All language subtitles for Sherlock Holmes And The Woman In Green English

11 Sherlock Holmes And The Woman In Green English

I won't forget that morning,

not if I live to be 100.

I counted the men as they
marched out of the Yard.

They'd hardly slept for weeks.

We at the CID had
slept even less,

for the nightmare
that kept us awake

was all the same nightmare.

That's why we weren't surprised

when the Commissioner
had asked us up to

the conference room
for a bit of a talk.

He would talk to us
plenty, we knew that.

It didn't help any to know
what was ahead of us.

Must we have that
window open, Gregson?

Oh shut it if you want to.

The Chief will be in
enough of a temper

without having a ruddy blast
down the back of his neck!

Gentlemen, the Commissioner.

Stuffy in here.

Be seated, won't you?

Gentlemen, if you wish to
know what able men you are,

read any of the works
of popular fiction

that glamorize your achievement

but don't, I beg of you,
read the daily papers.

They might give you
an inferiority complex.

I hate to mention it,

but we're confronted
with a series of

the most atrocious murders
since Jack the Ripper.

And in the meantime,

the CID might as well be
playing at shove hate me

for all the good
we've accomplished.

Now, look

here, here and here.

Each of these red flags
scattered through the city

stands for a woman
brutally murdered,

a woman's terror,

a woman's death agony.

These are no ordinary crimes.

These are the works of
a fiend who kills first

and mutilates afterwards.

A ghoul who hacks off a
part of his victim's body

and carries it away with him,

a loathsome souvenir
of his butchery.

Three women murdered so far,

and you haven't
turned in one clue.

You haven't given me one lead.

Here you sit and wait for
news of a fourth victim

with your arms folded.

Well, we hadn't long to wait.

It was down Lambeth Way

where a young woman was
hurrying home late last night.

She saw something and stopped.

It was a Constable.

He spoke to her,

and he walked along
with her just in case.

He saw her go down the stairway

to the basement
lodging where she lived.

I can only surmise
what happened after that.

So I put my pride in my pocket

and went to see the man
that so often helped out.

Inspector Lestrade
and myself in the past.

Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

If ever a man
needed help, I did.

This makes four, Inspector.

Four defenceless women
here in the heart of London.

And every one with the right
forefinger hacked off.

Not hacked, Inspector Gregson,

cleanly, expertly severed.

The work of a skilled surgeon.

That's our only clue.

Much about the age
of my sister's girl.

Is there no way of
stopping this, Mr. Holmes?

Yes, there's a way somehow.

A fiend that did this.

I promise, I promise.

We've nothing go on,
that's the rotten part of it.

We can't get far without
knowing the motive.

Well, at least we know
what the motives were not.

It wasn't robbery nor
passion, nor vengeance,

because they all came at
totally unrelated families.

Steady, Inspector, steady.

I'm sorry, Mr. Holmes.

I don't turn a hair when it's a
bloke that can look after himself,

but a little slip
of a thing like that.

Yes, it's horrible.
Come on, let's get a drink.

- Good evening, Mr. Holmes.
- Good evening, Vincent.

Whiskey and soda, please, and a double
for my friend here, Inspector Gregson.

Very good, sir.

Make mine Irish.

It's noble to give me a hand
on this thing, Mr. Holmes.

Always a pleasure to be of help
to Scotland Yard, Inspector.

A little out of my line,
looking for a maniac

that murders just for
the fun of the hunt.

Or perhaps, just to
get a human finger.

In all four cases,

The murderer risks capture,

by stopping to secure a finger.

I wonder what for?

Who knows? He's just a madman.

Perhaps there's a
method in his madness.

If we could just trace
those missing fingers.

If?

If we could just drain
the English Channel,

we might find a penny.

Oh, thank you.

You may keep those, Mr. Holmes.

Thank you.

Sir George Fenwick, isn't it?

Yes.

Is that his daughter with him?

Don't be so naive, Inspector.

You know everyone,
don't you, darling?

Well, hardly.

A week ago, I didn't know you.

A week, how fast it's gone.

I collect these things.

How very quaint of you.

- Shall we go?
- Yes.

What are you looking at,
Mr. Holmes?

Looking at a very
handsome woman.

Not fond of the purple,

but giving an
excellent invitation.

Would you like to come to
my flat for a nightcap?

- Lovely idea.
- Yes, isn't it?

I wonder where she's
taking Sir George Fenwick?

Don't be so naive, Mr. Holmes.

- Good evening, ma'am.
- Hello, Crandon.

- Any messages?
- No, ma'am.

Thank you.

Uh, drinks, Crandon
one of your nice surprises.

Yes, ma'am.

I say, you don't mean that...

Crandon's a marvel,
aren't you, Crandon?

Yes, ma'am.

You wouldn't believe
the things she can do.

Hmm.

Ah, charming place, delightful.

Really, you think so?
I'm so glad.

Do sit down.

Do you mind?

Do I mind?

What a question.

I don't mind anything, really,

except not being with you.

Now, you really don't want
me to believe that, do you?

- Not too seriously.
- Good.

We're both quite
grown up, aren't we?

