how you hope to withstand my superior skill.

Take over.

Your name? Speak up, man.

Shropshire Slasher.

- Occupation? - Shropshire Slasher.

All right, Watkins, enough of your bumbling.

Bumbling upsets Homes no end.

Very well, you rotter, I'm going to tackle you a capello.

I'm brown as a nut and fit as a lath. Toy with me, will you?

With my fierce energy, I'II...

Do not take it amiss if I slap you silly.

A bit rough on the Slasher, but the foolish cove asked for it.

You may resume your interrogation, Watkins.

Look, old boy, how's about returning to prison?

- There's a good chap. - Yes, sir.

I want to do what's right, I do.

Care to buy some pretty pretties for your doxie, governor?

That does it! I'm gonna haul you in.

Hawking dandelions without a license.

Mother!

Really?

I promised the nice gentleman I'd give myself up now, Mother.

You always was a good boy, Slasher.

Tell me, Homes, at what sort of school did you learn to be a detective?

Elementary, my dear Watkins.

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