Original subtitles

And this is where the Prince is stabled.

Oh, Sir Robert.

Sorry to disturb you.

This is Joe Barnes.

Josiah's boy.

I know who he is, Mason.

What's he doing here?

He's keen to race horses.

I can ride, Sir Robert.

I'd love to be a jockey.

Would you?

More than anything in the world.

Well, that's good, very good.

But what has it got to do with me?

Well, I thought I could work for you.

I have all the jockeys I need.

Please give me a chance, sir.

I'll muck out the stables,

clean the yard,

anything you want.

I'll think about it.

Thank you, Sir Robert.

Sir, at the house, you better come quick.

Why?

There's trouble, sir.

I told you Lady Beatrice is unwell

and does not wish to be disturbed.

I think she'll make an exception in my case.

I'm sorry, sir.

I have strict instructions.

Are you going to let me speak to Lady Beatrice

or will I have to use force?

You'll answer to me first, Brewer.

This gentleman is most insistent

upon speaking to her ladyship, sir.

I warned you never to come here.

Our business can be discussed at your office,

not here.

I've tried to settle this matter on many occasions.

As you well know, Sir Robert.

You've got a nerve coming here after New Market.

I'm leaving nothing to chance this time.

Perhaps Lady Beatrice will be more prepared

to listen to reason.

Your grievance is with me, Brewer,

and with no one else.

It would certainly be of concern to Lady Beatrice.

Robert, who are these people?

And what do they want?

I'll tell you what I want, Lady Beatrice.

Get him out of here.

I want what's rightfully mine.

Get out.

Go while you can still walk.

I'll be back, Lady Beatrice.

Good day to you.

I'm sorry you've been upset, my dear.

What did he mean, Robert,

what's rightfully his?

Nothing for you to worry about.

But I do worry, Robert.

I know you too well.

He won't bother us again.

What should we do if he does come back, sir?

If he does come back,

I'll deal with him myself.

Watson, do you know a bit of racing?

I ought to.

I paid for it with about half my wound pension.

Then I'll give you my handy guide to the turf.

Your what?

Does the name Sir Robert Norberton recall anything?

Careful.

He's got a horse running in the Champion Stakes.

He lives at Shoscombe Hall.

His stables are known locally

as Shoscombe Old Place.

But you don't know the man himself?

I never met him if that's what you mean.

He has a reputation

of being rather a dangerous man.

How dangerous?

I remember an instance some months ago

when he horsewhipped a man on New Market Heath.

Samuel Brewer,

the Carson Street moneylender.

What was the reason for this assault?

Well, I imagine that Sir Robert had a grudge

against moneylenders.

Or is heavily in their debt.

Well, by all accounts,

he's so far down Queer Street,

he may never find his way back again.

I received a letter from John Mason,

the head trainer at Shoscombe.

It arrived an hour ago.

Dear Mr. Holmes,

you will no doubt have read

of the disappearance a number of days ago

of Samuel Brewer.

In the interests of my employer,

Sir Robert Norberton,

I should like to visit you

to discuss a matter of the utmost urgency.

He suggests a convenient time?

And already is several minutes late.

Samuel Brewer's disappeared.

The newspapers make a lot of it,

but let's hear more about Shoscombe.

Well, the Shoscombe spaniels,

special pride of the lady of Shoscombe Place.

The wife of Sir Robert Norberton I presume.

No, no, He never married.

He lives with his widowed sister,

Lady Beatrice Folder.

You mean she lives with him?

No, no, the place belonged to

her late husband, Sir James.

What should be amiss at Shoscombe?

What indeed?

(Knock at the door)

And here I expect is the man who can tell us.

Yes?

My eggs were hard boiled.

There's a Mr. Mason to see you, sir.

Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, show him in.

Sir.

If you'll come this way.

You got my note, Mr. Holmes?

Yes.

But it explained nothing.

It was too delicate a thing

for me to put the details on paper.