Quite.

You're a treasure, Crandon.

And lower the lights
a little as you leave.

I prefer a more
flattering light.

In any light, you'd be...

Would I?

And don't you know it.

Perhaps I do.

Oh, that priceless woman.

You wouldn't believe it,
but she's absurdly romantic.

She loves dreamy music,
and she thinks that we...

But we do, don't we?

Do we?

Well, it's rather
soothing, restful.

Yes.

And we all need rest at times.

Like tired children
who played too long.

You've played with wooden
soldiers, I suppose?

Funny, hadn't thought
of that for years.

Toy boats were my special joy.

Anything I could
set afloat anywhere.

Like this, and this.

Toy boats sailing into
the never-never land,

the land of beautiful dreams.

Look.

Look odd, isn't it, how
the light is reflected.

Little specks of light
that move and move,

like stars on a
slowly-moving stream.

- You know Holmes I'm very sensitive to atmosphere.
- Oh?

Yes, I can tell by
the feel of this room

there's been a murder
committed here.

It may interest you to
know, my dear fellow,

it was at the other
side of that door

at the foot of the stairs that
the poor girl was murdered.

If only I could find it.

Find what?

The one thing these unfortunate
victims have in common

that might give us a
motive for these murders.

There must be something.

Another Jack the Ripper,
if you ask me

a homicidal maniac.

No, Watson, in the
case of Jack the Ripper,

there was one thing in common.

His victims were all
from one walk of life,

living in the same
section of the city.

In this case, the murderer
chooses his victims

from all walks of life and from
different sections of the city.

No, my dear fellow,

this is not the work
of a homicidal maniac.

It's something
infinitely more sinister.

You're giving me the creeps.

What on earth are
you talking about?

Watson, I'm convinced

that these murders
are only incidental

to some larger and
more diabolical scheme.

That may be, but
why the severed fingers?

The answer to that
question, my dear fellow,

is our only hope of
solving these mysteries.

"Dear Sister, I am so happy"

I had such a lovely Holiday at
Brighton with you and Alph,

"and I'm looking forward
to being with you again."

Poor little thing.

Sort of raises a
lump in your throat.

I can picture her sitting here
happily writing this letter

and not a bit realizing that
she's shortly going to her death.

Hello.

Gregson.

Oh, there you are, Mr. Holmes,

- I've been looking for you everywhere.
- What's happened?

Murder in Edgware Road,
not half an hour ago.

- Woman?
- Yes,

and the right forefinger
cut off clean.

Paper, morning paper.

Paper, horrible murder.

Murder in Edgware Road.

Read all about the murder.

Horrible murder of
a young woman.

Get your paper.

Horrible murder, paper.
All about the murder.

Morning Paper,
all about the murder,

Paper, horrible murder.

Another young woman
found murdered, paper sir.

Horrible murder, paper,
paper, read all about it.

Get your paper.

Murder in the Edgware Road.

Horrible finger murder.

Shocking murder.
Murder in Edgware Road.

Horrible murder of
a young woman.

Read all about the murder.

On me fancy, ma'am,

there's been another of
those horrible murders.

Dear, dear, how shocking.

Yes, ma'am,

I really don't feel quite
safe here myself.

Oh, dear.

- Why, Sir George!
- I must see Miss Marlow at once.

- I don't know if she's...
- I must see her, where is she?

Lydia.

Why, Sir George!

What is it, what happened?

I don't know.

You'll have to help me.
You've got to help me!

But I don't understand.

Listen, I woke up
a few minutes ago

in a cheap boardinghouse

off Edgware Road.

I don't know how I came there,

I don't know when.

The last thing I remember
is being here with you.

Calm yourself, Sir George.

When did I leave here?

Well, it was about, uh, uh...

It was 10:45, ma'am, precisely.

You seemed, forgive me,

just a little bit distressed,

detached, not interested.

I thought I'd said
something to offend you.

I don't remember.

I can't remember.

Tell me, has this
happened to you before?

Before?

Well, there is such a thing
as amnesia, you know?

If it was 10:45 when I left you,

it was 9:00 this
morning when I woke,

over ten hours lost.

Ten hours that
I can't account for.

And in my pocket
when I awoke, I found,

here in my pocket.

That... that isn't...

Oh, it's not for you, of course,

it can't be.

Excuse me, ma'am,

but there's a man asking
to see the gentleman.

- Send him away.
- Yes, ma'am.

No, no, no, please.

I'll see him.

Well?

Delightful room.

Not much like the place

you woke up in this morning.

- You followed me here?
- Yes.

Are you a detective?

Oh, no.

Quite the contrary.

Don't be afraid, Sir George.

You know my name?

Oh, yes.

A very old and
highly-honoured name.

And being the
bearer of such a name,

and also a very wealthy man,

I thought you might care to
possess yourself this trifle,

rather than let it fall into
the hands of the police.

It's yours, if I'm not mistaken,

the initials G.F.

Where did you get this?

It came out of your pocket.

I saw it fall,
but you never noticed.

You were very busy,

bending over something,

with a knife.

Then you put
something in your pocket.

