All language subtitles for S04E04 Wisteria Lodge

Ah,

well, unkind for you, perhaps, but we
British, you know, we're hardy souls.

The county of Surrey is particularly
interesting.

I'm looking

forward to showing you my entire
collection of

Surrey bats. I mean, there's Maul and
Oglebay.

I've got one or two here I can show you.

This is your house, is it? Yes, please.

You're welcome.

It's very nice.

I suppose, Watson, we must look upon you
as a man of letters.

How do you define the word grotesque?

Grotesque?

Oh, strange?

Remarkable? No, no, no, no, no, no, no,
no. Surely there's more to it than that.

Some underlying suggestion of the
tragic, the terrible.

If you cast your mind back to those
narratives with which you've inflicted a

long -suffering public, you will see how
often the word grotesque has

deepened into the criminal.

There's that.

The fare of the red -headed men was
grotesque enough at the outset.

Ah!

Oh, that most grotesque affair.

The five orange pips. Yes, which led
straight to a murderous conspiracy.

Now, the word puts me on the alert.

Now, have you seen that?

Oh.

I've just had the most incredible and
grotesque experience.

May I consult you, Scott Eccles?

Post office, Charing Cross.

Oh.

Is it a man or a woman? A man!

No woman was sent a reply, paid
telegram, she would have come.

Did you see him?

Oh, my dear Watson.

You know how bored I've been since we
locked up

Colonel Carruthers.

Lie.

His common face.

The newspapers tell I of audacity where
a man seemed to have passed forever from

the criminal world.

I hope I'll see him.

But if they're very much mistaken, this
is our client.

Mr. Holmes. Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.
Well, are you Mr. Holmes? Certainly.

Mr. Holmes, I have just had a most
singular and unpleasant experience.

Never in my life have I been subject to
such embarrassment and been placed in

such a position.

Please sit down, Mrs Scott -Eccles, my
friend and colleague, Dr Watson, now in

the first place. Now, why you have come
to me at all?

Well, sir, it didn't appear to be a
matter which concerned the police. Yet,

you've heard the facts, you must admit I
couldn't just leave it where it was.

Now, private detectives, they're a class
with whom I'm absolutely... I have no

sympathy. Sit!

Mrs Scott -Eccles.

Well, nonetheless,

Having heard your name... What? I
decided... Now, the second place, why

not come to me at once?

What do you mean?

Well, it is now quarter past two.

The telegram is dispatched about one. No
one could glance at your toilet in a

time without seeing your disturbance
dates for the moment of your waking.

You're right,

Mr Holmes.

Yes. I never gave a thought to my
toilet. I was only too glad to get out

a house.

Oh, no.

No, thank you.

You see, I've been running round making
inquiries before I came here.

I called at the house agents, you know.
Oh, yes, yes. And they said that Mr

Garcia's rent was paid up all right and
that everything was in order in Wisteria

Lodge. Oh, no, come, come, come, sir.

You know, you're like my friend Watson
who has the bad habit of telling his

stories wrong end foremost. Now, please,
please.

Arrange your thoughts and let me know in
their due sequence exactly what those

events are which have sent you out,
unbrushed and unkempt, with your dress

and waistcoat buttoned awry in search of
advice and assistance.

Well, I'm a bachelor, and being of a
sociable turn,

I cultivate a large number of friends.

At the table of one of them recently, I
met a young fellow named Garcia, a

prison chap of Spanish descent,
connected in some way with the embassy.

We discovered a common interest in
cartography.

Or so I thought.

That's the study of old maps.

The plan was to retrace Surrey as Thomas
Moule engraved it some 50 years ago.

Well, as soon as I arrived yesterday
evening, I knew something was wrong.

The atmosphere of the place.

The house was tumbled down, depressing.

Garthy had told me he had a wonderful
cook, a half -breed he'd picked up on

travels. But the dinner, it was so ill
-prepared and served with such bad grace

that it was barely edible.

I can assure you that there were many
times in the course of the evening I

I could have invented some excuse to
leave.

What did you say? Well, the roots are
fascinating, John Ogilvie.

Across the Heathland. Ah, it wasn't just
the Heathland. It was all over the

county.

I say, are you feeling all right?

Yes, sir.

Sorry.

Luis, Luis, some more wine for our
guest.

Yeah.

Are we expecting company?

I would like a drink of that if it's
possible.

And he made no remark as to the contents
of the note?

