Original subtitles

Somewhere in the vaults of a bank in London

is a tin dispatch box with my name on it.

It is not to be opened until 50 years after my death.

It contains certain mementos of my long association

with the man who elevated the science of deduction

to an art.

The world's first and undeniably

most famous consulting detective.

"To my heirs."

"In my lifetime, I have recorded some 60 cases,"

"demonstrating the singular gift of my friend, Sherlock Holmes,"

"dealing with everything from the Hounds of the Baskervilles"

"to his mysterious brother Mycroft"

"and the devilish Professor Moriarty."

"But there were other adventures which, for reasons of discretion,"

"I have decided to withhold from the public until this much later date."

"They involve matters of a delicate and sometimes scandalous nature,"

"as will shortly become apparent."

"It was August of 1887, and we were returning from Yorkshire,"

"where Holmes had solved the baffling murder of Admiral Abernetty."

"You may recall that he broke the murderer's alibi"

"by measuring the depth to which the parsley had sunk in the butter"

"on a hot day."

I wish you'd give me a bit more warning

when you come home unexpected.

I'd have roasted a goose, had a few flowers for you.

My dear Mrs. Hudson, criminals are as unpredictable as head colds.

You never quite know when you're going to catch one.

I'll unpack your bags.

Here's an advance copy of Strand Magazine.

They've printed "The Red-Headed League."

Very impressive.

Would you like to see how I've treated it?

I can hardly wait. I'm sure I shall find out all sorts

of fascinating things about the case that I never knew before.

Just what do you mean by that?

Come now, Watson. You must admit

you have a tendency to over-romanticize.

You've taken my simple exercises in logic and embellished them,

embroidered them, exaggerated them.

I deny the accusation.

You have described me as 6'4 ", whereas I am barely 6'1".

A bit of poetic license.

You've saddled me with this improbable costume,

which the public now expects me to wear.

That's not my doing. Blame it on the illustrator.

You've made me out to be a violin virtuoso.

There's an invitation from the Liverpool Symphony

to appear as soloist in the Mendelssohn concerto.

Really?

The fact is I could barely hold my own

in the pit orchestra of a second-rate music hall.

Now, you're much too modest.

You've given the reader the distinct impression

that I am a misogynist.

Actually I don't dislike women. I merely distrust them.

The twinkle in the eye and the arsenic in the soup.

It's those little touches that make you colorful.

Lurid is more like it. You have painted me as a hopeless dope addict

just because I occasionally take a 5 percent solution of cocaine.

A 7 percent solution.

Five percent.

Don't you think I'm aware you've been diluting it behind my back?

As a doctor, as well as your friend,

I strongly disapprove of this insidious habit of yours.

My dear friend, as well as my dear doctor,

I only resort to narcotics when I'm suffering from acute boredom.

When there are no interesting cases to engage my mind.

Look at this, an urgent appeal to find some missing midgets.

Did you say midgets?

Six of them. The Tumbling Piccolos.

An acrobatic act with some circus.

Disappeared between London and Bristol.

Well, don't you find that intriguing?

Extremely so.

You see they're not only midgets, but also anarchists.

Anarchists?

By now, they have been smuggled to Vienna,

dressed as little girls in organdie pinafores.

They are to greet the czar of all the Russias

when he arrives at the railway station.

They will be carrying bouquets of flowers,

and concealed in each bouquet will be a bomb with a lit fuse.

You really think so?

Not at all.

The circus owner offers me five pounds for my services.

That's not even a pound a midget.

So obviously he's a stingy blighter and the little chaps

simply ran off to join another circus.

It sounded so promising.

There are no great crimes anymore, Watson.

The criminal class has lost all enterprise and originality.

At best they commit some bungling villainy with a motive so transparent

that even a Scotland Yard official can see through it.

Mrs. Hudson! Mrs. Hudson!

Yes? What is it? What have I done now?

There is something missing from my desk.

- Missing? - Something very crucial.

- What? - Dust.

You have been tidying up against my explicit orders.

Look, I made sure I hadn't disturbed anything.

Dust, Mrs. Hudson, is an essential part of my filing system.

By the thickness of it, I can date any document immediately.

Well, some of the dust was this thick.

That would be March 1883.

How can you stand this?

Why don't you let me air the room out?

Please, Mrs. Hudson. He's working on a definitive study of tobacco ash.

I'm sure there's a crying need for that.

In our endeavors, it is sometimes vital to distinguish between,

say, the ashes of a Macedonian cigarette and a Jamaican cigar.

So far he has classified 140 different kinds of ashes.

All of which will wind up on my rug.

That will be enough, Mrs. Hudson.

All right. If you gentlemen want to stay and suffocate.

She's right. I am suffocating.

Let me open the window.

Not from lack of air, from lack of activity.

Sitting here, week after week, blowing smoke rings,

staring through a microscope. There's no challenge in that.

Personally, I consider it a major contribution to scientific criminology.

How I envy you your mind, Watson.

You do?

It's placid, imperturbable, prosaic.

But my mind rebels against stagnation.

It's like a racing engine, tearing itself to pieces

because it's not connected up with the work for which it was built.

Holmes.

Holmes. Where is your self-control?

Fair question.

Aren't you ashamed of yourself?

Thoroughly. But this will take care of it.

There was nothing I could do when he went on one of his cocaine binges,

except hope and pray

that some interesting case would come along to snap him out of it.

Why are you being so stubborn, Holmes? Why won't you go?

It's the final performance of the Imperial Russian Ballet.

The house has been sold out for months.

Tickets are going at a guinea apiece.

That's precisely it. Why should someone send us two free tickets,

anonymously, at that?

Well, whoever sent them must be in great distress.

The note says, "Please. You are the only man in the world who can help me."

I suspect it's some sort of plot.

You mean somebody wants to lure us into a trap?

Somebody wants to kill me.

- Kill you? - That's right.

It's a plot to bore me to death. I detest ballet.

But this isn't just any ballet.

It's Swan Lake.

You know of course, Holmes,

that swan isn't really a swan. It's an enchanted princess.

Hmm.

Fabulous woman, don't you think so, Holmes?

- Who? - The great Petrova.

Very strong arches, I must admit.

They say 12 men have died for her.

Really?

Six committed suicide,

four were killed in duels, and one fell out of the gallery

of the Vienna Opera House.

That's only 11.

The man who fell from the gallery

landed on top of another man in the orchestra.

That makes an even dozen, in a messy sort of way.

Mr. Holmes?

Yes?

I am Nicolai Rogozhin, Director General of the Imperial Russian Ballet.

So glad you accept invitation.

- This is Dr. Watson. - Nice to meet you.

- You are enjoying? - Immensely.

