All language subtitles for The Private.Life.of.Sherlock.Holmes.1970.1080p.BluRay.x264.YIFY

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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 a 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 Hound 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 know when you'll catch one.
- I'll unpack your bags.

Here's an advance copy
of Strand Magazine.

They've printed The Red-Headed League.
Would you like to see how I've treated it?

I can hardly wait. I'm sure I shall find out
all sorts about the case that I never knew.

- Just what do you mean by that?
- You have a tendency to overromanticise.

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

- embroidered them, exaggerated...
- I deny the accusation.

- You say I'm 6'4"whereas I'm barely 6'1".
- A bit of poetic licence.

You saddled me with an improbable
costume which I'm now expected to wear.

- It's not my doing. Blame the illustrator.
- You've made me out a violin virtuoso.

There's an invitation from the
Liverpool Symphony to appear as soloist.

Really?

I could barely hold my own
in a second-rate music hall.

You're much too modest.

You have given the reader the distinct
impression that I'm 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 colourful.

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

just because I occasionally take
a five per cent solution of cocaine.

- A seven per cent solution.
- Five per cent.

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?
- Mm. 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 are not only midgets,

- but also anarchists.
- Anarchists?

By now they'll have been smuggled to
Vienna, dressed as little girls in pinafores.

They are to greet the tsar of
all the Russias 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.
That's not even a pound a midget.

Obviously he's a stingy blighter and the
little chaps ran off to join another circus.

It sounded so promising.

There are no great crimes
any more, 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
could see through it.

Mrs Hudson! Mrs Hudson!

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

- Something is missing from my desk.
- Missing?

- Something very crucial.
- What?

Dust! You have been tidying up
against my explicit orders.

Oh, 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.

Well, some of the dust was this thick.

That would be... March 1883.

Oh!

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.

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

In our endeavours 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'll 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.
- Oh, let me open the window.

Not from lack of air, from lack of activity.

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.

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's 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 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 lmperial Russian Ballet.

The house has been sold out for months.
Tickets are going at a guinea apiece.

That's just it. Why should someone send
us two free tickets? Anonymously, at that.

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.
- 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.
- Hm.

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 Nikolai Rogozhin, director-general
of the lmperial Russian Ballet.

- So glad you accept invitation.
- This is Dr Watson.

Pleased to meet you.

- You are enjoying?
- Immensely.

Tell me, Mr Holmes, how is your health?

My health? Better consult my doctor.

Oh, he's in excellent shape.

Any insanity in your family?
Diabetes, asthma?

- Would you tell 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

and Madame requests your presence.

We'd be delighted.

You are invited also.

Ah!

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

Dr Watson, you will amuse yourself.

- We have vodka, caviar, girls.
- No, thank you.

- No girls?
- No caviar - makes me break out in hives.

Poznakomtes s doktorom Watsonom.

Any of you girls understand English?

Nyet.

- Not one single word?
- Nyet.

In that case, I don't mind telling you
that you all have lovely po-pos.

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

It's only the extraordinary
that interests me.

Good. Because you will
find this extra-extraordinary.

May I present Madame Petrova.

Madame.

Madame says you are shorter
than she thought.

Oh, I didn't mean to be.

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

Thank you. Thank you.

...Baskerville.

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

Big Dog From Baskerville.

I'm afraid it loses something
in translation.

Nikolai...

Mr Holmes, you know about fiddles.

What is your opinion of this?

"Antonius Stradivarius Cremonensis."

"Anno 1709."

Well, the label is authentic.

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

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

- You like?
- Oh, it's magnificent.

Nikolai.

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 have seen tonight

is last and positively final
performance of Madame Petrova.

- She is retiring.
- What a shame.

She has been dancing since she was
three. And, after all, she is now 38.

I must say, she doesn't look 38.

That is because she is 49.

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've 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?

- When can you be ready?
- Ready?

To leave for Venice. You will
spend one week there with Madame.

This is very flattering,
but surely there are other, 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 is...

How shall I put it?

Women, not his glass of tea.

Oh, 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.

The one thing more deplorable
than our cooking is our lovemaking.

- 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 haemophilia in my family.
- Huh?

We are all bleeders.

- Not to worry, she will not scratch you.
- That's reassuring, but...

Madame says you talk too much.
You find her attractive or no?

Well, I, er...

Oh, excuse me.
What does prokaznik mean?

