Original subtitles

- Mr Kratides? - Latimer?

My name is Latimer. I've come to meet you, Mr Kratides.

Yes, just come this way, Mr Kratides. We have a carriage waiting.

'During my long and intimate acquaintance with Sherlock Holmes,

'I'd never heard him refer to his relations and hardly ever to his own early life.

'Because of this reticence, I sometimes found myself

'regarding him as an isolated phenomenon,

'as deficient in human sympathy as he was pre-eminent in intelligence.

'I'd come to believe that he was an orphan with no relatives living.

'But one day, to my very great surprise, he began to talk to me about his family.'

My singular gift for observation and deduction

may have come from my grandmother, a sister of Vernet, the French artist,

though art in the blood is liable to take the strangest forms.

For example, my brother, Mycroft.

Your brother?

I didn't know you had a brother.

Oh, yes.

And I can assure you that he possesses a far greater faculty

for observation and deduction than I do.

Holmes, I know that you are a modest man...

Ha! My dear Watson.

I cannot agree with those that rank modesty among the virtues.

To the logician, everything should be seen exactly as it is.

To underestimate is as much a departure from the truth as to exaggerate.

What I have told you about my brother is the exact and literal truth.

Well, naturally, I don't doubt your word.

But if there is another man in England with such singular powers,

how is it that neither the police nor the public have ever heard of him,

let alone myself?

Oh, he is very well known in his own circles.

Where, then?

The Diogenes Club.

It is the oddest club in London and my brother one of the oddest men.

I suppose...

you wish to meet him.

Well, of course I do.

Even if it's just to prove that he exists.

Then you shall.

This afternoon.

He has come across the most singular problem,

which he thinks might interest me.

But why does Mycroft not use his powers for detective work?

If the detective's art began and ended in an armchair,

my brother would be the greatest criminal agent that ever lived.

What is to me a means of livelihood is to him the merest hobby of a dilettante.

But he has no ambition and no energy.

What is his profession, then?

He has an extraordinary faculty for figures.

He audits the books for some of the government departments.

But what are the qualifications for the Diogenes Club?

Shyness and misanthropy. My brother is one of the founder members.

It contains the most unsociable and unclubbable men in town,

who speak not a word and shun even the merest glance.

Now, let us enter.

- Yes, but... - Not a word.

Holmes, have you?

- We can talk in here. - Well, thank goodness.

Look at those two men, Sherlock.

- What do you make of them? - The billiard-marker and the other?

Precisely. What do you make of the other?

- An old soldier, I perceive. - Recently discharged.

- Served in India, I see. - A non-commissioned officer.

- Royal Artillery, I fancy. - And a widower.

With a child.

Children, my dear boy. Children.

Mycroft Holmes. Glad to meet you, Dr Watson.

I hear of Sherlock everywhere since you became his chronicler.

Well, thank you.

For anyone who wishes to study mankind, this is the spot.

But surely you were taking things a little too far just now?

It is not hard to say that a man of that bearing

and expression of authority and sun-baked skin

is a soldier, is more than a private, and is not long from India.

That he has not long since left is shown

by his still wearing his ammunition boots, as they're called.

He has not the cavalry stride, yet he wore his hat on one side,

as is shown by the lighter skin on one side of his brow.

His weight is against him being a sapper. He is in the artillery.

Then, of course, his mourning shows that he has lost someone very dear.

The fact he is doing his own shopping looks as though it were his wife.

He has been buying things for children, you perceive.

There is a rattle, which shows that one of them is very, very young.

The fact that he has a picture book under his arm shows there is another child.

Ah, Mr Melas.

Come in, sir.

These are my friends.

This is Dr Watson and this is my younger brother Sherlock.

You are Mr Sherlock Holmes?

I asked Mr Melas to step across. He lodges on the first floor above me.

I thought you'd be interested in his story.

He's the reason why I asked you to call today.

Mr Melas, he came to me, well, in perplexity.

But I think I shall ask Mr Melas

to tell his own very remarkable experiences in his own fashion.

Thank you, Mr Holmes.

For many years, I have been the chief Greek interpreter in London.

I do not think that the police believe my story. On my word, I do not.

Just because they have never heard of it before,

they think that such a thing cannot be.

But I know that I shall never be easy in my mind until I know what has become

of my poor man with the sticking plaster upon his face.

Sticking?

Mr Melas, please sit down.

Thank you, Mr Holmes. I prefer to stand.

Watson.