Tell me, Mr. Holmes, how is your health?

My health? Better consult my doctor.

He's in excellent shape.

Any insanity in your family? Diabetes? Asthma?

Would you mind telling me what this is all about?

Certainly.

Madame Petrova.

She has problem.

Can you be more specific?

Certainly not.

Liaison with a crowned head? Compromising letters? Blackmail?

After performance, there will be little celebration backstage.

Madame requests your presence.

We'd be delighted.

You're invited also.

Mr. Holmes, Madame is expecting you in her dressing room.

Dr. Watson, you will amuse yourself meanwhile.

We have vodka, caviar, girls.

- No thank you. - No girls?

No caviar. Makes me break out in hives.

Any of you girls understand English?

Not one single word?

In that case, I don't mind telling you that you all have lovely popas.

Mr. Holmes, I must prepare you. This is not ordinary case.

It is only the extraordinary that interests me.

Good. Because you'll find this extra extraordinary.

May I present Madame Petrova.

Madame.

Madame says you are shorter than she thought.

I didn't mean to be.

Short, tall, who cares. It is the brains that count.

Thank you. Thank you.

Madame is great admirer of yours. She has read every story.

Her favorite is Big Dog from Baskerville.

I'm afraid it loses something in translation.

Mr. Holmes, you know about fiddles.

What is your opinion of this?

"Antonius Stradivarius Cremonesis,"

"anno 1709."

Well, the label is authentic.

Judging from the shape, the color of the varnish and the tone,

I would say it is a genuine Stradivarius of the best period.

You like?

It's magnificent.

Here, take it.

Madame says it is yours.

Mine?

For services you will render.

My fees as a detective are not exactly trifling,

but a Stradivarius, you're not serious?

I am not, but Madame is.

All right, I will pour vodka and explain.

Mr. Holmes, what you are seeing tonight

is last and positively final performance

of Madame Petrova. She's retiring.

What a shame.

She's been dancing since she was three years old,

and after all, she is now 38.

I must say, she doesn't look 38.

That is because she is 49.

So Madame has decided to leave ballet and spend life bringing up her child.

How admirable.

Problem is how to find father.

- Is he missing? - Correct.

And that's why you called me in?

Also correct. We must have father, because without father,

how could there be child?

I see. The whole thing is still in the planning stage.

Correct again.

Madame would like child to be brilliant and beautiful.

Since she is beautiful, she needs man who is brilliant.

What's in it?

- What does it taste like? - Red pepper.

That's what's in it.

I beg your pardon?

Madame would like to know when you can be ready.

- Ready? - To leave for Venice.

All arrangements have been made.

You will spend one week there with Madame...

Well, this is all very flattering, but surely there are other men, better men?

To tell truth, you were not the first choice.

We considered Russian writer Tolstoy.

That's more like it. The man's a genius.

Too old. Then we considered philosopher Nietzsche.

Absolutely first-rate mind.

Too German. Then we considered Tchaikovsky.

You couldn't go wrong with Tchaikovsky.

We could, and we did. It was catastrophe.

Why?

You don't know? Because Tchaikovsky...

How shall I put it? Women not his glass of tea.

Pity that.

Madame is very happy with her final choice.

Madame must not be too hasty. She must remember that I am an Englishman.

So?

You know what they say about us.

If there's one thing more deplorable than our cooking, it's our love making.

We are not the most romantic of people.

Perfect. We don't want sentimental idiots,

falling in love, committing suicide.

One week in Venice with Madame, she goes back to St. Petersburg with baby,

you go back to London with fiddle.

An equitable arrangement.

About my medical history.

When you asked me, I neglected to mention one small detail.

There is hemophilia in my family.

We're all bleeders.

Madame says not to worry, she will not scratch.

That's reassuring to know, but...

Madame says, "You talk too much."

You find her attractive or no?

Well, I...

Excuse me. What does prokaznik mean?

It means, "You little devil."

It does? Yeah? Thank you.

I repeat question.

You find Madame attractive or no?

I find her most attractive.

For a woman, that is.

Then no problem!

Maybe a slight one.

You see, I am not a free man.

Not free? But you are bachelor?

A bachelor living with another bachelor for the last five years.

Five very happy years.

What is it you're trying to tell us?

Well, I hoped I could avoid the subject,

but some of us, through a cruel caprice of Mother Nature...

Get to point.

The point is that Tchaikovsky is not an isolated case.

You mean you and Dr. Watson?

He is your glass of tea?

If you want to be picturesque about it.

Believe me, Madame, the loss is all mine.

But I would rather disappoint you now than disappoint you in a gondola in Venice.

It would have been catastrophe.

Watson. Watson, are you coming?

- What is it, old boy? - We're going home.

Home? Not a chance.

Not the slightest, not the remotest chance. Toodle-oo.

Hold on.

This is... Just one moment.

What's going on?

What happened to the girls?

Why? Do you not prefer it this way?

What Way?

You don't have to pretend.

Mr. Holmes told us everything about you and him.

About me and him?

Come now, no need to be bashful. We are not bourgeois.

Maybe between doctors and detectives is unusual,

but in ballet, is very usual.

What is?

Caprice of Mother Nature.

Look at Pavel, Mischa, Boris,

Dimitry and Illya and Sergei.

Sergei... Half and half.

Holmes!

Holmes!

There you are!

You wretch!

You rotter!

You blackguard of all the vile, unspeakable fabrications!

What do you have to say for yourself?

Well, don't just sit there! Speak up, man!

Holmes?

Are you all right, Holmes?

Holmes?

From the sound of your footsteps,

I gathered that you were not in a particularly amiable mood.

How? How could you invent such a dastardly lie?

What the deuce were you thinking of?

Watson, you have my most abject apologies.

But have you ever been cornered by a madwoman?

It seemed like the only way to get out of it without hurting her feelings.

And what about my feelings?

And my reputation?

Do you realize the gravity of what you've done?

The possible repercussions?

So there'll be a bit of gossip about you in St. Petersburg.

These things spread like wildfire.

I can just hear those malicious whispers behind my back.

I'll never be able to show my face in polite society.

And what if it ever got back to my old regiment?

You don't know the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers!

They'll strike me off the rolls.

They'll cut off my pension!

Watson, you're running amok!

Dishonored, disgraced, ostracized!

What am I to do?

Well, for one thing, I'd get rid of that flower.

You may think this is funny, but we're both in the same boat.

We must take desperate measures.

We must stop this talk!

Maybe if we got married.

Then they'd really talk!

Obviously, we cannot continue to live under the same roof.

We must move apart.

Of course, we can still see each other clandestinely,

on remote benches in Hyde Park

and in the waiting rooms of suburban railway stations.