None.

But from that moment, he gave a whole
potential conversation.

He just sat there, smoking his end of
cigarettes.

At about 11, I was going to take to bed.

Two hours later, he looked in at my
door. Did you ring?

Did I ring?

Ah, please, don't wake up. It's nearly
one o 'clock.

Please go back to sleep.

Good night.

And now I come to the amazing part of my
tale.

When I woke, it was broad daylight.

Nearly nine.

I had particularly asked to be called at
eight.

So I was very much astonished at this
forgetfulness.

I say, is anybody here?

I'd like some hot water.

I rang for the servant.

There was no response.

Somebody?

I say, is there a servant available?

Oh,

this is terrible.

I went from room to room.

All were deserted.

Even my host's room. The bed had never
been slept in.

Foreign host, foreign footman, foreign
cook, all vanished in the night.

Your experience is, so far as I know,
perfectly unique.

Now, what else can you tell me?

Well, I was furious.

I packed my bags.

And I banged the front door behind me,
and I set out for Isha.

And then I called at Allen Brothers, the
land agents, and found it was from them

that the villa had been rented. Rented?

Well, you see, I couldn't believe that
they'd gone simply to make a fool

of me.

I thought, you know, it must be the
rent.

But I was wrong.

See, the...

Agent thanked me for my warning, but
said that the rent had been paid in

advance. By the Spanish Embassy, I
imagine.

I called it the Spanish Embassy.

The man is unknown to them.

They also asked my friend, who
introduced us, and he seemed to know

Garcia than I did. Now, this house...

was still a lodge.

I wonder if it's still as you left it.

What's troubling you, Watson?

Well, I fear some mundane explanation
for events may await us upon our

It's possible we can thank our lucky
mate, which has rescued us for a few

from the uncomfortable fatigues of
islanders.

This

gentleman

recommends the bull.

In the village. That's if we're to stay
overnight.

I, uh, asked him if he knew Garcia or
his servant.

Did he?

No.

Nothing unusual about the outside.

Let's see what the interior holds for
us.

I suppose we can be charged with an
outbreak, can't we?

Such a mess.

Yes, indeed.

Mr. Holmes.

Wisteria Lodge, Mr.

Holmes.

Inspector Baines of the Surrey
Constabulary.

This is Constable Downing.

And you are Mr.

John Scott Eccles of Popham House, Lee?

I am.

Mr. Scott Eccles. We've been following
you about all the morning.

You've chased him through his telegram,
I presume.

Exactly.

We picked up the scent at Charing Cross
Post Office.

But what do you want?

Why do you follow me?

We wish a statement, Mr Scott Eccles, as
to the events which led up to the death

of Mr Aloysius Garcia of Wisteria Lodge,
near Isha.

Dead, did you say?

Oh, yes, he is dead, yes.

But how?

An accident?

A murder, sir.

If ever there was one on earth.

No. No.

Oh, God, this... This is awful.

And you don't mean that I'm suspected?

Well, sir, your note was found on the
dead man's body.

And from it we learnt that you had
planned to stay here in this house last

night. So I did.

Oh, you did, did you?

I... Wait.

Baines, I mean, surely all you need is a
simple statement.

Yes, Mr. Holmes, but it is my duty to
warn Mr. Scott Eccles that it may be

used against him.

Ah,

this is my friend and colleague, Dr.
Watson, Inspector Baines. Yes, of

Doctor, your detention.

Oh.

You look as if you can do with a drink.

I found some brandy in the library.

I don't know.

I can assure you, Inspector, that, you
know, every word I've said, it is the

truth.

I'm bound to say, Mr Scott Eccles, that
everything you've said does

agree with the facts as they've come to
our notice.

For example, the note that arrived
during dinner.

Mr Scott Eccles, what became of the
note?

Well, Garcia rolled it up and threw it
in the fire.

What does it say to that? It was a dog
grate, Mr.

Holmes. He overfixed it.

I found this unburnt at the back.

You must have made a very careful
examination of the house to find a

pellet of paper.

Oh, I did, Mr.

Holmes, I did.

It's my way.

The note's written on ordinary...

Cream -laid paper with a watermark.

It's a quarter sheet. The paper's cut
off in two snips with the short -bladed

scissors.

It's been folded twice and sealed with
scarlet wax.

It's addressed to Mr Garcia, Wisteria
Lodge.