It was too complicated.

You may rely on the discretion

of my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson.

Please sit down. Thank you.

Mr. Holmes,

I think Sir Robert Norberton

has gone mad.

Please, this is Baker Street

not Harley Street.

Why do you say so?

I believe Shoscombe Prince

and the Champion Stakes

have turned his brain.

Shoscombe Prince?

Watson, you're invaluable. A horse?

The finest in England, sir.

The truth is Sir Robert has got to win this race.

He's up to his neck, and it's his last chance.

He's wagered everything

he could raise or borrow on the horse,

and he's holding off his creditors

till after the big race.

Oh, if the Prince fails him, he's done for.

And you're assuming there's a connection

between Sir Robert's debts

and the disappearance of Samuel Brewer.

He's Sir Robert's principal creditor,

and I don't mind admitting

there's no love lost between them.

Well, after what happened at New Market

I'm not surprised.

But that was just the start.

Brewer showed his face at the hall last week,

and Sir Robert flew at him like a man possessed.

Said he'd deal with him

if he ever showed his face there again.

I presume he has not returned.

I don't know, sir.

Not for sure.

I see.

In the event of financial catastrophe,

would Sir Robert have any claim

on his sister's estate?

None at all as far as I know.

She only has a life interest in it.

It reverts to her husband's brother

after her death.

In the meantime,

her ladyship draws the rents every year.

And her brother spends them?

That's about the size of it.

He must lead a most uneasy life?

Well, maybe so, but they've always been

the best of friends.

They have the same tastes.

She loves the horses as much as he does.

Or at least she did.

Every day at about 12:00

she'd ride down to the stables to see them.

And above all,

she loved the Prince.

Good morning, Beatrice.

I can't wait to see their faces

when this delightful creature is first past the post.

What say you, Mason?

The others won't stand a chance, sir.

A three-length win, wouldn't you say?

Three and a half, at least.

Just beware of raising your hopes too high, Robert.

You're not the only one who'd like to see

his horse win the Champion Stakes.

I'm the only one with a horse

like Shoscombe Prince.

Why he's on such good form,

you could ride him to victory yourself, my dear.

I think not, Robert.

Our riding days are over.

You should be resting, my dear.

No, I'm fine, Robert.

Really, I'm fine.

You know what the doctor said.

You fuss even more than he does.

Jasper, good dog.

And how's Carrie today?

Oh, very well, thank you, Sir Robert.

But for the past week,

her ladyship has driven past the stables

with never so much as a good morning.

Do you think there's been some sort of quarrel?

And a bitter, savage, spiteful quarrel at that.

Now, he never goes near her.

She hardly leaves her room

except to take her daily drive.

And I assume that you have witnessed

such a disagreement?

Well, no, not exactly.

But why else would he give away

her pet spaniel, Mr. Holmes?

She loved that dog as if it were her child.

Can you think of any reason why Sir Robert

would wish to upset his sister in this fashion?

None at all.

It's a cruel way to treat a woman with a weak heart.

It's damn rotten.

I must say he does not appear

to be committing any crime that I recognize.

So why did Sir Robert leave the house

at the dead of night,

and who was the man he met?

Go on.

Well, it was Stephens, the butler,

who saw him leave,

and he told me about it.

So the next night we followed him.

(unintelligible)

So who was it,

Samuel Brewer?

It was too dark to see his face.

When did Sir Robert give away his sister's dog?

A week ago today.

Jasper was howling like a banshee

at the mill house,

but that was no good reason

for the master to do what he did.

(Dog howling)

Sir Robert.

I want it off this estate.

I don't care what you do with it

just as long as I never have to see it again.

Yes, sir.

I gave the dog to Sandy Bain,

the jockey.

Right then, Jasper.

Let's you and I go for a drink, hey.

Come on.

Next morning, he took it to Josiah Barnes,

the landlord at the Green Dragon in Crendall.