This whole thing is ridiculous.

We have nothing to hide.

That's what I've been trying to tell you.

Let somebody start a rumor, just one ugly word.

We'll sue them for slander.

No one would dare. After all, you have an enviable record with the fair sex.

Damn right. I can get women from three continents to testify for me,

and you can get women to vouch for you too, can't you, Holmes?

Can you, Holmes?

Good night, Watson.

Holmes?

Let me ask you a question. I hope I'm not being presumptuous.

But there have been women in your life?

The answer is yes.

You're being presumptuous.

Good night.

Holmes.

What, indeed, was his attitude toward women?

Was there some secret he was holding back?

Or was he just a thinking machine, incapable of any emotion?

I was not to get the answer

until we became involved in what I considered to be

the most outrageous case in all our years together.

Were you expecting someone?

Not at this hour.

Maybe Mrs. Hudson is entertaining.

I never found her so.

What is it, Mrs. Hudson?

There's a cabby here.

He says you owe him two and six.

For what?

For the fare, Governor.

The young lady don't have no money.

- What young lady? - This one.

Well, what have we here?

Who are you, Miss?

What happened to you?

I don't know.

That's all she keeps saying, "I don't know, I don't know."

Where did she come from?

From the river.

I was driving down the Embankment, just below Westminster Bridge,

and there she was, in the water, drowning.

Wasn't easy, Governor, what with the cold water and her fighting me.

Why did you bring her here?

Because, I found this in her hand.

"221 B Baker Street."

That's right, isn't it?

Young lady, what did you want at this address?

I do not remember.

Rather perplexing, wouldn't you say?

Rather.

Well, gentlemen, you want her? It's two and six.

Or shall I throw her back in the river?

Mr. Holmes, you can't let him do that.

Watson, you'd better accept delivery.

- Keep the change. - Thank you, Governor.

No extra charge for the use of the horse blanket.

You're shivering, my dear. Come along. Let me get you out of those wet clothes.

Sit here, my dear.

She's suffering from shock and exposure.

There was some printing on the back of this,

but it seems to have come off in the water.

Look at this. She's had a nasty blow on the head.

Could she have hit her head when she fell or jumped into the river?

No. The blood had already coagulated.

So, it would appear that she was the victim of a deliberate attack.

Get my bag, will you?

Who are you?

I'm Dr. Watson, and this is Sherlock Holmes.

Do the names mean anything to you?

No.

Think.

I'm trying.

Can you think of your own name?

No.

She's obviously had a concussion,

which often leads to temporary amnesia.

So all we know is that she was coshed on the head, dumped into the Thames,

and subsequently dumped into our laps.

We know a lot more than that.

From her accent, we know she's foreign.

From her ring, we know she's married.

There's one other clue we have.

Namely?

Something I deduced while I was helping her up the stairs.

No corset.

Good work.

"La Femme Elegante."

Are you French?

How can she say she's not French in French?

Oh, dash! Will someone remove this violin, please?

We just found out she's Belgian.

- Poor thing. - From Brussels.

If you don't mind.

Is your name Gabrielle? Gabrielle?

I don't know.

And your husband's name is Emile?

Emile.

Where is he? What are you doing in London?

I don't know.

When did you arrive from Brussels? Where are you staying?

I don't know!

What happened at the river?

Think!

That's enough Holmes. I will not permit you to question her in this condition.

Here, Mrs. Hudson, put her to bed, my bed.

I'll sleep on the couch.

Come on, dear, don't cry.

I'd better get her a sleeping draft.

Watson, I think we should arrange to have her removed to a hospital.

- Under no circumstances. - She should have medical attention.

She can get that from me!

But more important, she must be protected.

There has already been one attempt on her life.

This temporary amnesia. How temporary is it?

Depends on the extent of her injury.

It's like veils shrouding her memory.

It could clear up in a few days or a few weeks.

Watson, this is a very small flat. We don't want to clutter it up with women.

Holmes, we've never had a case like this.

A woman comes to us with a problem.

We don't know who the woman is. We don't know what the problem is.

Don't you find that challenging?

Quite.

But we can't afford to wait for these veils to lift.

We must break through them as quickly as possible.

- You really feel it's that urgent? - I do.

The sooner we solve the case, the sooner we can get rid of her.

Emile?

Emile.

Emile. Is that you, Emile?

Yes, Gabrielle.

Oh, Emile. I thought I would never find you.

Hold me. Hold me tight.

It's been such a long time. And so many nights...

Do you know what I did before I left Brussels?

What?

I hope you're not going to be angry with me.

I bought myself an expensive negligee.

Did you?

A pink negligee with marabou feathers.

Don't you think it's a little bit foolish for a married woman?

Come.

Come.

Where is the negligee?

In my luggage. Come here.

And where is your luggage?

I don't know.

Come, my love. Come. Come here.

Please. Please. Come here.

What is it, Emile?

What are you doing?

Dr. Watson.

The porridge is getting lumpy.

Hadn't you better get up?

I would like to very much, but...

Mrs. Hudson, would you mind planting your knee in the small of my back?

Yes, I would.

Please, I'm in excruciating pain!

A bit higher. Just below my seventh vertebrae.

That's good. Put your arms under mine.

Now fold them behind my neck.

Now, give it a good snap.

No, no. Show no mercy! Bear down on me!

Bless you. That damn couch...

You'd better see if our patient is awake.

Dr. Watson! She's gone!

Gone?

Holmes! Holmes! She's gone!

Well, I never.

I smell porridge. Lumpy as usual, I suppose.

There you are, Holmes. We were just wondering how...

We certainly were!

Mrs. Hudson, why don't you go down to the kitchen, get a towel,

and wipe that look of disapproval off your face?

Liberties.

In my house.

You can't really blame her.

I mean, the way it looks...

If I didn't know you better, I might suspect

you'd taken advantage of the young lady.

As a matter of fact, I did take advantage of her.

Would you hand me the butter knife, please?

Of course.

You did what?

Thank you.

Holmes, this is reprehensible.

Where are your professional ethics?

Have you no sense of decency, no shame?

None whatsoever.

If you must know, I found her body quite rewarding.

You cad!

Especially the palm of her right hand.

- I'd rather not hear about it. - Very well.

Then I won't bother to tell you how I traced her suitcase.

That's her suitcase?

Remember that piece of soggy cardboard with our address on it?

It was a luggage ticket. The number had rubbed off on her hand.

And since she must have arrived from Brussels by the boat train,

I concluded that she had checked her belongings at Victoria Station.

By Jove! If you're right, we should find a clue to her identity.

Or at least a pink negligee with marabou feathers.

Voila!

I want to see what else is in here.

Now we're getting somewhere.

