Original subtitles

You got to help me figure out how to get in there.

Oh, no, we don't.

Besides, I'm dying to know what he's doing in there.

When he goes to inject the poison,

leap from the table and overpower him.

Leap?

Did you see through his disguise, Watson?

- You think, it's... - Moriarty.

Higgins.

I need to know where the doctor is.

And I need to know where your friend is.

Pretend you're enjoying it, Watson.

I wouldn't bother you unless it was really important--

Higgins!

Higgins?

Higgins!

Higgins.

It's about time.

Higgins...

It is the singular purpose of this narrative

to factually present the details of my detective friend's adventure.

Without bias, in his behalf,

I offer his inferences, deductions, and solutions,

leaving to the reader the task of final judgment.

In the spring of 1976,

I was bequeathed the sad duty of acting as

executor to Sir Alec Ramsey.

The few that gathered to grant this knighted veteran

of Her Majesty's Service the final courtesy

were appalled by the tuppenny, ha'penny turnout.

I, on the other hand, was not in the least surprised.

As Alec's closest friend, I had shared his penchant for privacy

and his belief that friendships are measured in quality rather than quantity.

Traits that hardly solicit an army of mourners.

I also understood that we were two loyal subjects of the crown,

half a world removed from England.

And three decades from Sandhurst.

It was a beautiful service, Jonathan.

You gave it all such a genuine touch of home.

Alec would have been pleased.

Agatha, I find praise at this moment somewhat distasteful.

I simply arranged for the proper burial of a friend.

Forgive me. I'm sorry.

I'm simply angry with myself for indulging in

a frivolous hope that could not possibly be.

Still, I did so want the others here.

The others?

Well, one of us made it, old man.

David.

I arrived shortly before the end of the service.

But I was awkward at interrupting your conversation.

I'm frightfully sorry. Miss Agatha Chumley.

Agatha,

my friend from Sandhurst, David Worth.

How do you do?

Good heavens, man, why didn't you let me know?

I would have collected you at the airport.

He died in his sleep, you say?

What?

Your message.

"Sir Alec Ramsey passed peacefully."

Oh, yes. Yes, of course.

It was a frightful shock. No apparent illness.

Only two years my senior.

Well, no good dwelling on it.

More important business at hand.

I beg your pardon.

I'm in need of lodgings.

I'll be eternally in your debt if you'd direct me to

some quiet but peaceful establishment for gentlemen residents.

Why, David, you'll stay with me, of course, as my guest.

I insist.

Yes.

Perhaps that would be best.

I hope, Miss Chumley, that we'll be seeing you again?

After pressing matters are resolved.

David, what are you talking about? What pressing matters?

Yes, of course.

Good day, Mr. Worth.

- Jonathan. - Agatha.

Well done, man.

How could I have doubted you'd put the lid on it?

Damn shame. Alec deserved better.

Well, at least we know who we're after.

Just a matter of finding him again.

We're after someone?

You know who it is as well as I do.

Higgins, I have to talk to you. Don't hang up.

Higgins?

He hung up. Again.

So, what's the big deal?

Most of the time you're trying to avoid Higgins anyway.

Seems to me you'd be glad he's not talking to you.

I have to conduct the surveillance for a very important client.

Must be the one client that pays.

And I have to get this 400 millimeter camera lens that he keeps in there.

Four hundred-- I lost my place again.

I mean, how am I expected to do my job without the proper tools?

Well,

he's probably busy working on his memoirs.

Yeah, well, you think he'd come out long enough to give me the lens.

No, no, no, no, no. Right now,

he's pinned down somewhere between Dublin and Burma.

Vicious cannibals to his left.

Wild Irish rebels to his right.

Yeah, and Corky Bostwick at his side.

Look, I got to get in there and get that lens.

Besides, I'm dying to know what he's doing in there.

Guys. Guys.

You think you could talk about this monumentally important topic

somewhere else?

No.

We're not going to talk about it at all.

Yes, we are. You got to help me figure out how to get in there.

No, I don't. I'm going windsurfing.

T.C.!

I'm sorry, Thomas. You'll have to figure this one out all by your lonesome.