Come along, Holmes,
come along, come along.

How many more times
must I tell you.

You're missing a treat,
this is delicious.

Little jam tarts to follow.

Aren't you tempted?

Hmm.

You and your fleshpots.

They tell me that fish
is good for the brains.

Brains, I haven't any.

You realize that a day,

a whole day and a
night have gone by

since that bestial affair
in Edgware Road?

I'm as much in the dark as ever.

Hello, here comes a client

unless I'm very much mistaken.

Well, attractive,
very attractive.

Obviously, she left home

under the stress of
some very great emotion.

How do you know that?

She isn't wearing any gloves,

a startling omission on
a young lady of fashion.

Well, she didn't
put her coat on.

Open car, too.

Furthermore, there's something in
that bag she wants to show me.

What makes you say that?

The bag doesn't match her dress.

And again, it was
picked for size

rather than style

to accommodate
some bulky object.

You amaze me Holmes.

Elementary, my dear fellow.

Well, that's interesting.

What is?

That cab,

at the empty house.

I wonder why he's
followed her here?

Well, wouldn't you?

Quiet, Watson.
Give me the glasses.

Well, we shall soon know.

Yes, Mrs. Hudson?

It's a young lady sir,
most urgent.

Ask her to come in.

Go right in, Miss.

- Mr. Holmes?
- Yes, this is my friend, Dr. Watson.

- How do you do?
- How do you do?

Mr. Holmes, you must
excuse me, please, I...

Yes, well, won't you sit down?

- Come along.
- May I?

It's quite alight.

Thank you.

Now, try to control yourself, Miss
Fenwick, you're with friends.

You know my name?

No magic, I assure you.

I've often seen your picture.

You're the daughter of
Sir George Fenwick, aren't you?

Yes.

It's about my father that I...

What about your
father, Ms. Fenwick?

Oh, I don't know what to do.

He's always been the
nicest, dearest person,

only since Mother died...

Yes, yes, we know.

So I didn't think anything of it

when he was away
the night before last.

But he didn't come home
until yesterday at teatime.

Didn't come in
for dinner at all.

Just paced up and down in the
library, hour after hour.

I begged him to let me in,
but he wouldn't!

Steady, steady.

Now, take your time.

I couldn't sleep
a wink last night.

Then I started hearing things.

Hearing things,
what sort of things?

I heard someone in the garden

underneath my window.

Then I saw a figure moving
down the garden path.

And I recognized my father,

stealing through his
own garden like a thief.

He had a spade in his hand,

and he stopped by the greenhouse
where he started to dig.

This morning at daybreak,
I strolled on to the garden,

and found this.

A finger,

a human finger.

Ring up Scotland Yard,
will you, Watson?

Ask them to get a hold
of Inspector Gregson,

and tell him to
meet us at once at.

Sir George Fenwick's
house in Kingston.

Operator?

Give me Scotland Yard, quick!

Where's my father, Norris?

He's still in the library, Miss.

Thank you, we'll
see him right away.

- Will you come with me, please?
- Thank you.

I got your message, Mr. Holmes.

Yes, indeed.

Dad, may I come in?

Dad?

That's funny.

He doesn't answer.

Do you mind?

- Please do.
- Thank you.

Watson, quick!

- Oh, no, no, no, no!
- Come along, my dear.

Take charge of
Miss Fenwick, please.

Now Miss Fenwich,
come along with me.

Dead?

Yes.

What do you make of it, Doctor?

Shot in the back, between
the second and third ribs.

The bullet undoubtedly
penetrated the heart.

Look at the powder
marks on his coat.

I was afraid of this.

What do you mean?

Don't you remember
the man in the cab

who followed Miss
Fenwick to Baker Street?

Well, you don't think he had
anything to do with it, do you?

Well, I think it's
reasonable to assume

that he tipped off someone
that I've been sent for.

Sir George has
obviously been murdered

to keep him from
telling me what he knew.

What was the weapon used?

Small calibre revolver,

point-blank range by
the look of the wound.

The murderer came in through
those French windows.

Look at the mud from the garden
he brought in on his boots.

Sir George must have
surprised the intruder

and crossed the
room to him here.

What follows, we can't tell.

But from the
location of the wound,

I'd say that he turned
his back for a moment,

and as he turned,

the muzzle of the revolver
was placed between his ribs

and one muffled shot fired.

And you mean to say he kept on
going even after he was shot?

There's no doubt
about it. Look there.

A trail of blood leads
us back to the desk.

There's something
Sir George was after.

Some thing.

I know, he was trying to
summon help, poor chap.

I don't think so, Watson.

There's the bell pull
by the fireplace.

No, you'll notice from
the trail of blood

that Sir George made
straight for this desk here.

I wonder...

there was something he was
desperately anxious to get.

Hello. His right
hand is clenched.

That's perfectly natural.
Death agony.

The left hand lies open.

Why only one hand clenched
in the death agony?

The right hand, the
hand nearest the desk.

Please note that.

If Sir George took
something off this desk,

something so important that he spilled
his last drop of blood to get it,

I want to know what it is.

It's nothing but an
ordinary match folder.