It means "you little devil".

It does? I am? Thank you!

I repeat question.

You find Madame attractive or no?

Oh, 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 are 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 Doctor Watson?

He... is your glass of tea?

If you want to be picturesque about it.

...Tchaikovsky?

Believe me, Madame, the loss is all mine.

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

It would have been... catastrophe.

- Watson! Are you coming?
- What is it?

- We're going home.
- Home?

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

Hold on.

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! No need to be bashful.
We're not bourgeois.

Maybe between doctors
and detectives is unusual,

but in ballet...

is very usual.

What is?

Caprice of Mother Nature.

Look at Pavel and Mischa,

Boris and 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 gather
you're 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 realise the gravity of this?
The possible repercussions?

- So there'll be a little gossip about you.
- 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 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.

Dishonoured, disgraced, ostracised.

- What am I to do?
- 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 can't 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 stations.

This whole thing's ridiculous.

- We have nothing to hide.
- That's what I tried to tell you.

Let somebody start a rumour. Just one
ugly word, we'll sue 'em 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
towards 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 consider 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've never found her so.

- I don't know.
- Can I speak to the master?

- He's in bed.
- It's important.

- What is it, Mrs Hudson?
- A cabby says you owe him two and six.

- For what?
- For the fare, guv'nor.

- 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.

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

- Where did she come from?
- The river.

I was driving down the embankment,
just below Westminster Bridge.

There she was, in the water, drowning.

Wasn't easy, guv'nor, 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, guv'nor.

No extra charge for
the use of the horse blanket.

You're shivering, my dear.
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
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 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?

Vous êtes Française?

Non. Je ne suis pas Française.

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

Vous êtes Suisse?

Non.

Alors, vous êtes Belge?

Je ne suis pas sûre.

Vous êtes Belge, de Bruxelles?

Bruxelles.

Oui. Je pense que oui.

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? Why are you 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!

Pensez!
Concentrez-vous!

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 give her a sleeping draught.

- I think we should take her to a hospital.
- Under no circumstances.

- She needs medical attention.
- She's got me.

More important, she must be protected.
There's already been one attempt on her.

- How temporary is temporary amnesia?
- 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.

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 with a problem, we don't
know who she is or what the problem is.

- Don't you find that challenging?
- Quite.

But we can't wait for these veils to lift. We
must break 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.

Oh.

Emile?

Emile?

Emile!

Is that you, Emile?

Yes, Gabrielle.

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

Hold me. Hold me tight.

It's been such a long time.
So many nights.

Do you know what I did
before I left Bruxelles?

- What?
- I hope you're not going to be angry.

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. Oh, please.

Come here.

What is it, Emile?

What are you doing?

Dr Watson!

Ooh.

Porridge is getting lumpy.
Hadn't you better get up?

I would like to very much, but...

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 vertebra.

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.

Ow!

Bless you. That damn couch.

Oh, you'd better see
if our patient is awake.

Dr Watson.

She's gone.

Gone?

Holmes! Holmes!

She's gone!

Well, I never.

Mm. I smell porridge.
Lumpy as usual, I suppose.

Ah, there you are.
We were just wondering...

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.

Hmph.

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.

As a matter of fact, I did.
Would you hand me the butter knife?

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.

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

- That's hers?
- Remember the piece of soggy cardboard

with our address on it?
It was a luggage ticket.

The number had rubbed off on her hand.

Since she must have come
by the boat train,

I concluded that she 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.

- Voilà.
- Well, let's see, what else is in here?

Ah!

Now we're getting somewhere.

Ah.

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 of you is Sherlock Holmes,
and which is Dr Watson?

Dr Watson is the handsome one.

Oh.

That's the way he affects most women.

Coffee. You want some strong coffee.

- Oh, 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 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, can you think of any reason why
your husband should have lied to you?

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 when, suddenly,
there were footsteps behind me

and a hand over my mouth

and the smell of chloroform and
the next thing I knew I was in the water.

And then a man
was wrapping me in a blanket.

Somebody tried to kill you last night. Do
you have any idea who could've done it?

I don't understand any of it.

What does it all mean, Mr Holmes?
Where's 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?

32. 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 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've been writing
to a place like this all these months.

Look. Canaries. Do you suppose
this could have been a pet shop?

Maybe.

Shh!

Here comes our letter.