Rick?

Thomas, can't you see I'm busy?

I've got to get the figures on this wine stock

into the board meeting tomorrow morning.

Forget the wine.

No.

You're right. Never mind.

Thanks. Bye.

I brought David home

and made him comfortable in the guest house.

That was in the days when the guest house was a guest house.

He continued his vague references to his theory

that Alec had met with foul play.

It was not his only disarming trait.

I began to notice that he took on a wry smile

every time I said his name.

When I asked for an explanation

or inquired about his background since Sandhurst,

David took the most curious tack,

reacting as if I already knew everything about him.

Yes?

Sigerson?

What's that?

Airport delivery. We found this guy Sigerson's bags

and he called and he said he wanted them delivered.

Here. Yes.

Bloody aeroplane service. One wonders how they stay in business.

I'll let you in.

Very sorry, old man.

Clever of you to think up the name of Worth for me in advance.

I seriously considered using it.

But stick to the tried and true in this instance.

So, Sigerson I shall be?

Now, I'm having my bags delivered to the guest house.

If you don't mind,

I'll nap before dinner. Very tired after my journey.

You'll have Alec's papers by then?

Yes...

I was about go to his home and collect them now.

David--

Sigerson.

Stanley Sigerson.

Until dinner.

No, I'm sorry. You can't.

Mrs. Akawi.

Here he is. You can ask him for yourself.

Mr. Higgins,

these gentleman are trying to take Sir Alec's things out of the house.

I told them they couldn't.

I'll see to it.

What's the meaning of this?

Sir Alec Ramsey was probably one of England's

most famous explorers.

Consequently, the British Museum have laid claim to all his personal effects.

We are authorized to pick them up.

You do, I trust, have something in writing to verify your claims?

Certainly. Lever.

Oh, I'm sorry. I seem to have left the papers at the hotel.

I specifically asked you...

Well, apparently we've come away without them.

I'm so sorry for the inconvenience.

We will be back with the papers.

I'm very sorry, sir.

Don't worry. We'll see ourselves out.

Something about those two I just don't trust.

Quite.

It was morning before the British Home Office

verified the identity of their two agents.

They also gave me some rather shocking news.

My old friend David,

the man who now insisted on using the name Sigerson,

the most famous alias of Sherlock Holmes,

had received a medical discharge from the army.

Since that time, there was absolutely no trace of him.

And he was officially presumed to be dead.

Come in.

- Good morning. - Good morning.

Up and about already, I see. And about time, too.

I had thought you might be sleeping in after 11 hours on a plane.

Yes, quite right.

I will admit to feeling a little drugged yesterday.

Really?

But this morning, it's quite different.

I had a hearty breakfast, a quick dip in the ocean,

and I've been mulling over in my mind

the task we have ahead of us.

You're referring to this...

theory about Alec's death?

Hardly a theory.

You do have his papers, don't you?

David...

it's very difficult losing a friend.

And one can hardly be blamed for finding catharsis in some escapism.

I do not consider solving a murder escapism.

Alec had an absolute passion for the works of Conan Doyle.

I gather you're something of a Baker Street Irregular yourself?

A what?

I do have excellent lodgings in Baker Street, you know that.

No, David, I don't know that. I don't know anything about you.

Except that you insist on calling yourself Sigerson--

And you persist in calling me David.

There's no time for this nonsense.

Do we or do we not have Alec's papers?

No.

The British government has laid claim to everything for museum use.

That cunning rascal.

So, they've made away with everything?

No. They have nothing, yet.

They're picking everything up this afternoon.

Then, there's no time to lose.

David.

I confirmed this matter with the Home Office. Don't you understand?

I understand perfectly. More's the pity that you do not.

Will you please stop talking in bloody riddles and make sense?

Moriarty, man!

Can't you hear plainly enough?

Moriarty!

David, I understand what you're going through.

It's not unlike what they warned us about our first year at Sandhurst,

shellshock.

We all assured each other, it could never happen to us.

Well, it can.

If he gets the papers and destroys them

before we get the clues we need, he wins again.

Well, don't just stand there.

Let's go.

Come, Watson, come.