Who do you suppose this is?

Good morning, Madame Valladon.

You are Gabrielle Valladon?

Yes.

And this is your husband, Emile Valladon?

Yes.

Sorry to have ransacked your valise,

but since you came to us for help...

Where am I?

221 B Baker Street.

Oh, yes.

Which one of you is Sherlock Holmes

and which is Dr. Watson?

Dr. Watson is the handsome one.

That's the way he affects most women.

Coffee. You want some strong coffee.

It's all so confusing.

Well, let's try to sort it out.

You came to London looking for your husband, right?

Yes. He's a mining engineer.

We were married five years ago in the Congo.

Where your husband was working in a copper mine.

How did you know?

Your wedding ring, it's made of copper.

Last year he invented a new kind of air pump

and was hired by an English company,

Jonah Limited.

Here we are.

Jonah Limited. Go on.

We'd been writing to each other regularly.

Then suddenly, three weeks ago, his letters stopped.

I kept on writing, but there was no answer.

So finally, I decided to go to that address.

32 Ashdown Street?

Yes.

It's just an empty store.

Nobody there.

So I tried to find Jonah Limited.

No such company exists.

How decidedly odd.

Madame Valladon, can you think of any reason

why your husband should have lied to you about these things?

Emile? Never.

He loves me and I love him.

I gathered that much.

I went to the police.

They said they would send out a missing persons report.

But they didn't sound too encouraging.

Then I went to the Belgian Embassy.

They suggested I should consult you.

You could have done worse.

I was on my way here

and suddenly there were footsteps behind me

and a hand over my mouth.

And the smell of chloroform.

The next thing I knew, I was in the water.

And then a man was wrapping me in a blanket.

Madame Valladon, somebody tried to kill you last night.

Do you have any idea who could have done it?

I don't understand any of it.

What does it all mean, Mr. Holmes?

Where is my husband?

You must help me find him!

We'll do our best, I assure you.

Madame Valladon,

I want you to send one more letter to your husband.

To Emile Valladon,

Ashdown Street. What was that number?

Thirty-two.

What do you want me to say in the letter?

Nothing.

Nothing?

Holmes,

you're sending an empty sheet of paper to an empty shop?

That empty shop is obviously being used as an accommodation address

or letter-drop.

But what gets dropped must be picked up.

The question is how? And by whom?

And Why?

Hammer.

Chisel.

Here.

It's so strange to think I'd been writing to a place like this.

All these months.

Look! Canaries.

Suppose this could have been a pet shop?

Maybe.

Here comes our letter.

Well, now we're faced with the most nerve-wracking part of a detective's job.

Doing nothing.

Just waiting.

Mr. Holmes?

I don't know how I'm going to pay for all this.

My purse with my money in it

is somewhere at the bottom of the Thames.

It could be worse. You could be at the bottom of the Thames

much to your discomfort.

And much to my chagrin.

I don't understand how anybody picks up letters here.

There's no footprints, just tracks.

What does it mean?

I would surmise somebody is using ice skates

if it weren't for a conspicuous absence of ice.

What do we do now?

This way.

Good morning, my pretties.

Here's Mum with your breakfast.

Did you think I'd forgotten you?

Some of you will be going on a little trip soon, hey?

I hate to lose you.

But even an old woman has got to live.

Although you might well ask why.

You never told me, we have a letter.

- Got it? - Yeah, all right. Got it, Guv.

Right, open the cage door.

Morning, Duchess.

Good morning.

What have you been doing with yourself?

What do you think? Taking dancing lessons?

How many do you want this time?

Two dozen.

Two dozen?

What are you doing with all those canaries?

What's going on up there?

Look, Duchess, we don't know.

And we don't wanna know.

When you work for Jonah, it's better not to ask questions.

- Come on. - Six, eight, 10...

Get in there! 14, 17...

In you go. 20.

Twenty four...

How about that letter? Does that go, too?

No, this is going to be picked up in person.

- All right, I've got it. - Right.

All right, my pretties.

Back to sleep you go.

I really thought we were done for.

The art of concealment, my dear Watson,

is merely a matter of being in the right place at the right time.

Did you hear what she said?

You really think Emile is going to pick up the letter himself?

It certainly would simplify things, wouldn't it?

Letter-drops, wheelchairs, canaries...

And what was all that about Jonah?

And what do you suppose they're doing up there?

And where is up there?

My guess would be Scotland.

Inverness, to be more precise.

Inverness?

Didn't you notice the paper at the bottom of their cage?

The Inverness Courier.

Mr. Holmes, this letter...

What about it?

It is addressed to you.

To me?

But that's impossible! We sent it ourselves.

Nevertheless...

"My dear Sherlock,"

"I expect you and Dr. Watson to join me at the club"

"immediately upon receipt of this note."

"According to my calculations,"

"that should be at 11:40 a.m."

"Your brother, Mycroft."

What time do you make it, Watson?

11243.

Either your watch is wrong, or Mycroft has miscalculated.

And knowing Mycroft, I suggest you reset your watch.

Holmes,

I don't mind telling you I'm a bit apprehensive about this.

I'm rather curious myself

to know what's going on in that Machiavellian mind of his.

No, I don't mean Mycroft. I mean Madame Valladon.

Don't worry. She'll be perfectly safe with Mrs. Hudson.

To see Mr. Mycroft Holmes.

Right you are, sir.

He's expecting you in the upstairs study.

Now if you gentlemen will sign in,

surname, Christian name, address, nature of business...

Gentlemen!

Jamaican, no doubt.

Either tropical or Golosina.

I'm not quite sure.

Come in. Come in, Sherlock, Dr. Watson.

Sit down.

You're looking very fit, both of you.

Thank you.

How are you, Mycroft? How's your gout?

Under control, except for the occasional twinge.

I've got a treat for you.

A very old Madeira, 1814.

There are only six bottles left in the world,

I've got two of them and I'm negotiating for a third.

If you don't mind my saying so,

anybody who's susceptible to gout shouldn't be...

The last doctor who warned me about that

was crossing Piccadilly, slipped on an orange peel,

and was run over by a delivery van from Fortnum and Mason.

To our very good health.

Why are you wasting this precious stuff on us?

I see you so rarely. How long has it been?

Not since the case of the Greek interpreter.

Isn't it ridiculous?

Two brothers living in the same town...

In the same town, perhaps, but not in the same world.

This is superb! How old did you say it was?

1814.

One year before Waterloo.

One year before Waterloo!

Think Of that!

You do know where Waterloo is, don't you, Doctor?

Why, it's...

It's in Belgium, isn't it?

Quite.

And speaking of Belgium,

it has come to my attention

that you are interested in the whereabouts

of a certain engineer.