I am all attention.

All this happened only two days ago, on Monday night.

I am Greek by extraction and earn my living as an interpreter.

It often happens that I am sent for at strange hours

by foreigners who get into difficulties

or by travellers who arrive late and wish my services.

- Mr Melas? - Yes?

I apologise for this intrusion

but I need the services of an interpreter immediately.

- My name is Latimer. - Immediately?

I wouldn't insist unless it were urgent.

A Greek friend of mine has just arrived in this country on business.

Unfortunately, he speaks nothing but his own tongue.

I likewise. So, Mr Melas, please, my carriage is waiting outside.

- How far away? - Only to Kensington.

I'm sorry to cut off your view, Mr Melas, but the fact is I have no intention

that you should see the place to which we are driving.

It might possibly be inconvenient to me

if you were ever able to find your way there again.

This is very extraordinary conduct, Mr Latimer.

You must be aware that what you are doing is quite illegal.

It is somewhat of a liberty, no doubt, but we'll make it up to you.

For nearly two hours, we drove,

without my having the least idea as to where I was.

Did you not notice any change of sound under the wheels?

I listened, Mr Holmes. Sometimes we seemed to be on a paved causeway,

sometimes on asphalt, but there was nothing to tell me where I was.

And no other sounds? A ship's siren? A church bell?

I'm sorry. Nothing like that.

At what time did you finally reach your destination?

Ten minutes to nine, exactly.

- Is this Mr Melas, Harold? - Yes.

Well done.

Well done.

No ill will, Mr Melas, I trust,

but we could not get on without you.

If you deal fair with us, you'll not regret it.

But if you try any tricks, God help you.

What do you want of me?

Only to ask a few questions of a Greek gentleman who is visiting us

and to let us have the answers.

But you should say no more than you are told or...

it were better you had never been born.

Mr Melas. Pray continue.

Well, then, this man,

this evil man,

showed me into a room which appeared to be very curiously furnished.

But again, the only light was afforded by a single lamp, half turned down.

The slate, Harold.

Are his hands loose?

Take this.

You will ask the questions, Mr Melas, and he will write the answers.

Ask him first of all whether he is prepared to sign the papers.

Never.

On no conditions?

He writes, "Only if I see her married in my presence by a Greek priest

"whom I know."

You know what awaits you, then?

He says,

"I care nothing for myself."

'And so it went on.

'Again and again I had to ask him

'whether he would give in and sign the document.

'Again and again I had the same indignant reply.

'But soon a thought came to me.

'I took to adding on little sentences of my own to each question,

'innocent ones at first,

'to test whether either of our companions

'knew anything of the matter.

'And then, as I found that they showed no sign,

'I played a more dangerous game.'

This obstinacy is doing you no good.

He says, "I care not."

In fact, he had also told me he was a stranger in London.

He then told me he had been here three weeks and was being forcibly starved.

Starved.

- Did you manage to find out his name? - Kratides.

He was from Athens.

But that was all I could discover, unfortunately.

Another five minutes and I should have wormed out the whole story

under their very noses.

Ask him again, Mr Melas.

'But at that instant, the door opened

'and a woman stepped into the room.'

- He says, never. - Well, ask him again.

Harold, I could not stay away any longer. It is so lonely...

- Oh, my God, it's Paul. - Sophy! Sophy!

That will do.

Mr Melas.

As you perceive, we have taken you into our confidence

over some very private business.

Here are five sovereigns which will, I hope, be a sufficient fee.

But remember, if you speak to anyone about this...

one human soul, mind...

Well, may God have mercy on your soul.

'As before, I was taken in the closed carriage for almost two hours.

'There, I was abandoned, as I was later to discover, near Wandsworth Common.

'I do not know where I had been, nor whom I had spoken with, nor anything,

'saving what I have told you.

'But I know that there is foul play going on, and I want to help that unhappy man.

'Before God, I do.'

Mycroft.

Mycroft!

What steps have you taken so far?

This was in all the daily papers.

"Anyone having information as to the whereabouts

"of a Greek gentleman named Paul Kratides,

"who cannot speak English, will be rewarded.

"A similar reward to anyone having information

"about a Greek lady whose first name is Sophia."

But no answer as yet.

- What about the Greek legation? - They know nothing.

The head of the Athens police, then?

Sherlock has all the energy of the family.

Well, you take up the case by all means, and let me know if you do any good.

Certainly. Mr Melas.