We may already be too late.

My Uncle George once told me that a healthy curiosity

is the cornerstone of scientific study,

the building block to progress.

My Aunt Odie later said he always said that

just before he started snooping into someone else's business.

Now, I couldn't quite equate

spying on Higgins with scientific study and progress.

But then,

I couldn't really see what harm it would do either.

Steady, lads.

At Alec's place, David went off in search of clues

to the whereabouts of Moriarty

while I waited for the museum chaps.

Before they arrived, I discovered Sir Alec's diary

and some rather disturbing entries.

Vague references to meetings

for the purpose of discussing, as he put it,

"the ongoing problem."

Was it possible that David's suspicions might have foundation?

Whatever possessed me at that moment to conceal the diary,

I still to this day do not understand.

But I would later have reason to be glad that I had.

Gentlemen.

As for David,

I became more and more convinced

that his genuine schizoid conviction

that he was Mr. Holmes, alias Mr. Sigerson,

was surpassed only by his belief in me as the faithful, obliging friend.

Watson.

In here, quickly.

Mrs. Akawi said you wanted to see me.

Take a look at this.

Did Alec mention anything to you about an accident?

No, no, he didn't.

It must have happened rather recently.

Rather. A week, at the most.

More likely a few days.

Oxidation works very quickly in this climate

and there's no sign of rust.

Very good, Watson.

Alec's car was hit by a 1974 Rolls-Royce

made before May 1.

How on earth do you know that?

Elementary.

Now, you recognize this poly-gloss black enamel paint

used exclusively by Rolls-Royce?

Now on the other side of the paint chip,

cadmium-yellow primer.

Now, that was only made in the first part of '74.

So,

all we have to do is check out a few body shops

and see if any 1974 Rolls-Royces

went in for bodywork.

I see.

It's a far quicker route to Moriarty than poison.

Poison?

When the attempt on his life failed--

Mr. Higgins, the men from the British Museum are leaving.

They have all of Sir Alec's papers.

Thank you, Mrs. Akawi.

You've got to stop them, Watson.

We can't let them get away with everything.

They haven't.

I...

held back Sir Alec's diary.

Sometimes, Watson,

I underestimate you.

No time to lose. Much work to be done on this paint business.

The wine cellar.

I must check it later.

Where was I, lads?

David...

traced the car...

in question...

to...

Weingarten's...

Body...

Shop.

I found it.

Dirty, little, well-hidden place on, what I think you call the North Shore.

Believe me, Watson,

the man who owns this particular Rolls-Royce

didn't want that repair work discovered.

We have our man!

How can you be sure it's the right car?

Simple deduction, really.

One of three on the island with the infamous yellow primer

and the only one that has recently been involved in an accident.

Registered to a Chinese fellow,

Ching Hoon Ching.

Bring a hat, Watson.

We're going to pay our Mr. Ching a visit.

No, wait, please.

There is a gentleman by that name who...

well, if he had been responsible for such an accident,

he certainly wouldn't be trying to hide it.

Hoon Ching is one of the most successful

and respected businessmen on this island.

So, what of it? He'll have a chance to explain.

No, I'm sorry. We can't just barge in and accuse a man of his standing.

Your attitude is becoming very tedious, Watson.

What's come over you? We have our culprit, and you--

I want to use some restraint, please.

Yes, well, hang your restraint!

I'll attend to Mr. Ching alone.

It wasn't just the fact

that David had indeed located the body shop

or that he might embarrass one of our city's leading citizens

that prompted me to accompany him to Hoon Ching's residence.

An entry in Alec's diary led me to the conclusion

that Alec and David had been for some time

in correspondence over a case.

A case involving someone whose name started with "C."

Ching?

Perhaps, my own curiosity was overcoming my better judgment.

Yeah?

Mr. Hoon Ching, please.

My father is busy. You selling something?

Perhaps we could make an appointment for another time.

We have urgent business.

Please inform Mr. Ching immediately.

I told you, he's busy.

We have irrefutable proof

that your father's car was involved in a serious accident this past week.

An accident which perhaps he does not care to acknowledge.

Victor.

You told me you hit a tree.

