All language subtitles for Sherlock Holmes - S07E03 - The Golden Pince-Nez

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This is the
monastery's account

dating to the
early 15th Century.

Oh, precisely
what I thought.

But surely this has great
political significance.

A matter of
particular delicacy.

Sorry to disturb you, sir,

but inspector Hopkins
would like to see you.

The promising
Inspector Hopkins.

Draw up to the fire
and warm your toes.

I hope you have no designs

upon us on such a night
as this, inspector.

This is my brother, Mycroft.

Maybe you have
not met before?

I'm sure, I would
have remembered.

May I shake your hand, sir?

Yes, if you must.

Now Mrs. Hudson
knows 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?

Oh, in his 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 linus powder
and a grated apple.

Mr. Holmes, you
know you only say that

because you miss the doctor.

Cigar?

No, no, thank you.

It must be
something important

to bring you out
in such a gale.

It is indeed.

Did you see anything
of the Yoxley case

in the latest editions?

I see nothing later then
the 15th Century today.

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

Palimpsest?

Enough of the 15th Century,

you bring us
news in 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 5:00,

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 tale of it.

There's no motive,
Mr. Holmes.

Motive, Inspector,
what motive?

A 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

in a bath chair.

Here we are.

Quite stupid, aren't you.

Now just take it easy,
be very careful.

Careful.

Now where's my
secretary, Mrs. Marker?

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 perforce one
must also re-evaluate

Christian theology.

To 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 study

under circumstances that
can point only to murder.

Murder?

Willoughby Smith was
murdered 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, you're
under foot again.

When you say hardly
any weak spots,

what exactly do you mean?

We all have vices of
some kind or another.

Willoughby Smith has
nothing against him,

either as a
boy at Uppingham

or later as a young
man at Cambridge.

Although I gathered that he
was fond of a drink or two.

Well nothing
wrong with that.

He 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 neighborhood

and lived very much
as his employer did.

The professor was
buried in his work

and existed for
nothing else.

A man after 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 Tarlton.

So who found the body?

The maid, Mr. Holmes.

She said she was working
in an upstairs room

when she heard a cry.

She said by the time
she got to the study

Smith was lying on the
floor fatally wounded.

She says.

Professor.

The professor.

It was she.

The maid is
prepared to swear

that those were
his exact words.

The professor, it was she.

I've drawn up a rough plan

that 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 and 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
exits from the study,

one was blocked by the maid

as she ran downstairs

and the other goes straight
to the professor's bedroom.

Could not the assassin
have made his escape
from 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, Mr. Holmes.

These tracks in the grass,

were they coming or going?

It was impossible to say.

There was never any outline.

Pouring rain and blowing
a hurricane ever since.

They'll be harder to read
now than the palimpsest.

So inspector,
what did you do

after you made certain

that you've 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 were the
dying man's own words.

And finally,

there was a very
important piece of evidence

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,

Mycroft.

That can be inferred
from their delicacy,

and also, of course,

from the last words
of the dying man,

they're handsomely
mounted in solid gold.

They are of
unusual strength,

she must have
appalling eyesight,

a lady whose vision

has been so
extremely contracted

for any great
length of time

would surely carry
physical characteristics

of such vision.

Puckered forehead,

peering expression,

rounded shoulders.

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 Chatham

at 6:00 in the
morning, Mr. 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 now,

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
gardener, 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.

Apart from this
lethal paper knife

and the pince-nez,

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?

Hum.

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 the 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...

(Scream)

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 dust 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,

we're making progress.

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 desk reveals.

Uh, 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 traveling
distance of the house.

Abbey, 7:30, why 7:30?

Miss Tarlton,
please come here.

Please sit down.

Mr. Holmes is a
detective from London.

Would you tell
him everything

you saw and heard
yesterday morning?

It was between
11:00 and 12:00.

Professor Coram
was still in bed.

When the weather is poor

he seldom rises
before midday.

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

So.

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
is was Willoughby Smith?

Because he had a
familiar tread, sir.

I didn't hear the
study door close.

About a minute or so later

there came a dreadful cry.

It was a wild
horrid scream,

so strange and unnatural.

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

I ran down to the study.

Found Willoughby
lying on the floor.

Saw the blood,

I didn't realize,

he must be dead.

And then he spoke.

It was she.

Professor, it was she.

Yes.

Curious words.

Do you know what they mean?

No, sir.

Are you sure?

No, sir.

Could anyone have
left by the rear exit

after the time you'd
heard the scream?

You mean before
I got down the stairs,

I'd have seen them
in the passage.

And the backdoor
never opened

or I would have heard it.

Thank you, Miss Tarlton,

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 you must introduce me.

Ah.

What is it, Mr. Holmes?

Both corridors are lined
with coconut matting.

I've noticed.

Thank you, sir.

What of it.

It seems to me
to be suggestive.

Indeed.

Come.

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.

Are you a smoker,
Mr. Holmes?

I have few other vices.

Uh, Alexandrian.

Yes, Pray take a cigarette.

Thank you.

I have them especially
prepared by lonides.

Sends me 1,000 at a time.

I grieve to say that
I have to arrange

a fresh supply
every fortnight.

You sir?

No, thank you, no,

I prefer this.

Tobacco and my work,

that's all there
is 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 an
admirable assistant.

What do you think
of the matter, hey?