Where does that lead us?

I imagine to something
very important, Gregson.

This match folder is
from Pembroke House.

Why shouldn't it be?

He was there, you know?

We saw him yesterday.

Yes, but the effort he
made after he was shot

to get hold of
this match folder.

It's just possible,

he wanted someone to
remember Pembroke House.

He may have wished to recall it
to someone who saw him there.

Someone who like ourselves,

saw him with a woman.

Come in.

Oh, Dr. Watson,

this came by hand for Mr. Holmes

not ten minutes ago.

Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.

That would be the report
from Sir George's bank.

Report from... Oh, really?

Don't you remember
his daughter told us

that he just closed his account?

Had it looked into at once.

He drew out his
entire balance in cash,

nearly 10,000 pounds, yesterday,

just after that young
woman was murdered.

What does that
suggest to you, Watson?

- That he paid it out to someone.
- Precisely.

I smell the faint,
sweet odour of blackmail.

You don't think
he paid it out to someone

who saw him murder
the McLean woman?

Sir George never
murdered anyone.

But he did have
that woman's finger,

evidently, he did have to
pay out a lot of cash.

That's the terrifying part
about blackmail, Watson.

The victim is afraid to fight the
accusation no matter how false.

Once the accusation is made,

the name is smeared,

and sometimes
his life is ruined.

Well, if Sir George didn't
commit these murders,

what fiend did?

I rather think they're not
the work of any one man.

Oh, come Holmes, you
don't expect me to believe

there's a whole organization
going about killing people

and chopping off their fingers?

Well, it's possible,
quite possible.

Well, whoever's behind all this
thing must be out of his mind.

On the contrary, my dear fellow.

If my assumptions are correct,

this little scheme has behind it

the most brilliant and ruthless
intellect the world has ever known.

You don't mean
Professor Moriarty?

I do.

Oh, steady, Holmes, you've
got him on the brain.

This is the third time
in as many months

you've suspected him
of unsolved crimes.

- He's dead, you know?
- Is he?

"Is he?" You know he is.

He was hanged in Montevideo
well over a year ago.

I heard that someone was hanged
in Montevideo under that name,

but I'll stake my reputation

that Moriarty is alive

and here, now, in London.

Hello?

Yes, Dr. Watson, wait a minute.

Who, me?

Well, yes.

This is Dr. Watson speaking.

No, no, I'm afraid I've retired,

I don't practice anymore.

What?

Oh, that's a different thing.

An emergency case.

Where? Just a minute.

Yes. Yes, well, see
that she's not moved.

Remember that.

Don't touch her
'til I get there.

Fracture case in McArthur Mews.

Heavy woman.

14 stone.

Look at all this dust.

14 stone.

Just the sort of person who wouldn't
hoist herself up on a stool

to feed the canary.

There ought to be a
law against fat people

keeping little dickey birds.

So long, old man,
I shan't be very long.

Haven't used that bag

since I brought little Amelia
Watson into the world.

She grew up to be a
very unattractive child.

Huh, who wouldn't with a name like Amelia.
Amelia, huh.

Oh, Professor Moriarty.

Not that I wish
to appear inquisitive,

but to what am I indebted
to the pleasure of this visit?

Scotland Yard
will be interested.

It's very convenient for me
to have Scotland Yard think

that I am still dead
in Montevideo.

I never dreamed of fooling you.

Thank you.

The thought occurs
to me, Mr. Holmes,

that there are some advantages

in living within the law.

You are very comfortably
fixed here, aren't you?

As I get on in life,

the little comforts

appeal to me more and more.

Oh, I beg your pardon,
won't you sit down?

Thank you.

And now, Professor Moriarty,
what can I do for you?

Everything that
I have to say to you

has already crossed your mind.

And my answer has no
doubt crossed yours?

That's final?

What do you think?

I shall not rest until you are
hanged for the finger murders.

You've no proof, you know?

No, not a shred,

but I have you.

I could turn you over to
the police, here and now.

You could.

But if you did,

you'd never see
Dr. Watson again.

Oh, the telephone call?

Quite.

I rather assumed you had
taken some such precaution.

Or, I should have
snatched up a revolver

and indulged in a fit of
heroics when you came in.

Very smart, aren't you?

Not smart enough,

or I should have
anticipated you.

But, if any harm
comes to Dr. Watson,

I shall seek you out.

I shall not rest
until I find you,

and when I do...

No harm will come to
Dr. Watson this time,

but I can't answer
for the future.

Mr. Holmes, I should strongly
advise you to drop this case.

Don't be silly.

Think it over.

We've had many
encounters in the past.

You hope to place
me on the gallows.

I tell you, I shall never
stand up on the gallows.

But if you are
instrumental in any way

in bringing about
my destruction,

you will not be alive to
enjoy your satisfaction.

And we shall walk together through
the gates of eternity hand-in-hand.

- What a charming picture that would make.
- Yes, wouldn't it?

And I really think
it might be worth it.

Shoelaces Governor,
Two pence a pair.

And strong enough
to hang yourself.

How many more
times must I tell you,

I don't want your filthy
shoelaces or your company.