Well, now we are 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 money is somewhere
at the bottom of the Thames.

It could be worse. You could be there too,

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'd 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, eh?

I hate to lose you,
but even an old woman's got to live.

Although you might well ask why.

Ooh.

You never told me. We have a letter.

Oh!

- Got it?
- Yeah, I've got it.

Right, open the cage.

- Morning, duchess.
- Good morning.

- What've 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 goes on up there?

Look, duchess, we don't know.
And we don't want to know.

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

Six, eight, ten. Get in there!

14, 17.

- In you go. 20.
- 24.

- How about that letter? Does that go too?
- No.

This is going to be picked up in person.

Right, I've got it.

Right, up.

All right, my pretties,

back to sleep you go.

Oh!

- 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.

What was all that about Jonah? What are
they doing up there? Where's 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?

- 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 am."

"Your brother, Mycroft."

- What time do you make it, Watson?
- 11.43.

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 curious myself to know
what's going on in his Machiavellian mind.

Not Mycroft, 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...

Oh!

Gentlemen!

Hm. Jamaican, no doubt.

Either Tropical or Gonosina.

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 an occasional twinge.

I've got a treat for you.
Very old Madeira. 1814.

Only six bottles in the world.
I've got two and I'm negotiating for a third.

If you don't mind my saying so,
anyone susceptible to gout shouldn't be...

My last doctor was crossing Piccadilly,
slipped on an orange peel

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

Er, why, it's... it's in Belgium, isn't it?

Quite. And speaking of Belgium, it's 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?
- It involves the national security.

- We are handling the matter ourselves.
- We? Who's we?

- The Diogenes Club.
- I didn't say that.

I've long suspected
some underground connection

between this stodgy and seemingly
calcified establishment and Whitehall.

- That is neither here nor there.
- Your club is here, there and everywhere.

When there are rumblings of revolt in the
Sudan an expedition funded by your club

conveniently shows up
to study the source of the Nile.

If there's trouble along the Indian frontier,
members pop up in the Himalayas,

allegedly looking for
the abominable snowman.

What a vivid imagination my brother has.

At five, by observing a neighbour's house,

he deduced that babies were brought not
by the stork but by the midwife in her bag.

- Yes, Wiggins?
- An immediate answer is requested, sir.

Oh, yes.

Hm.

The three boxes go to Glennahurich,
the red runner to the castle.

The boxes to Glennahurich, the
red runner to the castle. Very good, sir.

Why don't you crumple it up
and swallow it, just to make sure?

Certain affairs do not come within
the province of the private detective.

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

- You want me to stay within my limits.
- I do indeed.

And speaking of limits,
what exactly is Jonah Limited?

When I said drop this case, it was not
merely a suggestion, it was an order.

- By whose authority?
- Her Majesty's Government.

I hope I have made myself clear.

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

- Goodbye, sir.
- A pleasure, as always.

Just a minute.

You forgot your tool kit.

You will be gentle when you tell her
you're dropping the case?

- What does "Glennahurich" suggest?
- Absolutely nothing.

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

Glen means "valley", na means "of the",

and hurrich, 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 afore... ~

- You are dropping the case, aren't you?
- Open that door.

Don't shoot, you're liable
to lose two excellent tenants.

Oh, 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'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?
- Let me caution you.

At 7.30, we're 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 Bruxelles?
- You must understand...

I came to find my husband.
You were going to help me.

Yes, but circumstances have changed.

The great detective.
Maybe this case is too small for you.

On the contrary, it's being handled...

I won't go back to Bruxelles.
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?

What I said was that
we will put you on the boat train.

- I didn't say you would stay on it.
- She won't?

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 Euston Station and board
the Highland Express to Inverness.

Mr and Mrs?

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?

Oh?

On 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.

Oh, 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.

Hm.

"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 wholehearted
admirer of womankind.

I'm not very fond of them myself.

The most affectionate woman
I ever knew was a murderess.

Oh?

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

And all the time 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 fiancée, for instance.
- Your fiancée?

Mm.

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.

Die Spur führt nach Inverness.
Dort steigen die aus.

Dort müssen wir ihn finden, den Valladon.

- I will take that.
- Let's see now. One, two, three, four, five.

How do you get to Glennahurich?
How far is it?

- Glennahurich?
- You know, a valley with a yew tree.

It's about a mile out of the town.
Why do you want to go there?