Yes, I am.

Well, I can save you a lot of trouble.

I'd be grateful for any suggestion.

My suggestion is that you pursue it no further.

For any particular reason?

Because it involves national security.

We are handling the matter ourselves.

We? Who's we?

The Diogenes Club, of course.

I didn't say that.

I've always suspected there was some kind of underground connection

between this stodgy and seemingly calcified establishment

and the Foreign Office in Whitehall.

That is neither here nor there.

It seems to me the Diogenes Club is here, there and everywhere.

When there are rumblings of revolt in the Sudan,

an expedition subsidized by your club

conveniently shows up to study the source of the Nile.

When there's trouble along the Indian frontier,

some of your fellow members pop up in the Himalayas,

allegedly looking for the Abominable Snowman.

What a vivid imagination my brother has.

At the age of five, by carefully observing a neighbor's house,

he deduced that babies were brought not by the stork,

but by the mid-wife, in her satchel.

As good an explanation as any.

Yes, Wiggins?

An immediate answer is requested, sir.

Oh, yes.

Tell them that the three boxes go to Glen na Hurich

and the Red Runner goes to the castle.

The three boxes to Glen na Hurich,

and the Red Runner to the castle. Very good, sir.

Why don't you crumple it up and swallow it?

Just to make sure.

My dear Sherlock, there are certain affairs

that do not come within the province of the private detective.

They have to be dealt with on an altogether different level.

In other words, you want me to stay within my limits.

I do indeed.

And speaking of limits, what exactly is Jonah Limited?

Sherlock, when I said to drop this case,

it was not merely a suggestion, it was an order!

By whose authority?

By the authority of Her Majesty's government,

and I hope I've made myself clear.

Perfectly.

And now, if you'll excuse me, gentlemen.

Goodbye, sir.

A pleasure as always.

Just a minute!

You forgot your toolkit.

You will be gentle, won't you,

when you tell her you're dropping the case?

Watson, what does the word "Glen na Hurich" suggest to you?

Absolutely nothing.

- It's Scottish. - Is it?

And like all Scottish names, it's really a word picture.

"Glen" means valley,

"na" means of the,

and "Hurich," if memory serves me,

means yew tree.

You're just trying to impress me.

So, the three boxes go to the Valley of the Yew Tree.

And I'll be in Scotland before...

You are dropping the case, aren't you, Holmes?

Open that door.

Don't shoot, Mrs. Hudson. You're liable to lose two excellent tenants.

At last.

It's been a ghastly experience.

Why? What happened?

Did you ever try doing embroidery

with a gun in your hand?

You'll be relieved to know it was not loaded.

Holmes, are you planning to disobey Mycroft's orders?

He's not just your brother, you know.

You'd be defying Her Majesty's government!

Any news? Did you find out anything?

Let's just say I know what the next step will be.

Yes?

I want you to pack your things.

Where are we going?

Holmes, let me caution you...

At 7:30 this evening,

Dr. Watson and I are going to take you to Victoria Station

and put you on the boat train.

- The boat train? - Well, that's better.

You're sending me back to Brussels, is that it?

Madame Valladon, you must understand...

I came here to find my husband.

You were going to help me.

Yes, my dear, but circumstances have changed...

The great detective.

Maybe this case is too small for you.

On the contrary, it's being handled on a much higher...

I won't go back to Brussels!

Maybe you're giving up, but I am not.

I'm going to go on looking for him.

And nobody's going to stop me

even if they try to kill me.

Are you quite finished?

If you recall, what I said was that we are going to put you on the boat train.

I didn't say you were going to stay on it.

She's not?

At 7:30, Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson

will be seen waving goodbye to Madame Valladon at Victoria Station.

At 8:12, Mr. and Mrs. Ashdown, accompanied by their valet, John,

will appear at Houston Station and board the Highland Express to Inverness.

Mister and missus.

Thank you.

I'm sorry for what I said.

That's not necessary.

I'll go and pack.

Maybe I should do it, since I'm the valet.

Holmes, exactly what are you up to?

As you like to put it in your chronicles,

- the game is afoot. - But what game?

Are you really that interested in the Belgian engineer?

Or is it the wife of the Belgian engineer?

You don't like me very much, do you?

Nothing of the sort. Quite the opposite.

But there's more to this case than meets the eye.

Looking for something?

Yes, my other glove.

Let me help you.

Here it is.

Thank you.

All right, you can look now.

Am I embarrassing you, Mr. Holmes?

Not at all.

Would it surprise you if I told you

I once spent a night with 121 women?

It was a very interesting case in a harem in Constantinople.

I'm sorry, Father. I mean, Friar.

Or is it Abbot?

Going to Scotland, you gentlemen? So are we.

I'm a valet.

My master and mistress and I are on our way to Inverness.

Ever been there? Beautiful country.

Forgive me.

You must be one of those orders that's taken the vow of silence.

Trappists, I think you're called.

I see you're reading the Book of Jonah.

Funny, we were just talking about Jonah this morning.

Never mind.

"Women are never to be entirely trusted,"

"not the best of them."

What did you say?

I didn't say it, you did.

According to Dr. Watson.

He gave me some old copies of Strand Magazine.

The good doctor is constantly putting words into my mouth.

Then you deny it?

Not at all.

I am not a whole-hearted admirer of womankind.

I'm not very fond of them myself.

The most affectionate woman I ever knew was a murderess.

It was one of those passionate affairs at odd hours, right in my laboratory.

And all the time, behind my back

she was stealing cyanide to sprinkle on her husband's steak and kidney pie.

You mustn't judge all women by...

Of course not.

Only the ones I was involved with,

and I don't just mean professionally.

Kleptomaniacs, nymphomaniacs, pyromaniacs...

Take my fiancee for instance.

Your fiancee?

She was the daughter of my violin teacher.

We were engaged to be married, the invitations were out,

I was being fitted for a tail coat,

and 24 hours before the wedding, she died of influenza.

I'm sorry.

It just proves my contention that women are unreliable

and not to be trusted.

Good night, Mrs. Ashdown.

Good night, Mr. Ashdown.

I will take that.

Let's see now. One, two, three, four, five.

How do you get to Glen na Hurich? How far is it?

Glen na Hurich?

You know, a valley with a yew tree?

It's about a mile out of town.

Why do you want to go there?

Well, it sounds like a nice, peaceful place for a picnic.

It's a peaceful place, right enough.

But it's no place for a picnic.

Why not?

Because it's a cemetery.

The three boxes. Is that it, Holmes?

I would think so.

The two small ones,

they must be children's coffins.

Earth to earth. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.

In sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life

through Our Lord, Jesus Christ.