- Shoelaces, Governor?
- Blasted impertinence.

Run along my good man,
or I'll give you a charge.

Shoelaces, Governor?

Help a poor bloke
what's only got one arm?

Any luck with Mr. Holmes?

You can read his obituary
in tomorrow's papers.

Oh, there you are,
Watson, come in.

I was just going
out to look for you.

Look for me, what for?

I suppose you don't think
I know my way about.

Well, you're right, I don't.

Blast all practical
jokers, anyhow.

Know where I've been?

- On a wild goose chase.
- Exactly.

There's no such number
in McArthur's Mews.

Some fool's idea of a joke.

Did you ah...

Did you see anyone?

No, nobody special.

Only a whining old
idiot selling bootlaces.

Persistent beggar, wasn't he?

Stuck to you like grim death.

How do you know?

And finally left you for someone
that looked like better pickings.

Someone, my dear Watson,

- was Professor Moriarty himself.
- What?

He just called on me.

Moriarty here,
and you let him go?

But you must be
out of your mind.

Why?

Well, he bluffed
me into believing

that he was holding a
friend of mine as hostage.

Friend of yours, who?

Oh, nobody very important,
just a fat, lazy fellow.

Medical man, I believe.

Medical man, do I know him?

Ah, yes, I think you do.

Fellow by the name of Watson.

Watson, Watson, never heard...

Who, me?

I'm afraid so, old fellow.

Your street hawker's job

was to do away with you

under a certain contingency.

And you let Moriarty
go because of me?

I had no choice.

I can't afford to
lose you, old fellow.

Well, that's very decent of
you, old chap, I must say.

But I wish you'd nabbed him.

We shall, never fear.

I know the motive for
the finger murders.

All I have to find out now is the
method used for the blackmail victims.

Method?

Yes.

How does Moriarty get them
to the scene of the crime?

How does he plant those
severed fingers on them?

And how does he scare
them into believing that

they may have committed those
atrocious murders themselves?

Curious.

Very curious.

Curious, what's curious?

That window in the empty
house across the street,

first floor front.

Oh, what's wrong with it?

It's open.

Why shouldn't it be open?

It wasn't open half an hour ago,

I'll stake my life on that.

Oh? It's not our business.

Let it stay open.

I wonder if you'd
go over, old fellow,

and see what's the matter.

Trespassing, against the law.

Very well, I'll go myself.

Well, if you're going
to put it like that.

Ridiculous waste of time,

going about shutting windows
at this hour of the night.

Here, you better
take this torch.

Huh? Take what...

Hmm, dignified job for a doctor.

Dr. Watson, the torch-bearer!

And what do you propose to do,

sit in a comfortable chair, I
suppose, and read a good book?

- That's a very good idea.
- Yes, a very good idea.

While I play night watchman,
you have a nice read.

Good night, have a good time.

Have a good time...

I say.

What on earth is this for?

Oh, umbrella stand.

Pretty little thing to
keep about the house.

Must have been a pet.

What was that?

Rat probably.

While he sits comfortably
reading a book, humph.

Drop it!

He killed Holmes!
He killed Sherlock...

Watson.

You?

But I saw him shoot
you a second ago!

Not me, my dear fellow.

Merely the bust
of Julius Caesar.

Incidentally, you may have noticed
that all through the ages,

prominent men have
prominent noses. Shh.

Oh, I'm afraid we're
in for terrible trouble

again with Mrs. Hudson

window smashed, plaster
all over the floor.

Get up, you.

Corporal Williams,
Middlesex Regiment.

Discharged from the Army
as physically unfit.

Hmm, papers seem in order.

Now, Corporal Williams,

you've seen service in
the Far East, haven't you?

The East.

I thought so.

Look at his complexion,
Watson. Yellow saffron.

He's been taking atabrine,

a cure for malaria.

Sniper, aren't you?

Sniper.

Hmm.

Why did you try to kill me?

I had to kill him.

I had to.

- Oh, snap out of it!
- Stop it, Watson.

- He's shamming.
- No, he isn't.

Who told you to kill me?

She told me.

She told you?

She told me I couldn't miss.

Well, luckily you did
miss, you murderer.

He isn't a murderer, Watson.

Listen, Corporal Williams.

She told you you had
to do it, didn't she?

I had to do it.

I've got it, Watson,
I've got it!

Got what?

The method used in
the finger murders.

Well, what is it?

Hypnotism, my dear
fellow, hypnotism.

And it wasn't
against his nature,

that's the devilish part of it.

They picked a man
for that purpose

whose job was sniping.

Who are they?

Professor Moriarty and
his finger murderers.

Williams spoke of a woman.

I think you'll find that she asked
him home tonight for a drink.

Nice, quiet rooms,

soft lights, music.

You've got it all
packed, Mr. Holmes.

What's the lady look like?

About 30, nice figure,
blond, lustrous eyes.

Oh, really?
Got her phone number?

Oh. Oh, sorry.

Williams will
give us her address.

Look after him, Gregson.

Don't let anyone come near him.

He's our key witness
in the finger murders.