It sounds like
a peaceful place for a picnic.

It's peaceful, 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 our 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?
- No, not really. This is healthy country.

Sometimes you sit 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 round here knows them.

The story is their boat capsized in a swell,
but I don't believe it.

What do you believe?

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.

Looked just like old men.
They must have died of fright.

- That's incredible.
- Is it?

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

Ah, what's the use?

- Here you are, Dad.
- Eh?

Oh.

Thank you. Thank you.
You seem like nice people.

If you want 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. Here, in the 19th century.

I'm ashamed to admit it, but I was relieved
when he mentioned a father and two boys.

- It's nothing to do with Emile.
- It appears not.

However, there still remains
the clue of the castle.

And the red runner, whoever he may be.

If they're unidentified graves,
why are those boys bringing flowers?

Because it's their brothers
who have been buried.

- Their brothers?
- 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? Nains?

Midgets.

- Boys with the faces of old men.
- I still don't see wh...

- Would it help to know they're 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.

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've a lovely view of the loch from here.
As soon as the morning mist rolls away.

If you've a mind to go 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
in the basement?

- No, your room's in the attic.
- Good.

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

Oh.

May I have your wedding ring, please?

Just as I thought.

There is a distinct difference in colour
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, to find out
what happened to your husband,

you cannot act the grief-stricken widow.

I'm... sorry.

I know it's not easy, but remember
we're a nice couple from London

on holiday in the Highlands.

I'll try.

- That's much better.
- Thank you.

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?
- Telescope. Where's the telescope?

What did you see?

- The monster!
- The monster?

There. There. There, there, there!

There it is! There it is!

Look for yourself. There it is.
There. There. There. See it?

There. See it?

I see nothing.

Nothing?

- It's gone.
- Maybe it was never there.

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, the boat overturning?

Valladon may have been in the lake but
he did not drown. He died of asphyxiation.

Asphyxiation?

Only one substance
can turn a copper ring green

and bleach the colour 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 draughty castles,

had our bicycles attacked by sheep,

our ears assaulted by bagpipes,
and we are exactly where we started.

- Some more cranberry sauce, dear?
- Yes, dear.

- Pass the cranberry sauce, John.
- Yes, dear.

I say, there! Good afternoon!

Remember me?

There's some chaps I met on the train. We
had a long conversation. Or, rather, I did.

Because they are not allowed to talk.
Trappists. 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?
- Oh, a bee.

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, the only
choice is to try the tradesman's entrance.

- Sorry. No visitors allowed.
- Are you the guide here?

- Yes. But the castle is closed for work.
- Why? What are they doing?

Restoration by the Society for
the Preservation of Scottish Monuments.

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

The tower is a most interesting
example of medieval architecture.

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

Let me see, was it built
by James the Second or James the Third?

The Third. But if you'd like to come back
next year we'll be finished

and I'll be glad to show you round.

Thank you.

- Pleasant sort.
- Pleasant but ignorant.

He was off 100 years and one James.

It's actually 1500 and James the Fourth.

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.

Sulphuric acid.

The more we find out
the less sense it makes.

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

Sulphuric 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 it from the front,
the back, the side, from land, from water.

- What now? Spend the night out here?
- If necessary.

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...
- Quick, Watson! After it!

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

- Keep rowing, dammit!
- Oh!

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.

Holmes!

Get back! Get back!

- 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. India, you know.

But I wasn't half as frightened. This beast
seems to have a grudge against us.

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.

I know. Can you believe you can't borrow
a decent pair of trousers in this place?

All right, Holmes. Want to confide in us?

When he whistles
I know he's close to a solution.

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

- We have? Where?
- At the ballet.

There's a lake and there's a castle
and there's a swan that isn't really a swan.

- Or a monster that isn't really a monster.
- Then what is it?

What is it indeed that feeds on
canary birds and sulphuric acid

- and has an engine for a heart?
- An engine?

The stethoscope is a sensitive instrument
and water is an excellent conductor.

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.

Why would anybody 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.
- The Diogenes Club?

Come in.

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

A bottle of champagne! I didn't order it.

No. 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? A party?

You won't be disappointed in the guestlist.

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. McKeller?

May I have the champagne, please?

1886. Not a very good vintage, is it?

Mediocre. Then again, it's not for drinking.

Tie it up, will you? In here.

Interesting... and educational.