I should be extremely careful if I were you,

but, of course, through these advertisements,

they will know that you have betrayed them.

- Wait for me. - Whoops. On your way.

It seems obvious that this Greek girl has been carried off

by the Englishman, Harold Latimer.

- Carried off from where? - Athens, perhaps?

No. This Harold Latimer cannot speak a word of Greek.

The girl speaks English fairly well. Inference?

That she has been in England some little time and he has not been in Greece.

Thank you, Miss Jackson.

Then let's presume that the girl was visiting England

and that this Harold persuaded her to fly with him.

Then the brother, that must be the relationship,

comes over from Greece in order to intervene.

They seize him, use violence to force him

to sign some documents making over the girl's fortune to them.

He's probably the trustee. This, as we have heard, he refuses to do.

So far. But these men will not stop now.

Whatever happens, we must find them.

How can we?

Well, if our conjecture is correct, and the girl's name is, or was, Sophia Kratides,

we should have no difficulty in tracing her.

That must be our main hope.

The brother, of course, is a complete stranger.

Come in, Sherlock. Come in, sir.

You don't expect such energy from me, do you, Sherlock?

How did you get here?

I passed you while you were in the telegraph office.

I've had an answer to my advertisement.

It came within a few minutes of your leaving.

And to what effect?

It is written with a J pen on royal cream paper

by a middle-aged man with a weak constitution.

"Sir, in answer to your advertisement of today's date,

"I beg to inform you that I know the young lady in question very well.

"If you should care to call upon me,

"I could give you some particulars as to her painful history.

"She is at present at The Myrtles, Beckenham.

"Yours faithfully, J Davenport."

He writes from Lower Brixton.

Do you not think we should drive there now and learn these particulars?

My dear Mycroft, the brother's life is more important than the sister's story.

We should call at Scotland Yard for Inspector Gregson

and then go straight out to Beckenham.

We know that a man is being done to death. Every hour may be vital.

We'd better pick up Mr Melas on the way.

Why?

Because we may need a Greek interpreter.

Excellent, Watson.

I should say, from what we have heard,

that we are dealing with a particularly dangerous gang.

- Mr Melas? - Yes?

There's a gentleman to see you, sir.

What gentleman?

Well, he said he met you today at the Diogenes Club.

Mr Holmes. Thank you.

Good evening, Mr Melas.

Good evening, Mrs Stern. Would you tell Mr Melas I need to see him urgently?

But Mr Melas is not here, sir.

A gentleman just called for him and he left.

- Can you tell me where? - I don't know, sir.

All I know is he drove off with a gentleman in a carriage.

- Did the gentleman give a name? - No, sir.

Not a tall, handsome, dark young man?

Oh, no, sir. He was a little gentleman with glasses.

Thin in the face but very pleasant in his ways.

He was laughing all the time he was talking.

Thank you.

Scotland Yard. And hurry.

It can't be done without a warrant.

We are not disputing that, Inspector.

Even if they are criminals, it is a private house and the law demands...

The law demands that we act quickly.

Can you not find a magistrate to sign this warrant for us?

At this hour?

At this very minute. Or kidnapping could become murder.

- I can but try. - Please do.

Tell him I have ceased being reasonable.

If he does not sign the papers now, I will kill him.

Tell him. I have no more patience.

Please, Inspector, will you not come without a warrant?

- I am sorry, gentlemen, but I can't... - We have wasted nearly an hour.

The law cannot be hurried, Mr Holmes.

The life of Mr Melas is in your hands, Inspector.

Tell him...

- Tell him if I kill him...

I have no use any more for his sister and she will die also.

- You wouldn't murder... - Tell him!

- Sophia! Sophia!

- Mr Melas, please. Please, Mr Melas.

Here it is, gentlemen, signed.

Get someone to drive us to London Bridge station.

And pray we're not too late!

A carriage heavily loaded with luggage has passed out within the last half-hour.

Wait for us here.

The nest is empty and the birds are flown.

It's sulphur.

Mycroft, get the lamp.

Come, help me with the bodies.

Quick.

That poor wretch must be Paul Kratides.

No more, I'm afraid. His life is over.

We should have been here sooner, Inspector.

Must have been dead about four hours.

The gas merely served as a coup de grâce.

- Am I not right, Dr Watson? - Beaten to death.

But Mr Melas still lives. Quick, let's get him out of here as fast as possible.

Inspector, brandy. Relax, Mr Melas, you're in safe hands.

From a brief look at her room, the lady left in haste but without a struggle.