I told you what you needed to hear.

You damaged someone's car and you don't even--

Okay, so I hit the car. Big deal.

Apparently, my son was not altogether truthful about his accident.

I apologize for any inconvenience

and I shall call my insurance company immediately.

Oh, yes, thank you. I'll leave my card.

- No. - But...

Perhaps, it's best to make contact with

Mr. Ching at a later time.

When all the arrangements are made,

can we plan to meet again, Mr. Ching?

As you wish.

But I will need the name of the car's owner.

The late Sir Alec Ramsey.

Good day, sir.

Did you see through his disguise, Watson?

It's he.

We've stood face-to-face again.

- You think it's... - Moriarty.

David was building his plot.

First, there was the crime for Holmes to solve.

Then came Watson, and now Moriarty.

And the vow to stop the master criminal.

As I examined Alec's diary into the early hours of the morning,

I began to have the uneasy feeling

that David was not as mad as I had first presumed.

The wording of certain entries left no doubt

that Alec was involved with something illegal,

perhaps a crime as heinous as drug trafficking.

And I had to conclude that David's deductions might

very well be leading him to the perpetrators of that crime.

David.

David.

David.

Are you all right?

When I was a kid, we had a cocker spaniel named Topper.

Stubbornest dog I ever knew.

He took it in his head one day that he wanted

one of my tennis shoes for a chew toy.

And no matter where I hid that tennis shoe,

he'd find it.

Years later, my mom said

I had become every bit as stubborn as my dog.

Frankly, I never thought of myself as stubborn.

Just patient.

Higgins.

I've been trying to talk to you all day.

I know.

I've got sort of a problem, Higgins.

I wouldn't bother you unless it was really important,

but there's this lens that you keep--

Higgins!

For some hours after David's disappearance,

I combed the grounds for signs of forced entry.

The estate was secure.

David's abduction was assuredly the work of experts.

Just as I resigned myself to phoning the authorities,

I received a call that gave me cause for hope.

A male voice with an accent I could only guess to be Oriental

had instructed me to come to a spot

in the tawdriest part of town and wait.

David was right once again.

I had been a bumbling Watson,

obsessed with the now trivial matter of Alec's past,

not there to assist when his own deductions

had led him into grave danger.

I hadn't realized until that moment

how strong the bonds of friendship really are.

I was deeply concerned for the safety of my old school chum.

Get out of here. What do you want?

Your name is Watson.

Certainly, not.

My name is Chee.

Are you the man who called me about my friend? Where is he?

Is he all right?

I was told to look for a bowler hat.

See here.

I think, you've given up wearing it altogether, my good man.

Too warm for this climate, eh?

David.

Sigerson. Follow me.

What on earth happened to you?

Judging from the small punctures in my side,

some form of drugged dart.

I eluded my captors, and in short order,

I found some materials for this disguise.

An excellent mask, if I say it myself, eh?

A Chinese ancient can learn more in a few minutes on these streets

than an Englishman can ever discover.

David,

I demand some kind of explanation.

No time to explain!

Act like you know why you're here and leave me to handle everything.

Please.

$50.

My friend will gladly pay.

$50 for these?

My friend will pay. It is indeed a bargain.

Yes, yes, of course.

They're easily worth twice as much.

Harmless, smoke-producing powder.

Huh?

Moriarty's men must believe that we're partaking of opium.

Moriarty.

Still one and the same with...

The amiable and well-beloved businessman, Hoon Ching.

This island's underworld prince.

Brothels, illegal casinos, drug trafficking,

opium palaces just like this one.

Ching is his best disguise so far.

Pretend you're enjoying it, Watson.

I had no idea places like this still existed.

There are lot of things you're not aware of yet.

I believe I am.

I know you and Alec were corresponding.

It's all in the diary.

I can understand your trying to conceal from me

the possibility that Alec was

somehow involved in the sale of opium.

He wasn't selling.

The diary lists everything.

Meeting places, dates, shipping lines.

Even the name of a supplier in Burma.

What else could it be?

You know, I sometimes truly underestimate you, Watson.

But you're wrong about Alec.

I'm surprised that Moriarty hasn't made his move.