The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God,

and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with us all. Amen.

It's so sad.

Sad and rather odd.

There were no flowers and no mourners.

- Good morning. - Morning.

Working you hard, Dad?

No, not really.

You see, this is healthy country.

Sometimes you sit around for weeks with nothing to do.

Then you get three in one day.

What happened?

An accident, aye.

A father and two sons, they say.

They were found floating in the loch.

Local people?

No, no. No one around here knows them.

The story is their boat capsized in a swell.

But I don't believe it.

What do you believe?

Well, you may think I'm an old fool or an old drunk,

but I've been living around Loch Ness all my life.

Are you trying to tell us it was the monster?

Damn right.

MacLarnin saw the kids' faces when they were pulled out of the water.

They looked just like old men.

They must've died of fright.

That's incredible.

IS it?

Last Easter Sunday, the wife and me on our way to services

when suddenly...

What's the use?

Here you are, Dad.

Thank you. Thank you.

You seem like nice people.

If you're wanting a holiday in Scotland, go to Loch Lomond, go to Holy Loch.

But stay away from Loch Ness.

To think that people still believe in that nonsense.

I mean, here we are, living in the 19th century...

I'm ashamed to admit it,

but I was relieved when he mentioned a father and two boys.

It couldn't have anything to do with Emile.

It would appear not...

However, there still remains the clue of the castle

and the Red Runner, whoever he may be.

If they are unidentified graves,

why are those boys bringing flowers?

Because it's their brothers who have just been buried.

- They're brothers? - And they're not boys.

They're as tall as they'll ever grow.

Hand me some pebbles.

Pebbles?

Take a look at their faces.

They are... How do you call them in English?

Midgets.

Boys with the faces of old men.

I still don't see why if they...

Would it help if I told you they were acrobats?

Not at all.

Do you remember a tumbling act?

Six brothers missing from the circus?

That case you turned down. I completely forgot.

Some of us are cursed with memories like flypaper.

And stuck there is a staggering amount

of miscellaneous data, mostly useless.

Mr. Holmes, if those are not children, then...

Quite. The question now is, who's in the third grave?

Holmes, she's fainted.

Hand me that lantern.

It is Valladon, isn't it?

Obviously.

But what is not so obvious is why his wedding ring has turned green

and why there are three dead canaries

in the coffin,

white canaries.

You have a lovely view of the loch from here,

as soon as the morning mist rolls away.

If you have a mind to do any sightseeing,

here's a guide to all the local points of interest.

Thank you.

This way, please. I'll show you to your room.

I suppose you're putting me here in the basement.

No, your room is in the attic.

Good.

It's the privy that's in the basement.

May I have your wedding ring, please?

Just as I thought.

There is a distinct difference in color between your ring

and your husband's, which leads me to believe

that the cause of death was not drowning.

I wish you would stop that.

Stop it!

If we are to continue,

if we are to find out what really happened to your husband,

you cannot act the grief-stricken widow.

I'm sorry.

I know it's not easy, but you must remember

we're that nice couple from London on holiday in the Highlands.

I'll try.

- That's much better. - Thank you.

Now if I may proceed without further interruptions...

Mr. Ashdown!

Mr. Ashdown! Mr. Ashdown!

Holmes, I saw it. I saw it from the attic window.

- It's out there in the lake. - You saw what?

The telescope. Where's the telescope?

What did you see?

- The monster. - The monster?

Look. There, there. There it is.

Look for yourself. No, just there, there.

There. See it?

There. See it?

- I see nothing. - Nothing?

It's gone.

Gone? Maybe it was never there.

Holmes, I swear to you, I saw it as clear as anything.

Watson, as you so succinctly put it,

we are living in the 19th century.

Maybe that gravedigger was right.

The swell and the boat overturning.

Monsieur Valladon may have been found in the lake,

but he did not drown. He died of asphyxiation.

Asphyxiation?

There is only one substance that can turn

a copper ring green and bleach the color

out of canaries. Chlorine gas.

Well, that may be. But the fact remains

that I saw something out there.

A figment of your imagination. Now let us be logical.

The only concrete lead we have

is the reference to the castle.

The question is, which castle?

You call yourself logical? You're the least logical man I know.

Am I?

How can you say it's a figment of my imagination,

when, for years, you've been saying

I have no imagination whatsoever?

We have so far investigated eight drafty castles,

had our bicycles attacked by sheep and our ears assaulted by bagpipes,

and we are exactly where we started.

Would you like some more cranberry sauce, dear?

Yes, dear.

Would you pass the cranberry sauce, John?

Yes, dear.

I say, there.

Good afternoon. Remember me?

There are some chaps I met on the train.

We had a long conversation.

Or rather, I had a long conversation,

because they are not allowed to talk.

Trappists, you know. Just study their Bibles.

You'll never guess what the one next to me was reading.

The Book of Jonah. Isn't that odd?

Quite.

What is it, dear, what's the matter?

A bee.

Well, I don't think we have to bother with this castle.

It's just a pile of rubble.

Then why are they taking all these precautions?

Why indeed?

Let's go.

Go where?

When rebuffed at the front door,

one's only choice is to try the tradesmen's entrance.

Sorry. No visitors allowed.

Are you the guide here?

Yes, but the castle is closed to the public

while work is going on.

- Well, what are they doing? - It's being restored

by the Society for the Preservation of Scottish Monuments.

That's too bad. I particularly wanted my wife to see Urquhart Castle.

The tower is one of the most interesting examples of Medieval architecture.

- About 1400, wasn't it? - That's right.

Let me see, was it built by James ll or James Ill?

The third. But if you'd like to come back next year,

we'll be finished then and I'll be glad to show you round.

Thank you.

Pleasant sort, isn't he?

Pleasant, but ignorant.

He was off 100 years and one James.

It's actually 1500 and James IV.

If he's an official guide, shouldn't he know?

If he's an official guide.

Listen. Do you hear anything, Watson?

No. Those birds are making too much of a racket.

They're not just birds. They're our old friends.

Sulfuric acid.

The more we find out the less sense it makes.

To a graduate chemist, it makes a great deal of sense.

Sulfuric acid, when exposed to salt water, produces chlorine gas.

John, would you mind clasping your hands, please?

- Like that? - No, like that.

Lower. Thank you.

That tower may be more interesting than I thought,

and not just architecturally.

Holmes, I have a feeling we're redundant here.

We have now observed the castle from the front,

from the back, from the side, from land, from water.

What now? Planning to spend the night out here?

If necessary.

Well, you're going to catch your death of cold, you know.

Wouldn't it be ironic if Holmes' last case were a case of pneumonia?

Sorry.

What's that?

Holmes!

There's a...

Quick, Watson, after it!