Does Lady Beatrice have a companion?

Her maid, Mr. Holmes.

Just the one?

Carrie Evans.

But she's been with her this five years.

And is no doubt devoted?

She is devoted enough, and I won't say to whom.

Uh-huh.

I can't tell tales out of school.

Sir Robert is something of a lady's man, hey?

Do you not think the quarrel

between brother and sister may lie there?

Oh, that scandal has been pretty clear

for a long time.

But Lady Beatrice may not have seen it before.

Let us suppose that she suddenly found it out,

and she wants to be rid of the hated maid.

He will not permit it.

She refuses to speak to him.

And Sir Robert in his anger

gives away her dog.

There's more to it than that, Mr. Holmes.

Mr. Mason,

you have the advantage of us.

Perhaps there is something

that you have not told us.

There's a central heating furnace

in the cellar.

It's been off for some time,

but Sir Robert complained of cold.

And had it on again.

Harvey runs it.

He's one of my lads.

He didn't like the look of it, Mr. Holmes.

And he brought it to me last night.

How often does Harvey attend the furnace?

He makes it up every evening,

and then he leaves it.

So anyone can visit it during the night?

I suppose so.

But the lad has the key to the outer door.

I see.

What is the name of that tavern you spoke of?

Green Dragon.

Is there any good fishing in that part

of Parkshire?

There's trout in the millstream

and pike in the lake.

That's good enough.

What do you make of it, Watson?

It's the upper contour of a femur.

Human?

Without a doubt.

It's a bluff, sir.

Anyone could have sent it.

It could be a tout.

I don't care who it is.

I need to know if there's any truth

in what he's written.

Carrie will be in charge of the house while I'm away.

Carrie, sir?

Your concern must be for the Prince's training.

Nothing is more important than that.

Fifty-three,

Fifty-four,

Fifty-five.

Yes, ma'am?

Thank you, Stephens, please take the tray now.

Fifty-six.

I leave at dawn.

Two rooms is it then, sir?

And two glasses of your best ale.

Right, sir.

Holmes?

Hm?

Sh.

Good day, gentlemen?

Hello, old fellow.

Oh, ladies, I'm so sorry.

I didn't see you sitting there.

There's quite a bite in the air, isn't there?

Oh, you'd much rather be free, wouldn't you?

Landlord!

Is it really necessary

to keep this dog tied up like this?

If I didn't, sir,

it'd be off back to the owner in a jiffy.

You see, sir, Jasper's a Shoscombe spaniel.

Oh, I should have known.

You see, I'm quite a dog enthusiast myself.

Wait.

Be careful with that luggage

or I'll skin you alive.

Don't you mind him, sirs.

He takes after his mother.

Out for a bit of fishing, hey?

We thought we might try and land a pike or two

at the Hole Lake.

You might find yourselves in the lake

before you were through.

(Laughter)

Why is that?

That Sir Robert is terrible jealous of anyone

who might be spying on his stables.

Well, we're not touts.

He's the sort that strikes first

and speaks afterwards.

Watson, I think we should take a little walk

before lunch.

Well, that's a splendid idea.

Do you think we could take the dog with us, Landlord?

By all means, gentlemen.

But mind what I said about Sir Robert.

It's this way, Watson.

What about Sir Robert?

By my estimate,

he should be well on his way to York by now.

How do you know that?

Because I had a telegram sent to him.

Holmes, what have you been up to?

Of course, Palmer's the Favorite

is stabled somewhere near York.

I merely advised him that the horse has shown

much improvement in the last few days.

He won't be pleased when he finds he's been duped.

I'm sure he'll be furious.

Jasper.

Jasper.

Come on boy, hello boy.

How are you aye, hello.

Jasper.

Here.

Hm.

Do I know you?

No, but evidently, Jasper knows you.

You must be Sandy Bain.

Yes, sir.

It was you that brought Jasper

to the tavern last week.

That's right.