Well, I hope you're
guessing right, Mr. Holmes.

Get up, Williams.

Now, go with Inspector Gregson
anywhere he tells you.

Come on.

Ring me as soon as he comes
to himself, will you?

I will.

- Good night, gentlemen.
- Good night.

Well, if you believe that
fellow Williams was hypnotized,

I suppose you think Sir George
Fenwick was hypnotized, too?

I'm quite sure of it.
Have a cup of tea?

Thanks, old boy, nothing to eat?

But why didn't these people make
Sir George do the murder himself?

Because they didn't
want to get him hanged.

They wanted to blackmail him.

Well, who do you think
the actual murderer is?

One of Moriarity's gang.

A diabolically simple technique.

Kill a woman.

Yes, yes, yes, but why
cut off the fingers?

My dear fellow,
don't you understand?

The severed finger is what links the
blackmail victim to the murder.

He wakes,

finds the grizzly
thing in his pocket,

doesn't know how it got there.

He has no idea that
he's been hypnotized.

For all he knows,

he may have committed
the atrocious crime

during some dreadful
lapse of sanity.

In that state when he's
utterly demoralized,

the blackmailers
take over, is that it?

Undoubtedly. You see,

they swear that they saw
him commit the murder.

And being human, the
victim will pay anything

rather than stand
trial on a charge

that will make his
very name loathsome.

Well, it all fits in

if you believe in hypnotism.

The only possible explanation.

And you think the
hypnotist is that

woman with the blond hair,
the lustrous eyes,

the woman you invented.

I didn't invent her, I saw her.

What on earth
are you talking about?

That woman, my dear Watson,

was with Sir George when
he left Pembroke House.

I saw her there.

I shall see her again,

and Williams will
lead me to her.

That's why it's so
important to keep him safe.

He will identify her.

Hello?

Yes, Inspector Gregson.

What?

Well, get every
constable in the District.

Yes, I'll be over at once.

- What's happened, Holmes?
- Williams is missing.

- Great Scott!
- Come on.

A lorry crashed
into Gregson's car

during the confusion,
Williams disappeared.

- Escaped, huh?
- No, kidnapped,

to keep him from
talking when he came to.

You don't think that Moriarty...

With Moriarty,
anything is possible.

Williams!

Dead.

You see, anything is possible.

Oh. Good morning,
Professor Moriarty.

You startled me.

I'm dressing another dolly,

a dear little nurse.

Is there anything
wrong with your finger?

Just a splinter.

Nasty things splinters,

most trying.

One can't be too careful,

but I'll get it out for you.

I have the very
instrument to help you.

Sharp enough to split a hair.

Put those tools away
until they're needed.

But they're not tools,
sir, they're instruments.

Put them away.

Is Lydia in?

Yes.

But really, you should let me.

Get dressed.

Holmes and Watson just left Baker
Street for the Mesmer Club.

Mesmer Club?

The meeting place of all the
top hypnotists in London.

Do you suppose that Mr. Holmes
is on to our method?

If he suspects,

it's merely a suspicion.

It's our business to
see that it ends there.

I hope you're right.

Williams passed away before
he could talk, remember?

What do you want me to do?

Go to the Mesmer Club,
meet Holmes,

and induce him
to come back here.

Isn't that a bit dangerous?

Every meeting with Sherlock Holmes
is potentially dangerous.

However, you say he didn't see
your face at Pembroke House.

And how would you suggest I get
Mr. Holmes to accompany me here?

Kidnap him?

Oh, no.

Holmes has one weakness,
his insatiable curiosity.

If you can arouse that,
you can lead him anywhere.

It's up to you to take advantage

of any opportunity
that may arise.

This way, please, gentlemen.

I'll tell Dr. Onslow
that you're here.

Thank you.

So this is the Mesmer Club?

If you ask me, hypnotism
is a lot of mumbo-jumbo.

Oh, come now Watson,
as a medical man,

you must admit that hypnotism has
its place in modern science?

That may be, but 90
percent of hypnotists

are crooks of the worse kind.

Nothing more than
a lot of charlatans

exploiting weak-willed morons.

Ah, Dr. Onslow, I believe.

Happy to meet you, Mr. Holmes.

Your brother, Mycroft, suggested
I might be of help to you.

He's a valued member of our little
group of charlatans and crooks.

I beg your pardon, sir.

I didn't know you were
listening. Behind the curtain.

- My friend, Dr. Watson.
- Ah, delighted.

- How do you do?
- I wonder now,

you see, we're in the midst of
a little experimental session

at this very moment,
if you'd care to join us.

- Oh, certainly, certainly.
- Might be very instructive.

Oh, well, will you follow me?

Thank you.

In treating his patients.

But today, the therapeutic
value of hypnotism,

as we now call it,

is conceded by
numerable physicians.

Especially of value
in surgical cases

where the administration of local or
of general anaesthetic is inadvisable.

Inadvisable, poppycock!
Oh, sorry.

For the sake of latecomers,

I may say that I have
placed this subject

under profound hypnosis.

In this condition,
he can feel no pain,

even under applications which
normally would be excruciating.

Excruciating!