Holmes, what are we doing? We should be going away from it!

Keep rowing, damn it!

We've lost it.

At least you admit there is an "it,"

not just a figment of my imagination.

Quiet.

Do you have your stethoscope with you?

Never without it.

What is it?

I can hear something.

It's getting closer.

And closer.

Get back. Get back!

You freak of water!

Are you all right?

I lost my parasol.

Where's Watson?

Watson!

Thank you.

I have come face-to-face

with man-eating tigers.

I was once caught in a stampede of wild elephants,

in India, you know, but I wasn't half as frightened.

This beast seems to have a personal grudge against us.

Well, I just hope it doesn't come back.

I don't think it will. Look.

What strange goings-on.

Not really. I would say

that the monster, after a hard day's work, has returned home

for his supper.

Yes, I know. But would you believe you can't borrow a decent pair of trousers

in this place?

All right, Holmes, what have you to confide in us?

Whenever he starts whistling, I know he's getting close to a solution.

It's nothing new, actually. We've come across this situation before.

We have? Where?

- At the ballet. - The ballet?

There's a lake, and there's a castle, and there's a swan

that isn't really a swan,

or, in this case, a monster that isn't really a monster.

- Then what is it? - What is it indeed

that feeds on canary birds and sulfuric acid,

and has an engine for a heart?

An engine?

The stethoscope is a very sensitive instrument,

and water is an excellent conductor of sound.

There is no doubt that we are dealing with a mechanical monster.

Not only is it equipped with an artificial heart,

it also has artificial lungs.

Judging from the bubbles on the surface of the lake,

it uses some form of air pump.

You think my husband was involved in all this?

Yes, Madame Valladon, I'm sure of it.

But why would anybody want to build a mechanical monster?

Just to scare people?

Not very likely.

Why did they try to keep me from finding my husband?

And why was he buried anonymously?

I think I have a pretty good notion of what they're up to,

the Society for the Preservation of Scottish Monuments,

better known as the Diogenes Club.

Diogenes Club!

Come in.

Mr. Ashdown, I have a bottle of champagne for ye.

A bottle of champagne.

I didn't order it.

No, indeed. You are to deliver it. Those are my instructions.

Instructions from whom?

Deliver it where?

I wouldn't know, sir. But there's a carriage waiting

for ye downstairs.

Are you sure you've got the right Mr. Ashdown?

Quite sure, Mr. Holmes.

Well, Watson, I would say the curtain is going up on the last act.

I don't like the sound of it.

Please be careful.

Holmes, you'd better take this with you.

Well, who's minding the castle?

You'd better get on. It's getting late.

Where are we going? Some sort of party?

You won't be disappointed in the guest list.

- Who's the host? - Jonah.

Mr. Ashdown, I presume?

The Red Runner, I presume.

You shouldn't have gone to all this trouble just for me.

It's not for you. McKellar. May I have the champagne, please?

1886. Not a very good vintage, is it?

Mediocre. But then again, it's not for drinking.

Tie it up, will you?

In here.

Interesting and educational.

Despite my most emphatic warning, you persisted in meddling.

It would have served you right if you had all drowned.

Sorry to be so unobliging.

E. Valladon.

I imagine that this belongs to the pretty lady,

and this belongs to your valet. We found them floating in the lake.

Speaking about things floating in the lake...

How much do you know or think you know?

I think you're testing some sort of underwater craft,

camouflaged to mislead the gullible.

I think it's an experimental model, operated by a crew of midgets.

I think it is powered by sulfuric acid batteries

and uses canaries to detect escaping gas.

Altogether a unique contraption.

Not quite that unique.

Right now, four countries are trying to develop what we call a submersible.

But none of them could solve the critical problem of how to stay submerged

long enough to make it effective.

What does the Good Book say?

"And Jonah lived in the belly of that fish for three days and three nights."

That was our goal.

And thanks to Valladon's air-pump,

we got a jump on the rest of them.

It's a highly complex system of filtration, so we had a series of trials...

And at least one error.

During a test run in the Moray Firth,

pressure caused a leak in the hull.

Sea water mixed with acid in the batteries to produce chlorine gas.

Before they could reach the surface, Valladon and two of the crew were dead.

So you had them buried in unmarked graves to preserve your secret.

It was essential to keep the information from your client.

You went to all those lengths

to prevent Madame Valladon from finding her husband?

Your client isn't Madame Valladon.

It's the Imperial German Government.

They were after the Belgian engineer, or rather, his invention.

They knew he was employed by us, but they couldn't find out where.

So they enlisted the best brain in England to help them.

You, my dear brother, have been working for the Wilhelmstrasse.

And Madame Valladon.

What part did she play in all of this?

Madame Valladon is dead.

Dead?

The Germans disposed of her three weeks ago, in Brussels.

This is Gabrielle Valladon.

The woman who was brought to your house in the middle of the night,

apparently fished out of the Thames

and apparently suffering from amnesia, is in fact Ilse von Hoffmanstal,

one of their most skillful agents.

Am I going too fast for the best brain in England?

Go on.

They planted her on you quite neatly, I must admit,

so that you could lead them to their objective, the air-pump.

Very much like using a hog to find truffles.

And now perhaps you'd care to join me?

I'm expecting a certain royal personage from Balmoral.

Your Majesty.

I trust you had a pleasant journey, ma'am.

It was long and it was tedious.

And it had better be worth our while, Mr. Holmes.

I can assure you, ma'am, it will be.

Now what is this curious ship we are supposed to christen?

We call it a submersible, ma'am. It travels underwater.

Underwater? What a fantastic idea.

Ma'am, may I present some of the scientists responsible for this achievement.

J.W. Ferguson, Naval Architect.

Your Majesty.

Professor Simpson, our leading expert in hydraulics.

Your Majesty.

W.W. Prescott, co-inventor of the revolving periscope.

Your Majesty.

And this is my brother Sherlock, ma'am.

Yes. Sherlock Holmes.

We have been following your exploits with great interest.

Thank you, ma'am.

Are you engaged in one of your fascinating cases at the moment?

In a manner of speaking, ma'am.

When can we expect to read Dr. Watson's account of the case?

I hope never, ma'am.

It has not been one of my more successful endeavors.

There she is, ma'am.

Her Majesty's submersible.

And what, may we ask, is the purpose of that hideous gargoyle?

Merely a decoy, ma'am.

To frighten away the sharks, we imagine.

Something of the sort.

The crew will now demonstrate the workings of the submersible.

Stand to!

Aren't they rather small for sailors?

They are, ma'am. But because of the size of the craft, the Navy made an exception.

They should make it a rule.

It is quite fatiguing to pin on all those medals while standing on our toes.