And it says... Our own colours, green
and white.

Green open.

White shut.

Main stairs.

First corridor.

Seventh ripe.

Green bays.

Godspeed.

D.

It's in a woman's writing, done with a
very sharp pointed pen.

But the address is either done with a
different pen...

Or by someone else.

Because it's thicker and bolder, as you
may see, Mr. Holmes.

It's a remarkable note.

I really must congratulate you on your
attention to detail.

There are a few trifling points which
might perhaps be added.

The seal is a sleeve length.

What else is of such a shape?

The scissors were bent. No scissors.

Short of the two steps are, you can
distinctly see the slight curve in each.

I thought I'd squeezed it dry, Mr.
Holmes.

But I see there was some still left over
after all.

I'm bound to say that I make nothing of
the note.

Except that, uh...

Something's on hand and woman, as usual.

It's at the bottom of it.

Oh.

Well, I'm very glad you found the note,
Inspector, because it corroborates my

story. But, you know, I do beg to point
out that I haven't yet heard what has

happened to Mr Garcia or what has become
of his household.

As for Mr.

Garcia, that's easily answered. He was
found dead on Oxshot Common

this morning.

His head had been beaten to a pulp by a
sandbag for some

such object, with a crush rather than
wounded.

Apparently, he'd been first shook down
from behind, but his assailant went on.

beating him long after he was dead. It
was a very furious assault.

Ah. I mean, this activity that we saw as
we approached the house, were there any

footsteps or clues as to the criminal?

None.

As yet.

Had Garcia been robbed?

No. No time for robbery, no.

Well, our tenant seemed to have left
little or nothing behind him. Apart from

the clothes, some pipes, a few noggles,
two of them in Spanish.

One of them is methane.

Yeah.

Well, you might assume that G stands for
Garthia.

Family heirloom, perhaps.

The other was not on the body, nor has
it been found in the vicinity, though my

men are still looking. Do you wish to
look round the house?

A brief look.

Am I with you?

Watson!

Watson! What have you seen?

Could have been the devil for all I
know.

Staring eyes at the window.

Negroid features, mulatto -like. He's
got a way across the fields.

Maybe just as well I don't think I could
have laid hands on him.

Ah, but if he is all the same scale as
his foot, then he is certainly

a giant.

Well, whoever he was and whatever he
wanted, he's gone for the present.

And we have more important things to
attend to.

Darling, you stay here.

And you, sir, shall come to the station
with me. Yes, sir. And let me have a

written statement.

Yes, certainly. I'll come at once. I
hope you don't mind our collaborating

you, Inspector. I'll be honoured.

I'll be honoured.

Inspector, is there any clue as to the
exact hour to the man's death?

One o 'clock.

It rained about that time, and the death
certainly occurred before the rain.

No! No, no! That is perfectly
impossible, Mr. Baines. No, no, his

unmistakable. I could swear to it that
it was he who addressed me in my room at

that very hour.

But he spoke to me in... You know, that
funny accident of his, he said he's

nearly one o 'clock.

Remarkable, but one must not confuse the
unlikely with the impossible.

What does he mean by that?

Certainly some strange people occupied
that house, Mr Holmes.

One of them is dead.

Did some of his companions follow him
and murder him?

If so, we should have them, for every
port is watched.

But my views are different, Mr Holmes.

Yes, sir.

My views are very different. You have a
theory.

And I'll work it myself, Mr. Holmes.

Your name is already made. I get to make
mine.

And I should like to be able to say
afterwards that I solved it without your

help.

Then do you follow your path and I will
follow mine. Goodbye, Mr. Scott Eggles.

Goodbye, Mr. Holmes. Scott Eggles.

Now, let us consider this note.

Is there a woman involved, a jealous
husband?

Godspeed. Godspeed, Dean. That must be
our guide.

The man was a Spaniard. I suggest that
the D stands for Dolores. It's a common

female name in Spain.

A Spaniard would write to a Spaniard in
Spanish, Watson.

Sit down.

Gelita, break. I need to see Anthony
again.

Silence, girls.

Mr. Holmes, look what I found in a gorse
bush.

I'm sorry.

Sorry, I see her.

You are trespassing. I'm sorry, sir. I
seem to have lost my direction. Is it

your custom to wander... Ah!

Dr. Wakefield, my friend and fellow
cartographer.

Yes, indeed.