You're fond of animals?

They're all God's creatures, sir.

I won't see no harm come to them.

Mr. Mason seemed to think

that Jasper had a lucky escape.

He must have had a reason

for behaving like he did.

I'm sure Sir Robert had the best of motives.

No, I'm talking about Jasper.

He's always such a quiet dog.

Well, something must have happened to him.

At the millhouse?

No, sir.

The cellar?

No, sir, at the old church.

It was the same morning

I brought him to the Green Dragon.

It's an old ruin chapel,

and under it there's a crypt

which has a bad name among us.

Jasper.

Not that way.

Jasper.

Jasper, come back.

Jasper, come back.

Jasper.

Jasper.

Jasper.

Come on, boy.

Come on.

I'm not playing games now.

Jasper.

(Crying)

How far are we away from the hall?

About a quarter of a mile, sir.

I'm correct in thinking that Lady Beatrice

takes a drive about midday?

Yes, sir.

Thank you, we've not a moment to lose.

Come Jasper, come Watson, come.

Stop the carriage, Watson,

stop the carriage!

Excuse me.

Could you direct us to the Green Dragon in town?

Drive on, drive on.

Stay, stay back.

Stay back.

Well, there's nothing we can do

until Lady Beatrice takes her drive again tomorrow.

You still haven't explained

why I risked my life this afternoon.

To test a theory.

You must be very disappointed.

I was almost killed instead.

On the contrary, I think my little experiment was quite successful.

I fail to see how.

The dog, Watson, the dog.

Did that suggest nothing to you?

Well, Carrie Evans is determined

to keep the dog and her mistress apart so.

There is an alternative?

Yes,

that Sir Robert has done away with

the moneylender, Samuel Brewer.

Don't forget.

Don't forget the human bone that was found.

I haven't forgotten.

It's perfectly clear to me.

They've crossed swords before.

It's possible that Sir Robert

has gone too far this time,

and is guilty of murder.

What the boy found

is all that remains

of the unfortunate moneylender.

Oh, no, no, thank you.

I'm famished.

Ah.

A fresh catch, Mr. Holmes?

Best I've seen in a long time.

These are deep waters, Watson.

Deep and rather dirty.

I would like to borrow the key to the cellar.

For what purpose, Mr. Holmes?

To get inside.

Where is Sir Robert?

Well, Sir Robert left for York

early yesterday morning.

He isn't expected back till some time tonight.

I'd show you around the house myself,

but master left Carrie in charge,

and she won't let anyone past the door.

He left a maid in charge of the house?

I told you things were bad

between master and her ladyship.

Whereabouts is Lady Beatrice's room?

It's on the ground floor, Mr. Holmes,

on account of her ladyship's heart.

Precisely on the ground floor where?

Second room in the corridor beside

the cellar passageway.

Has there been any change

in the running of the house

since we spoke at Baker Street?

None that I can think of, apart from the fact that

I had to dismiss Harvey, one of my stable lads.

Wasn't he the one that found the bone in the furnace?

That's right.

What is the reason for his dismissal?

Well, he'd stolen some money

from somebody on the staff and so.

Ah, here's the Prince himself, Mr. Holmes.

Every inch a champion, wouldn't you say?

Yes, he's a very fine creature,

but you're the expert, Watson.

Hardly an expert, Holmes.

I am aware of the Prince's bursts of speed

over a final furlong but the fact is

he hasn't yet won a major race.

Do you think he's still in with a good chance?

If he's given the ground, then yes.

All right, all right, hold your horses.

I'm coming, I'm coming.

Good afternoon.

You must be Stephens.

That's right, sir.

I'm a doctor.

Well, Sir Robert asked me to call on his sister

at the first opportunity.

I'm new to the area.

Well, he said nothing about it to me, sir.

Well, he must have forgotten.

Hardly surprising for a man as busy as Sir Robert.

I'm afraid her ladyship is out

taking her carriage exercise at the moment.