His move?

They'll be no attempt to harm us here, naturally.

Too public.

Naturally.

We'll be taken elsewhere. Moriarty will be there.

He wouldn't miss witnessing our death for the world.

Perhaps we should alert someone.

I'm prepared.

His own medicine.

The same deadly herbal poison that killed Alec.

I cannot be a party to this.

I'll catch him off his guard.

David, this has got to stop.

Trust me one step further, Watson.

Excuse me.

I overcharged you for the pipes.

I make it up to you.

Take you to a place of great pleasure,

where your virility will much improve.

This seems to be a harmless enough treatment.

I hardly think these needles are going to kill us.

No, of course not.

But Moriarty has no idea we are knowledgeable in the art of acupuncture.

You know how to turn without causing pain?

Yes, of course.

While in Malaysia, I--

Good.

He believes us to be drugged and in fear of moving.

Our cunning foe has left nothing to chance.

And neither have we, I trust?

No. When he returns, the doctor will be carrying

a syringe like I have.

When he goes to inject the poison,

leap from the table and overpower him.

I will deal with Moriarty.

Leap?

We must pretend to be fast asleep

until they are right beside us.

If we get separated, stall them

until I get back with the evidence that I need.

On your guard.

Watson, run for it.

The back.

No, wait.

Don't let him get away!

Mr. Higgins...

The explanation.

- Listen... - Let's have it.

Why were you speaking in Russian?

That's nothing but an anesthesia gun.

Yes, I'm aware of that.

I don't think you really want to be asleep for the next five hours.

Four.

Despite the Home Office verification,

you're not from the British Museum.

No.

Mr. Higgins, we needed Sir Alec's papers to check for any comments

that might prove to be embarrassing to Her Majesty's government.

And dangerous to Mr. Worth.

Dangerous?

David Malcolm Worth,

alias Stanley Sigerson,

is an escapee from a home for the insane.

And why, may I ask

would MI6 be so interested

in the whereabouts of one mentally troubled person?

When that person happens to have been a British secret agent

in Russia for 30 years.

Mr. Higgins, he has enough information in that scrambled brain of his

to start a war.

Under normal circumstances,

I guess you'd have to say I'm a pretty easygoing guy.

Under normal circumstances.

But Higgins had gone too far.

It was no longer even a matter of getting the camera lens.

It was more important to prove to myself and to him, I guess,

that I could get into that room.

And I figured

if the lads wanted out badly enough,

Higgins would have to take them out.

Zeus, Apollo. Stay.

Very well.

Perhaps you're right.

We could all use a walk about the grounds.

All right, lads.

Here we go.

"I gave Hopkins the secret code

to the opium den

on the off-chance David had slipped back inside."

This is great.

Mr. Higgins.

He's not in there.

Perhaps Lever's come across him.

I hoped he might have gone back to the car, but...

Not our Mr. Worth.

He's probably already found a new disguise.

And may be hot on the trail of yet another infamous Dr. Moriarty.

Rather embarrassing to have lost him twice in the one day.

Then you abducted him from the estate.

Yes.

He's our greatest challenge.

We censor all his mail, all records of his identity have been destroyed.

He's watched round the clock.

Yet this is his fifth escape from the sanatorium.

This time due to my telegram.

I thought you said his mail was censored?

Yes, well, it seemed harmless enough,

the notice of the death of an old friend.

Whose letters you also considered harmless.

Quite.

What happened to the Chinese doctor we accidentally tranquilized?

- I don't know. - Hopkins.

Have you found him?

A patrolman on the next block, roughly 30 minutes ago

says he saw an elderly Chinese gentleman running along

picking needles out of his face.

The patrolman tried to stop him but was--

- Eluded. - Right.

Well, we've got nothing better to do. Let's go look for him.

I'm staying with the car.

I'd go home, Mr. Higgins.

That would be best.

Psst. Psst.

David, is that you?

You crazy old coots are pretty swift

getting away from my doctor.

Now suppose you tell me where the doctor is.

And where we can find your friend?

I'm afraid you're wasting your time questioning me.

Am I?

I need to know where the doctor is

and I need to know where your friend is.