Will you excuse me, please.

Carter, you are having
a peaceful sleep,

you feel nothing.

Your arms and your hands
are without sensation.

Mobrey, the long needle.

Carter, give me your right hand.

As you observe,
the needle has been thrust

completely through
the subject's hand.

No feeling, no pain.

This lack of feeling is
the one infallible test

of profound hypnosis.

Nonsense.
Fellow's full of drugs.

Well, isn't he?

Definitely not, Doctor.

Wake up, Carter, wake up.

You'll feel well and
rested, remember,

no pain anywhere.

Wake up, wake up.

I say, when are
you going to begin?

All through, Carter, stand up.

This way, sir.

And, uh, are these all
the people that come here?

Oh, no, no.

Others keep dropping
in all the time.

I suppose it's all right for
those who believe in it but,

of course, I'm a
professional man myself.

Then you don't believe
in hypnotism, Dr. Watson?

Oh, I don't deny that
there's certain types

of hysterical
feeble-minded people,

who'll go under if you
point your finger at them.

But anyone with an
ounce of character.

How right you are.

You see right through our little
artifices, don't you, doctor?

Right through, my
dear sir, right through.

Quite so.

But with the
feeble-minded, as you say.

- Excuse us, Mr. Holmes.
- Oh, certainly.

Step over here won't you?

Certainly, anything to oblige.

Let me show you how easily

we charlatans take
advantage of them.

Now, sit down, Doctor.

Now, we set a thing
like this in motion.

It's wonderful, the attraction,

on the feeble-minded, of course.

The continuous motion,

if they just let
themselves follow it.

Of course, you could stare at it

'til Doomsday, Dr. Watson,

with no effect at all.

Still, it might make
you a little drowsy,

like the white
ribbon of road at night

when you're driving.

The rhythm is smooth,

unbroken,

and the road goes on and on

round and round,

always the same,
winding and winding.

And you're drowsy,

you're tired.

Let the road come
into you as it were.

The long road.

The smooth road.

The road to sleep,

sleep.

Open your eyes.

Stand up.

Turn around.

And now, Dr. Watson,

you're on a Holiday in Scotland.

The country is
amazingly beautiful.

We're coming to a stream.

It isn't deep.

Better take your
shoes and socks off.

Roll up your trouser.

That will do, the other
leg is waterproof.

Turn around.

Mind the pebbles!

Sit down.

Wake up now.

See, what did I tell you.
It didn't work with me.

Why, nobody with an
ounce of charac...

I think you'll need these.

- Nothing to laugh at.
- Watson, she's here!

Who? The woman
you're looking for?

Yes, I'm going to meet her.

Perhaps I can induce her
to take me to Moriarty.

Do you think that's
wise, Holmes?

May not be wise,
but it's essential.

After all, I've held my own
with Moriarty in the past.

But isn't it dangerous?
She might be a hypnotist.

If my will isn't
stronger than hers,

I deserve to be hypnotized. Shh!

I feel I must protest,
Dr. Onslow.

I was told this was a gathering of
serious students of a great science,

and I find myself in
a company of buffoons.

Oh, my dear...

Elman and Esdaile are brave.

Were those men
martyrs for the truth?

But you may laugh over your
childish, cruel tricks.

I must say, I'm in complete
agreement with you, madam.

This was a most unnecessary
performance, Dr. Onslow.

Beg your pardon, sir?

My name is Holmes,
Sherlock Holmes.

At your service, madam.

Thank you, Mr. Holmes.

I'm afraid I've created a
rather embarrassing situation.

But you see, I'm interested in
the serious study of hypnotism.

So am I too.

Perhaps we have something
in common, Mr. Holmes.

Perhaps we have.

Would you join me for a
cocktail at Pembroke House?

I should be delighted.

Good.

Thank you.

I didn't know there was such
a pleasant place in London.

It was so nice of you to
suggest our coming here.

I thought a little pick-me-up
would do us good.

You mean, you
thought I looked...

I like the way you look.

Thank you.

I suppose I did lose my head
a little at the Mesmer Club.

But you see,

hypnotism is almost
a religion with me.

I know so well what it
can do to help and heal,

and I can't bear to see it
used for trivial purposes.

I know very little about it,

that's why I went
to the Mesmer Club.

You see, I'm rather
puzzled just now

with a case that
I am working on.

How fascinating,
Tell me about it.

It's the murder
of Sir George Fenwick.

Fenwick?

Who's he?

Quite a well-known figure.

Odd, now I come to think of it.

The last time I saw Sir George

was here at Pembroke House.

Strange.

Yes, isn't it.

He was sitting um,

I believe he was sitting
at this very table.

Cigarette?

Thanks, do go on.

There was a charming lady
with him.

He was, um,

he was lighting her cigarette.

Charming. Did you see her face?

No,

merely her back.

How unenterprising of you.

Yes, wasn't it.

Afraid I'm getting
a little older.

I shouldn't say so.

That's nice of you.

Still, the first time in my life

I've got a hold of a
case that's beyond me.

I'm actually losing
sleep over it.

You know, Mr. Holmes,

I believe I could help you.