I have not yet
made up my mind.

I would indeed be
indebted to you

if you could throw a light

on all that is dark to us,

such a blow, paralyzing
to 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 documents

found in the
Coptic monasteries

of Syria and Egypt.

It is a work that
I hoped to have cut deep

at the very foundations
of revealed religion.

This looks impressive.

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 fancy the poor fellow

murmured some
incoherent words

and she twisted them
into a meaningless message.

You have no explanation
yourself for 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 will never know.

It's a more probable
supposition than murder.

And what of the pince-nez?

A fan, a glove, eye-glasses

who knows what article
may be carried as a token

or 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.

Will you be good enough

to arrange carriage
and escort for me

as far as the
railway station?

Of course, sir.

I have to get 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.

Do you remember what
papa 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.

Ionides.

I'm overlooking something,

and it's staring
me in the face.

Oh, thank you my dear.

Bad news I'm afraid, sir.

There isn't another
train for Charing Cross

till late 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.

We shouldn't encourage
these women, Mr. Holmes.

They're troublemakers,

no better then criminals.

Organizer,
Miss Abigail Grosby

meeting held in
the church hall

at half past 7:00.

Think back inspector,

Willoughby Smith's diaries,

Abby 7:30.

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 Grosby,

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.

God forbid.

The time has come and
we must ask ourselves

how much longer the state
of affairs can continue?

How much longer we
should allow ourselves

to be treated like
second-class citizens?

You tell them Abigail.

Poppycock.

I'd like to
read 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.

Mycroft.

On 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 votes for women.

Yet tell me,

what can be more important

than the rights of
half of the population?

Was the late queen
not also a woman?

I have had quite enough

of the criminal classes

for one day, inspector.

Where's that carriage
you promised me?

I don't know nothing about
nothing, sir, honest.

Then why are you
crying Miss Tarlton?

Cause I don't want
to be in no trouble.

I'll lose my
situation if I do.

I'll ask you one more time,

was Willoughby Smith
acquainted with

the schoolteacher
Miss Abigail Grosby?

I don't know.

You do know Miss Tarlton.

It's useless to lie.

Yes, he was.

They knew each
other all right.

They had a blazing row.

Abbey, will you
listen to me please.

Day before yesterday.

You're wasting your
time on these suffrages.

Don't you see that?

Thank you, Willoughby.

Your support is
overwhelming as ever.

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 be
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.

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
miserable blue stocking.

You'd better leave.

It's empty.

I think you might find
this more beneficial

than Alexandrian tobacco.

Nothing wrong
with her sight.

Miss Abigail Grosby,

Miss Crosby,

Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

The inspector has no doubt

explained state
of things to you

then you know
the seriousness
of your position.

Do you have anything
to say in 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.

The inspector informed me

that you had
a violent quarrel
with Willoughby Smith

the 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 honor.

Have the key, you
can look for yourself.

Snuff.

Your lunch professor.

Not hungry, Mr. Holmes?

Those cigarettes
don't help your appetite.

For the same reason no doubt

that the professor
returns to the kitchen,

more food than he eats.

Am I 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 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 doesn't have
that slight discoloration,

which the scratch
made upon the varnish
would have produced.

She came, as far as my
evidence can tell me,

without your knowledge,

to rob you.

Now surely having
traced this lady so far,

you can also say what
has since become of her?

I shall endeavor to do so.

In the first place,

she was seized
by your secretary.

She stabbed him
in order to escape.

It was an unhappy accident,

but I am convinced that
the lady had no intention

of inflicting so
grievous an injury.

Horrified by
what she had done,

she rushed wildly away from
the scene of the tragedy.

Unfortunately for her,

she lost her
pince-nez in the scuffle.

She ran down the corridor,

which she imagined to be
that by which she had come.

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.

Do you want me 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 her professor.

You recognized her through
this haze of your existence.

You spoke with her.

You're mad.

You helped her to
elude the police.

You're talking insanely.

I helped her to
elude the police?

Well where is she now?

Here, where she
has been all along.

You are right,

you're 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 truth.

That I am this man's wife.

He's not an Englishman.

He's a Russian.

Why should you
cling so hard

to that retched life
of yours, Sergius?

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 then 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,

Nihilists,

and soon there came a
time of great trouble.

Sergius!

Sergius!

No, Sergius

no more deaths

no more.

Sergius!

Where's Sergius?

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 week would pass

before justice
would be done.

I'm in your hands, Anna.

You were always good to me.

My brother, Alexis,

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

and you stole them
from me and hid them.

So Alexis was
sent to Siberia

where 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 had asked him where
Professor Coram lived

not knowing that
he worked for him.

And he must have told
the professor about you.

The professor, it was she.

When he had fallen,

I ran but I went
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 gave me to the law

I could give you
to the Brotherhood.

That as our lives

had once been bound
together in marriage.

So our destinies

would forever be entwined.

(Speaking Russian).

It is finished.

It never began.

You had your
meals sent in here

so she could
share your food.

It was agreed that
when the police left

that she should slip
away into the night

and never be seen again.

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

Take them to the
Russian embassy.

Poison.

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 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 retched woman

feel compelled to
take her own life?

She'd achieved her purpose,

past hope and in despair,

and the death of
love, of course.

Oh, professor,

be sure your sin
will find you out.

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