You know, we were so engrossed... In
trying to change the bridal path to the

-vanished Hamlet of Ogredor, St Mary's,
that we mislaid each other. And since

you were late, Mr. Henderson, I thought
I'm so glad you found your way here. I

very much regret that Mr. Henderson is
too busy to see you today.

No, Lucas.

I won't see you.

Gentlemen.

The purpose of our visit is to inquire
into the history of High

Gable, which we believe has an
intriguing and bloodthirsty past, since

of the English Civil War.

I would have no knowledge of that.

I'm only a recent invader.

Ah. But there are local records in the
library.

There are no records of any past
violence in this house.

I see.

Then I will detain you no more.

Good day.

I thought you were in London.

For the morning only.

Well, with your usual reluctance to
confide your thoughts to me, I exercised

own mind in the matter.

You'd circled two names on your list,
Henderson and High Gable. Well, the

are very respectable people, far aloof
from romance.

But this man, Henderson, he's a very
singular creation.

Yes, indeed.

As you may have noticed, no tea for me,
the house.

His double wings, one side the servants,
the other side the family.

There is one single connecting door for
the Henderson family meals.

Are you sure he couldn't observe all
that for the short time we were there,

Holmes? Ah, there are no better
instruments for gossip than discharged

Now, I was lucky enough to find one who
had been sacked by his imperious master,

Henderson, in a fit of violent temper.

Now, the Henderson girls whom you
encountered have a governess.

A miss?

Burnett, an Englishwoman. Here is a very
singular fact.

She has not been seen since the night of
the murder.

She has utterly vanished. I've seen her.

Of course.

I've seen her and she is alive. I saw
her at the window at High Gable.

My God, a prisoner.

She slipped my mind.

The moment those awful gorgons descended
upon me.

She is alive. I've seen her.

This man I saw and chased.

Baines has ripped the wrong man.

Hard one. Stop.

Is he the murderer?

Did he kill the bandit on the column?
Where did he capture him?

This man.

is the murdered man's cook who
disappeared on the night of the crime.

there were valuables left in the house
and that their abstraction was the

motive. The man had been seen in the
vicinity of the house once before. The

second time... Stop you in Higgins'
blanket!

The second time we left an angle skate
for him, we shall be applying for remand

when the prisoner is brought before the
magistrate. That will do for now,

gentlemen. Thank you very much.

What did he do? Where did he go?

I am not convinced that you are on the
right line. Mr. Holmes doesn't want you

to commit yourself too far unless you're
sure.

Oh, you're very...

We did agree to work on our own lines,
didn't we?

And that's what I'm doing.

You're welcome always to my news.

This fellow is as strong as a cart horse
and fierce as the devil.

He nearly bit off Constable Downing's
thumb before they managed to master him.

He speaks hardly any English and we can
get nothing out of him but grunts.

And you think...

But you have evidence that he murdered
his late master.

I didn't say so, Mr. Holmes.

I didn't say so.

We all have our own little ways.

You will go yours, and I will go mine.
That was the agreement.

Sidney.

I think Baines is riding for the fall.

I'd have to agree with you there.

You appreciate our difficulty, Watson.

There's nothing upon which we can apply
for a warrant.

And with our worthy inspector making his
arrest, Our theory would seem fantastic

if laid before the magistrate. And yet
you think the lady is in danger of her

life. Yes, I'm sure of it, Watson.

Therefore, we must take the law into our
own hands.

Left bay.

We could reach us from that outhouse.

Right.

Dominic.

Mr Holmes, you have given me the very
evidence I wanted.

We were both on the same scent from the
start.

You went after Henderson, too?

Why, sir, well, you first, and then,
uh... Dr Watson here came crawling

the undergrowth at High Gable.

I was up a tree observing you both. It
was just a question of who got the

evidence first.

Why did you arrest the mulatto?

Well... I was sure that Henderson, as he
calls himself, felt he was suspected.

And he would make no move so long as he
thought he was in danger. So I arrested

the wrong man.

You know, you will rise high in your
profession, Inspector.

You have instinct and intuition.

Thank you, Mr. Holmes.

But we can't arrest without Miss
Burnett's evidence, can we?

I shall be able to give you that in a
moment, but...

Tell me, who is this man, Henderson?

He's Don Murillo, known as the Tiger of
San Pedro.

One of the most dangerous men out of
Central America.

Oh, indeed.