That man Latimer must still have some power over her.

One wonders...

with how much remorse she abandoned her brother for Harold Latimer.

You still retain your low opinion of women.

In this instance, I fear I may be justified.

Holmes, they appear to have consulted a Bradshaw.

It was open at this page.

The boat train.

The murderers won't get far. I'll have men at every port in England if need be.

The boat train makes one stop between London and Dover,

at Herne Hill in...

in 23 minutes precisely.

Exactly. Stay with your chief witness, Inspector.

You may need a statement from him.

He will need your help. A little brandy and ammonia at frequent intervals.

- Mycroft! - I'm not built for running, Sherlock!

Tickets, please!

Will you kindly have your tickets ready, please?

Inspector, my name is Sherlock Holmes.

Mr Sherlock Holmes? I've read about your cases, sir.

Are we the last passengers from whom you have collected tickets?

I always work at the engine and work back to the guard's van.

You can help me. There are three passengers,

two men and a woman, travelling together.

They may not appear to be but they will be in a compartment alone.

The elder man wears thick-lensed glasses and the younger is handsome.

They will have a great deal of luggage.

- Have you seen such a party? - Yes, indeed.

- I can help you, Mr Holmes. - I never doubted it.

There are two parties who fit that description, Mr Holmes.

Two?

Ticket, please.

- In compartment B4 and D8. - Thank you, Inspector.

How do we know which two are the murderers?

It couldn't be simpler.

No. Don't wake him.

There's danger enough for the two of us.

A left-handed printer from Deptford.

His elder brother drinks too much and is pained by his liver.

- Not our men, then? - Not our men.

Um...

- And the girl? - She knows neither of them.

She's a machinist from Bradford who is going on holiday to find romance.

Which means, undoubtedly, that the murderers are in compartment B4.

Thank you, Miss Kratides.

Do sit still, Mr Latimer. Do come in, Watson.

Who the hell are you?

The third member of the party is absent, but I'm sure he will return.

Miss Kratides, may I ask if you are this man's prisoner or companion?

Don't say anything. They have no right to ask you anything at all.

If they were the police, they would have said.

Why the police, Mr Latimer? Were you expecting to meet them?

Look, I don't know who you are, nor do I know how you know my name,

but I am travelling with my fiancée to the Continent to get married.

So would you please leave us alone? Or I shall be obliged to call the guard.

Please do. Or I'm sure Dr Watson would do it for you.

Ah... I see you know who I am.

Then may I be permitted to ask your fiancée the question again?

It's true what he said. We are going to be married.

- Where? - In Athens.

- I fear not. - And who is going to stop us?

If not the police, then I will. Miss Kratides, do you want me to believe

that you are leaving England willingly?

Yes.

To marry the man who just murdered your brother?

- That's not true. - Paul? Murdered?

It isn't true, is it? He's going to meet us in Greece as soon as he's well.

- That's what you said to me. - And he will, Sophia, he will.

- Your brother is dead, Miss Kratides. - Don't listen to him.

I found his body myself in the house in Beckenham.

- He had been murdered. - Tortured to death.

No, it can't be. Harold, tell me what happened.

As for you, Mr Latimer, Mr Melas is alive, as a witness,

to see you hanged.

Help me. Sophia, help me.

Help me.

Help me.

Trieste, I know very well.

Very well indeed. I have... friends there.

Yes. But I need not elaborate as I see you are a man of the world, sir.

On the contrary, do you know I've never left England in my life?

- Haven't you? - No.

Then, sir, if you must choose one country, it must be Greece.

The land of gods, olives and... intrigue.

It is my destination, Greece.

- Do you speak Greek, sir? - No.

But one can always find a good interpreter.

Thank you.

An excellent meal.

Well, goodbye, sir. It was a pleasure meeting you.

Goodbye. It was an interesting conversation.

I do apologise.

I sometimes forget my size.

Goodbye again.

It is true about Paul?

I'm afraid so.

I hated Harold Latimer.

I hated him and I loved him.

I would have done anything he said.

I would have gone anywhere with him.

Even though he murdered your brother?

Yes. Even then.

Mr Kemp, we were expecting you.

I believe this is your revolver, sir.

Well, brother mine, we seem to be heading down the path of crime.

The only path that I intend to take is to the door of the Diogenes Club,

which I shall close behind me.

What'll become of her?

After questioning, nothing.

It is not a crime to have a cold heart and not a single shred of compassion.