Despite my warning
you persisted in meddling.

- It would have served you right to drown.
- Sorry to be so unobliging.

"E Valladon". Hm.

I imagine that this belongs to the pretty
lady and this belongs to your... valet.

- They were in the lake.
- Speaking of things 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 midgets.

It is powered by sulphuric-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 could solve the critical problem:
How to stay submerged long enough.

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. Thanks to Valladon's
air pump, we got a jump on the rest.

- It's a complex system, so we had trials.
- And at least one error.

During a run in the Moray Firth,
pressure caused a leak,

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

Before they could resurface,
three were dead.

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

It was essential
to keep it from your client.

You went to all those lengths to prevent
Madame Valladon finding her husband?

Your client isn't Madame Valladon.

It's the lmperial German Government.

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

They knew he was employed by us
but couldn't find 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 brought to you
in the middle of the night,

apparently fished out of the Thames
and apparently suffering from amnesia

is, in fact, llse von Hoffmanstal,
one of their most skilful 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 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?

A submersible, ma'am.
It travels underwater.

Underwater? What a fantastic idea.

May I present some of the scientists
responsible for this achievement.

- JW Ferguson, naval architect.
- Your Majesty.

Professor Simpson,
our leading expert in hydraulics.

WW Prescott, coinventor
of the revolving periscope.

- Your Majesty.
- And this is my brother Sherlock, ma'am.

Ah, yes, Sherlock Holmes.

- We've followed you with great interest.
- Thank you, ma'am.

Are you engaged in one of
your fascinating cases now?

- In a manner of speaking, ma'am.
- When will we read Dr Watson's account?

I hope never, ma'am. It has not been
one of my more successful endeavours.

Oh.

There she is, ma'am.
Her Majesty's Ship Jonah.

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

- Merely a decoy, ma'am.
- Oh!

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?

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 main engine propels it
underwater at the rate of two knots.

The reciprocating stabiliser mechanism.

The high-voltage acid batteries.

The multistage compressor.
The ballast tank trimmer.

The air pump, which filters
and recirculates the air.

- Oh, 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 120ft.

The periscope for scanning
the surface of the water.

- 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 has been
commissioned as a warship.

A warship.

Stop that noise!

Stop it!

- If I may explain.
- You had better.

The admiralty regards this as
the ultimate weapon in naval warfare.

It can seek out and destroy enemy ships
while remaining completely invisible.

You mean it can fire at other vessels
while underwater? Without any warning?

- Yes, ma'am.
- Without showing her colours?

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

It is unsportsmanlike, it is unEnglish,
and it is in very poor taste.

We will have none of it.

I beg your pardon, ma'am?

Sometimes we despair
at the state of the world.

- What will scientists think of next?
- That's precisely it, ma'am.

At this very moment, the Germans
are experimenting with a dirigible.

A dirigible? And what, pray, is that?

A rigid balloon which could
drop a bomb on Buckingham Palace.

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

Nonsense.

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

We have proof, ma'am.

Our agent in Friedrichshafen, lbbetson,
saw the dirigible and made a drawing of it.

However, he was apprehended
before crossing 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.

700ft, 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 Fräulein 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, do we?

Fräulein 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, Fräulein 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...

Must amuse you,
Trappists walking into a trap?

It's more amusing than that. Once inside,
they will encounter little resistance.

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

- You mean you'll give them the air pump?
- We'll give them the submersible.

They'll find it with its engines running, all
set to go. I assume they're expert sailors.

Since there's a German
battleship off the coast,

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 the cabby
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 to 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 HMS 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're resting in eternal silence
at the bottom of the lake.

Do you know what he's talking about?

Fräulein von Hoffmanstal.

Yes, Mr Holmes, I'm all ready.

One thing I like about the Prussians
is 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
totally inadequate.

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

- Germany?
- You'll go to the Swiss-German border

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

- Thank you.
- Thank my brother. It was his idea.

Frankly, I think
we're making a poor deal.

You're 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.

You don't have to explain
if you don't want.

- I appreciate that, Watson.
- I'm only your official biographer.

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?

Giddap.

Look, Holmes, if I promise
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?

Auf...

Wiedersehen.

Auf Wieder... The nerve!

Hm!

- A letter from the Diogenes Club.
- Maybe Mycroft put you up as a member.

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.

Visiontext Subtitles:
Katherine Appleby

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