How long is she likely to be?

Well, no more than half an hour, sir.

Well, in that case I don't mind waiting.

You appear to be in some pain yourself.

Well, it's the rheumatics, sir.

These old bones have taken a pounding

in their time.

Health's not what it was.

Now, why don't you tell me about it?

Beg pardon, sir?

Well, now that I'm here,

I might as well make myself useful.

Oh, that's very kind of you, sir.

Thank you.

Well, it starts in the bottom of my wrist.

And then it goes up.

In your shoulder?

S.B.

Of course, the worst time is

first thing in the morning.

My back and my legs,

oh, stiff as a board.

And my feet,

did I tell you about my feet?

No.

Oh, I'll tell you about my feet.

Blocks of ice, like blocks of ice.

Can't feel them sometimes.

Your blood's not circulating properly.

It's a common problem.

And then there's the other trouble.

The other trouble?

You know, the other trouble.

I've tried everything,

but it doesn't make any difference at all.

I'm in just as much agony now as I ever was.

Roll it right up.

(Bell ringing)

Oh, that'll be her ladyship.

She's back early.

Please excuse me, but I'm afraid

I have another urgent appointment.

Almost there, my lady.

Thank you, Stephens, we'll be all right now.

Thank you, Stephens.

Right you are, Miss.

Strange.

Holmes, thank goodness.

Fortunately, the bedroom is on the ground floor.

Did you have any luck?

A few things are still unclear,

but before the night is out,

I hope to have solved the mystery

of Shoscombe Old Place.

If Samuel Brewer returned to the hall

to demand his money,

he might have done so at night.

He could have been the man

that Sir Robert met at the old church.

Perhaps Sir Robert flew into one of his rages

and killed him,

and in a moment of sheer panic

tried to dispose of the body

by putting it into the furnace.

Hence, the note case.

Watson, the vibrations!

If perhaps maybe I admit

all the evidence we have so far

is purely circumstantial.

Oh.

Resin.

Resin?

On an alcohol base.

Traces of it on a few strands of hair

found in Lady Beatrice's room.

Come, Watson.

The telegram will not

keep Sir Robert away much longer.

Where are we going?

Sir Robert.

What happened while I was away?

Nothing, sir.

Don't lie to me, Mason.

Something's been going on behind my back.

Has anyone been around here asking questions?

No one, sir.

Apart from some people I met near Crendall.

I don't know their names.

What did you talk about?

Nothing much.

They were interested in the old church.

Fool!

Well, if Samuel Brewer was not the victim,

why was his note case found

in the cellar of the hall?

Who else in the household has the initials S. B?

S.B., S.B.

Sandy Bain.

Harvey was dismissed

for stealing from other members of the household.

One of his duties

was to tend to the furnace in the cellar.

Well, the fact remains that the body was burned.

If it wasn't Brewer's,

then whose was it?

Holmes.

What could you possibly be able to find

in a place like this?

The lead lining's been cut.

Just as I thought.

The bolts have been loosened.

Watson, I'm going to need your help to open this.

Holmes, that's desecration.

Who are you?

What are you doing on my property?

Do you hear?

Who are you?

What are you doing here?

Oh.

(Screaming)

Ah, Mr. Holmes,

what's happened?

A good question, Mr. Mason.

One that should be directed at Sir Robert.

Oh, blasted contraptions.

How dare you?

Get out.

I was going to join you for tea,

but I see I'm too late.

Get out this instant or I'll call for Sir Robert.

Sir Robert knows that I'm here.

Please, Miss Evans, will you sit down?

I felt I couldn't visit Shoscombe Old Place

without paying my respects to Lady Beatrice.

Oh, you have brandy with your tea?

For medicinal purposes, of course.

I see, I see.

But is it enough I wonder?

Enough for what?

Brandy revives the spirits.

I hardly think it is sufficient

to raise the dead.

Don't move, Miss. Evans.