As they moved the flame closer to my hand,

I began to recognize a feeling

I hadn't had since my combat days.

A numbing, sickly sweet feeling slipped through me.

"I knew I had no information to give them,

but, if I could stall them,

I could buy my old friend some valuable time."

Oh, my God.

Higgins. Now, Higgins, I can explain.

Or should I say Watson?

Get out.

No, I mean, where do you get this stuff? This is great!

I mean, guys running around in kimonos,

pulling needles out of their faces.

I mean, you've really topped yourself, Higgins.

You look awful.

Look...

I mean, I just came in to get this...

this camera lens that I needed.

I tried to ask you for it,

but you were acting so mysterious.

I guess I just had to find out what you were up to.

So you invaded my privacy.

Read personal papers that were not intended for your eyes.

And then, when caught,

made a joke out of the entire affair.

I'm sorry, Higgins.

I just got carried away.

And you're right. I just thought it was a game.

I'm sorry.

So what happened?

I mean, I figure one of two things.

Either, you got out of it by yourself,

or these fake museum guys came back and rescued you.

You actually believe I'm going to discuss this with you?

Well, I've had some experience.

Experience.

This has nothing to do with you.

It happened long before you were here.

Well, I know that...

now.

I just thought

that two friends discussing an interesting case...

I was just curious.

You're absolutely right.

When you said experience, I thought you were referring to this case.

Friendship, of course,

is quite another matter.

A matter I find it particularly difficult to discuss at the moment.

Well.

The large Oriental gentleman

seemed to take great delight

in moving my hand closer to the flame.

One never likes to admit to fear, of course.

But...

I had no doubt they meant to torture me,

even kill me if need be.

How much could I endure without talking?

It was a question each of us had asked ourselves at Sandhurst

and throughout our military careers.

Where have you stashed the doctor?

So David was right.

You did kill Alec.

And anyone else who comes snooping into my business.

Very careless, Victor.

For one who presumes to take my place.

All very careless.

You can kill this man.

But if you don't find his friend,

he obviously knows a great deal about your business interests.

Release him now and I'll still try to help you.

Release him!

You don't seem to understand, do you?

You're no longer in charge.

Where have you been?

Your time just ran out.

The doc here is a master at this stuff.

It doesn't hurt.

Just stops the heart.

Turn Watson loose. Now.

Let him go.

My apologies for the tardiness

and slight miscalculation, Watson,

but the plan remains intact.

So, Moriarty,

you were the son and not the father all along.

Mr. Ching,

you're a master criminal in your own right.

But, not the one at the moment, eh?

Herbal poison, Watson.

Close to the lethal concoction used on Alec.

But why on earth would they kill him?

Unless...

he was onto their scheme.

Precisely.

And now the entries in the diary begin to make sense.

He must have been collecting evidence against Victor.

Trying to become a master detective,

like you.

Unfortunately, he was not a master.

Just a good Baker Street Irregular game player

and Victor discovered the plot.

Really, Watson, you excel yourself.

Quite elementary, actually.

But thank you...

Holmes.

Now, Watson,

if you will be good enough to open the door,

I'll take our Moriarty to the authorities.

Gentlemen.

Put down the syringe.

We'll call the police to come for this crew.

David,

you've solved the crime, all right?

We'll take it from here.

Moriarty.

You are a most admirable foe.

Watson.

Take my lead.

Watson.

What's the meaning of this?

Why?

David was returned to England

and the safety of the sanatorium.

He very kindly forgave me and we corresponded regularly,

happily creating and solving the most complex crimes.

Then several months ago, I received the most curious letter from him.

In part, it read,

"It's done, Watson.

I am now convinced my wits have dulled with age.

I grant to Moriarty his victory.

But the good fight was waged, eh?"

It was signed, most uncharacteristically,

David Worth,

Wellwood Sanatorium, Surrey.

That's the last time you heard from him?

Forgive me for being such a boor the last few days.

My obsession, as you call it.

It did, however, seem

terribly important that it be done now.

He died?

Last week.

Terribly sad for a man who so loved excitement.

Simple pneumonia.

Watson.