Really?
I should be very grateful.

You're amused?

No, merely sceptical.

How would you go about it?

I've used hypnotism more
than once in healing.

Not for profit,

I'm not a professional.

But I do think I could help you,

if you'd care to...

I can't think of a
pleasanter experience.

Low lights, music,
is that all there is to it?

You must relax, Mr. Holmes.

I'm afraid you're a
rather difficult subject.

So, I thought
perhaps a little help.

Materia medica
might be advisable.

Drugs?

No, I'd rather not,
if you don't mind?

As a matter of fact,
I'd rather not myself.

But Schinknazin he practised
in Munich, you know.

Believed it the best means
for difficult subjects.

Do you mind?

Well, as a matter of fact,
I don't approve of sedatives.

Just as you wish.

We don't have to go on with
this at all, you know?

Wait a minute.

All right. I'll take a chance.

It's really quite harmless.

What is it?

Cannabis Japonica,
an Oriental soporific.

You'll need water.

Thank you.

Now sit down, Mr. Holmes.

You'll feel yourself
going drowsy.

Don't fight it.

Give in to it.

Because you do want
to sleep, you know?

Just fix your eyes on
this one white flower,

floating on the water.

Empty your mind of
every other thought.

Follow the motion of the water,

so smooth,

not a ripple.

Waters of forgetfulness.

Steady,

deep,

strong.

Strange, isn't it,

how the light is reflected.

Little specks of light
that move and move.

It's restful here.

It's peaceful.

It's friendly.

And you're very close to finding
what you're looking for.

You'll find them soon now,

the guilty ones,

when you're rested.

Gentle waters closing over you.

Steady,

deep,

strong.

Drawing you down,

down,

down.

Sleep,

sleep,

sleep.

Here he is, Professor Moriarty.

Stand up, Mr. Holmes.

Open your eyes.

Face this way.

Are you satisfied?

We're dealing with a clever man.

He may be shamming.

There's just one infallible test

for profound hypnosis.

You ready, Dr. Simnell?

That will do, Doctor.

He couldn't fake
insensibility to the knife.

I congratulate you, Lydia.

Turn around, Mr. Holmes.

Now, walk to the desk.

Sit down.

Take that pen,

and write what
I tell you to write.

I've at last found a
case which I cannot solve.

I have outlived my usefulness.

Therefore, I have
decided to end my life.

Sign your name.

Now, blot it.

Fold it up,

and put it in your pocket.

Come, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

Go out onto the terrace.

But it won't look
like suicide, sir.

I'm sorry, but
Mr. Holmes' injuries

must all be self-inflicted.

Let's walk a little, Mr. Holmes.

It's so pleasant
here in the garden.

Just step up here
onto the terrace.

It's a nice, broad terrace.

Now, turn to the left

and walk slowly to
the end of the terrace.

Don't stop.

You must walk to
the end, you know.

The end leads
to an open doorway.

You can pass through
it in perfect safety.

In the room beyond the doorway,

you'll find what
you're looking for.

Must you drag this on?

This is the moment I've been
anticipating for a long time, my dear.

Go on, Mr. Holmes.

Through the open doorway
you'll find the man

responsible for
the finger murders

and the death of
Sir George Fenwick.

Professor Moriarty!

Holmes!

Stand still!

What a beautiful view, Watson,

I'm quite enjoying it.

No, you're not.
You're hypnotized!

You're under a spell.

Stand still, don't move.

Steady, Holmes, steady does it.

Stand perfectly still
where you are.

Nonsense, Watson.

You don't know
what you're doing.

Of course I know what I'm doing.

- You mean, you're not hypnotized?
- Certainly not.

Then get off the wall,
you idiot.

Oh! Oh, God! Holmes!

- Dear fellow.
- What were you doing out there?

Holding the fort
until you arrived.

What kept you?

Oh, I ran into a spot of trouble

on my way to Scotland Yard.

I was arrested for
exceeding the speed limit.

Your luck seems
to hold, Mr. Holmes.

Well, I'd hardly
call it luck, Professor.

You see, I substituted
a drug of my own

for the one that this
dear lady pressed on me.

You are clever, aren't you?

A drug that, although it
leaves the subject conscious,

it renders him quite
insensitive to pain.

That accounted for my lack of
reaction to Dr. Simnells' knife.

Well, Gregson,
quite an impressive haul.

Even Inspector Lestrade himself

couldn't have done any better.

- Thanks, Mr. Holmes.
- Take them away.

All right, put her in the van.

I was right, Mr. Holmes.

You are a difficult subject.

Thank you.

And now, Professor,

our score is settled.

Au revoir until
I see you on the gallows.

The rope has not been made
that'll go around my neck.

Come on.

Ah!

I'll take care of things,
Mr. Holmes.

Thank you, Inspector.

Come on.

An evil man, Holmes,
but what a horrible death.

Better than he deserved.

What are you thinking of?

I'm thinking of all the women
who can come and go in safety

in the streets
of London tonight.

Stars keep watch
in their heavens,

and in our own little way,
we, too, old friend,

the privilege to
watch over our city.