This is the main engine which propels it underwater at a rate of two knots,

the reciprocating stabilizer mechanism,

the high-voltage acid batteries,

the multi-stage compressor,

ballast-tank trimmer,

the air pump, which filters and recirculates the air...

How charming.

The air pump, ma'am?

Canaries. Must make the crew feel at home.

Yes, ma'am.

The levers for firing the torpedoes,

which are accurate up to as much as 120 feet,

the periscope for scanning the surface of the water.

But where is the glass bottom?

The what, ma'am?

The glass bottom.

You know, to observe the fish.

And the plants and the corals.

That's not quite the idea, ma'am.

HMS. Jonah is being commissioned as a warship.

A warship?

Stop that noise! Stop it!

Ma'am, if I may explain.

You had better.

The Admiralty regards this craft as the ultimate weapon

in naval warfare. It can seek out enemy ships

and destroy them with those torpedoes, while remaining

completely invisible.

You mean it can fire at other vessels while underwater?

- Yes, ma'am. - Without any warning?

- That is correct, ma'am. - And without showing her colors?

- Indeed, ma'am. - Mr. Holmes, we are not amused.

It is unsportsmanlike, it is un-English, and it is in very poor taste.

We will have none of it.

I beg your pardon, ma'am?

Sometimes we despair of the state of the world.

What will scientists think of next?

That's precisely it, ma'am. At this very moment, the Germans,

under Count von Zeppelin, are experimenting with a dirigible.

A dirigible? And what, pray, is that?

A rigid balloon, which could fly over London

and drop a bomb on Buckingham Palace.

It is being developed at the express orders of Kaiser Wilhelm ll.

Nonsense. We refuse to believe that our grandson Willie would do a thing like that.

We have conclusive proof, ma'am. Our agent in Friedrichshafen,

a man named Ibbetson, actually saw the dirigible and made a drawing of it.

Unfortunately he was apprehended before he could cross the border.

Nevertheless, we want no part of this beastly invention.

Get rid of it! Scuttle it! The sooner the better!

May I point out, ma'am...

And do not concern yourself about that dirigible dropping bombs on us.

We shall write a very sharp note to the Kaiser.

Now, we wish to return to Balmoral.

Well, Mycroft, it seems we have both been undone by a woman.

What a shame. All that superb engineering, and all that cunning espionage, for naught.

Not necessarily. If the Germans want that submersible so badly,

why don't we give it to them?

Give it to them?

Invite them aboard for the final journey,

700 feet straight down.

And how are you going to arrange that?

I'm rather counting on you to do it,

since you're on such intimate terms with Fraulein von Hoffmanstal.

Shall we say goodbye to Her Majesty?

Sorry about that, but as long as you're up,

what is the German word for castle?

- Schloss, isn't it? - I think so.

And how would you say "Under the castle"?

Unter Das Schloss? Or die Schloss?

I don't know. My German is not that good.

Your Trappist friends are waiting outside to hear from you.

It's a chilly morning.

We don't want to keep them standing around too long, do we,

Fraulein Hoffmanstal?

Come now. It's too late to play cat and mouse.

Unter Dem Schloss.

Thank you. Here is your signaling device.

It's rather damp, I'm afraid.

Would you care to tell them where they can find the submersible?

No? Then I shall just have to do it myself.

I only hope my Morse Code is adequate to the occasion.

Well, it's up to the good monks now.

You can consider your part of the mission accomplished, Fraulein Hoffmanstal.

You're all wrong about me.

My name is not Hoffmanstal.

It isn't?

It's von Hoffmanstal.

I stand corrected.

I suppose once they are in the castle...

It must amuse you, Mr. Holmes, Trappists walking into a trap.

It's more amusing than that.

Once in the castle, they will encounter

surprisingly little resistance.

It will take but a small bottle of chloroform to overcome the guards.

You mean, you're going to let them have the air pump?

Better than that.

We're going to let them have the submersible.

They will find it with its engines running, all set to go.

I assume they're all expert sailors.

And since there is a German battleship cruising off the coast of Scotland,

I expect they'll try to sail it out of the Loch and rendezvous at sea.

Did you say "try to"?

I would suggest you get your things together.

Mycroft will be here to take you into custody.

I never had you fooled for a moment, did I?

You knew right from the beginning,

when that cabbie brought me to Baker Street.

Let me see... Not quite that soon.

It's so funny. I asked for this assignment, you know.

I was scheduled to go to Japan,

but I couldn't resist the challenge of coming up

against the best.

I'm sorry I didn't give you a closer game.

Close enough.

You're just being kind. I failed miserably.

We all have occasional failures.

Fortunately, Dr. Watson never writes about mine.

Holmes! Holmes! Holmes!

Holmes! I saw it again. That thing. It came from the castle.

It's out there.

It was out there. Now it's gone.

It's gone?

Forever. Look for yourself.

A bottle of champagne and a Bible?

That's all that's left of H.M.S. Jonah.

Holmes! For once, would you mind being a little less cryptic?

It would seem that someone carelessly

loosened the bolts of the submersible.

What a fitting end for Trappists.

Now they are resting in eternal silence at the bottom of the lake.

Do you know what he's talking about?

Fraulein von Hoffmanstal.

Yes, Mr. Holmes. I'm all ready.

If there's one thing I like about the Prussians, it's their punctuality.

If there's one thing I dislike about the British,

it's their climate.

I understand your jails are very damp,

and your heating facilities are totally inadequate.

They are, but you're not going to jail.

You're going back to Germany.

Germany?

You will be conducted to the Swiss-German border,

and be exchanged for one of our agents, a man named Ibbetson.

Thank you.

Don't thank me. Thank my brother.

It was his idea.

Frankly, I think we are making a very poor deal.

You are much better than most operatives

working for British Intelligence,

don't you agree, Sherlock?

And better than some consulting detectives.

Shall we?

I'll take that.

Gentlemen.

All right, Holmes, you don't have to explain anything to me if you don't want to.

I appreciate that, Watson.

After all, I'm only your official biographer.

Anyway, I don't think she would care to have this story spread

all over the Strand Magazine.

The public has a right to know these things.

If she's a German spy,

why should we concern ourselves about her feelings?

Giddy UP-

Holmes, if I promised not to write a word about it, would you enlighten me?

As your friend? As your valet?

Quiet. I'm trying to read a personal message.

Message?

What's she saying?

The nerve.

A letter from the Diogenes Club.

Maybe Mycroft is putting you up for membership.

If only to have the distinct pleasure of blackballing his brother.

Aren't you going to finish your breakfast?

Holmes, I'm terribly sorry about this.

Where is it, Watson?

In the files. May to July, 1885.

You're getting better.