A most lewd and bloodthirsty tyrant. Who
imposed his odious vices upon a

cowering people for almost 12 years.

Was it the San Pedro colors, green and
white, that first put you onto it?

That and my visit to London.

To the Spanish Embassy in the Foreign
Office. Please, this is your case,

Inspector.

Five years ago, there was a rising
against the

tyrant. But it was an empty palace they
stormed. Don Murillo, his secretary, two

children and all the wealth had escaped
by ship.

And from that moment, they disappeared
from the face of the earth.

His identity has been a subject of
constant comment in the European press.

We discovered him a year ago.

Miss Burnett.

How came you into this matter, Miss
Burnett?

An English lady in such a murderous
affair.

Because there is no other way in the
world by which justice can be gained.

What does the law of England care about
the rivers of blood?

Shed so many years ago in San Pedro.

Or the shipload of treasure that this
man has stolen from us.

To you, they're like crimes committed in
some other planet.

We know.

My real name is Signora Victor Durando.

My husband was the minister of San Pedro
in London. He met and married me there.

An obler man never lived upon the earth.

Unhappily, Murillo heard of his
excellence and

recalled him on some pretext and shot
him

by a stroke of premonition.

My husband had refused to take me with
him.

Then came the downfall of the monster.

He escaped, as you have described.

But the many whose lives he had ruined,
whose loved ones had suffered torture

and death at his hands, would not let
the matter rest. We banded ourselves

a society which would never be dissolved
until the work was done.

It was my part to attach myself to his
household and keep the others in touch

with his movements.

I secured the position as governor.

J. Harlow.

He little knew that the woman who faced
him at every meal was the woman whose

husband he had hurried to eternity.

I smiled on him, did my duty to his
children, and bided my time.

An attempt was made in Paris and failed.

We zigzagged here and there swiftly over
Europe to throw off our pursuers and

finally returned to High Gable.

Garcia had been waiting there for nearly
a year with two trusty companions, all

fired with the same reasons of revenge.

Who was Garcia?

The son of Fernando Garcia.

One of the former highest dignitaries of
San Pedro, who was murdered... like

your husband.

This note you sent, you say it was
intercepted?

During the day.

Murillo took every precaution and never
went out save with his satellite, Lucas.

Even at night, the man was forever on
the alert and continually changed his

room.

We had arranged that I would send Garcia
final instructions.

The doors would be open and the signal
of a green or white light in a window

which faced the drive was to give notice
if all was safe or if the attempt had

better be postponed.

To whom are you writing this letter?

Which describes, it would seem, the room
in which I intend to sleep tonight.

Who is your confederate?

Who is your confederate?

What is your real name, Miss Burnett?

My name is Giorando.

Giorando, sweetheart.

Who are you writing to?

Tell me.

Senor Eduardo?

Who? It's a name you fear. He's waiting
for you.

Hysteria Lodge.

He's waiting to dispatch you to hell.
You fiends.

I knew the boy well.

His father was once my dearest friend.

You murdered him!

He betrayed me.

And so did your husband.

And now they've done the right thing.

I'm indestructible.

At

first,

they were of a mind to let him enter the
house and kill him as a detected

burglar. But they feared the inquiry
might publicly expose them.

Uno para todos.

Todos para uno.

Someday justice will come.

That is as certain as the rise of
tomorrow's sun.

I have no doubt that my life too hung in
the balance.

For most of the time I was confined to
my room, terrorized by the most horrible

threat to break my spirit.

Occasionally I was allowed out, but only
when they had first drunk my food.

And it was at this date that you found
me at the station.

And thanks to this good man, I am beyond
their power forever.

Well, Inspector, our police work is
done.

But our legal work begins.

Exactly, Mr Holmes, yes.

Garcia's death in the hands of a
plausible lawyer could look like an act

-defence. I think better of the law than
that.

Self -defence is one thing, but to
entice a man in cold blood with the

murdering him is another. Whatever
danger you fear from it, I think we

justice done at the next go for the size
of it. Of course, you have released the

mulatto. Yes, sir, he's a free man
again.

And your man is with the fugitives on
the train? Yes, sir, yes. And I've wired

Scotland Yard to have their men at
Waterloo Station. The reason is... Yes.

You know, I really must congratulate
you, Inspector.

Your powers, if I may say so, without
offence, are superior to your

opportunities. You're right, Mr Holmes.

In the provinces, we stagnate. A case
like this gives a manner.