That should be comfortable enough

until your own doctor arrives.

Thank you.

I am Sherlock Holmes.

Perhaps my name is familiar to you.

I know appearances are against me,

but you must believe that

I could act in no other way.

I'm very happy to hear you say so.

But I fear your explanations

must be for the police.

Please, Sir Robert.

The responsibility for what has been done

is entirely mine.

Ms. Evans and Joe Barnes

were merely following my instructions.

You must promise that they will come to no harm.

I can promise you nothing.

But I will hear a plain statement of the facts.

Very well.

You've clearly gone pretty deeply

into my affairs,

otherwise I should not have found you

where I did.

I've always known that if Beatrice died,

the estate would revert

to my brother-in-law's family.

Everything would be seized,

including the stables and the horses.

Well, Mr. Holmes,

my sister did die,

just a week ago.

And you told no one?

I had little alternative.

If I told the truth, I faced absolute ruin.

But if I could stave things off until the race,

I knew all might be well.

Beatrice died of the heart condition

that had long afflicted her.

That will be for a coroner to decide.

Her own doctor would certify that for months,

her symptoms had threatened such an end.

Joe Barnes came to see me in search of work

a day or two before Beatrice died.

He seemed a trustworthy lad,

and it came into my mind that he might

for a short time

impersonate my dear sister.

It was but a case

of appearing daily in her carriage

for no one need enter her room

save Miss. Evans.

Of course, I had to take her into my confidence.

The whole deception distressed me greatly,

but I could see no other course to take.

Naturally,

the body couldn't remain in the bedroom.

On the first night,

Joe and I carried it out

to the old mill house.

We were followed by her pet spaniel

which afterwards howled continually at the door.

So I felt some safer place was needed.

I got rid of the dog,

and we carried Beatrice

to the crypt of the church.

It seemed to me to be no unworthy resting place

if we put her for a time in the coffin

of one of her husband's ancestors

lying in what is still consecrated ground.

I paid my respects to her there every day.

As to the old relics

which we took from the coffin,

Joe and I removed them.

He descended from the bedroom at night

and burned them in the furnace.

Was it necessarily to lay that monstrous trap?

I was determined that no one

should disturb my sister's rest.

But how you suspected her death

I cannot imagine.

Well, yesterday,

when Miss. Evans ordered the carriage to drive on,

I concluded that she was afraid of something.

I suspected that something was Jasper.

Miss. Evans knew that dogs do not make mistakes.

He would have known that it wasn't his mistress.

But we must leave all this for the police.

But why?

A day or two is all I need.

Say nothing yet I beg of you.

The race will have been run,

and my nightmare might be over.

I loved Beatrice with all my heart,

and there was no indignity or irreverence.

I don't feel I have wronged the dead.

I realize that my motives were selfish,

but my sister would not have wished

to see me destroyed.

That does not entitle you to break the law.

Listen to this, Holmes.

Following the success of Shoscombe Prince

in yesterday's Champion Stakes,

Sir Robert has received sufficient winnings

to settle all his debts

with enough left to reestablish him

in a fair position in life.

Ah.

However, the victory was marred

by the sudden death

of Sir Robert's sister,

Lady Beatrice Folder

whose love of horses

was at least as great as his own.

Tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk.

Even the elusive Samuel Brewer

has returned from his hideaway in France

to send a telegram of congratulations

to Sir Robert on his win.

It transpires that even creditors

have their creditors.

It explains why Samuel Brewer

was so anxious to get his money back.

But to send a telegram,

such a bare faced hypocrisy.

So how much did you win on Shoscombe Prince?

Twenty guineas.

That's disgraceful.

Champagne, Mrs. Hudson?

Of course, in the circumstances.

Well, that's very good of you,

but I've only won 20 guineas.

Plus my ten.

You're not the only one that likes a plunge

on the horses from time to time, Doctor.

Oh, gee.

Well, tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk.