Season II - Episode VII - The Sign of Four - Part One

Transcript

Opening At Baker Street

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Sherlock Holmes Alone, Season Two, Episode Seven, The Sign of Fall, Part One.

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I took my bottle from the corner of the mantelpiece, and my hypodermic syringe from its neat Morocco case. I adjusted the delicate needle and rolled back my left shirt cuff. For some little time my eyes rested thoughtfully upon the sinewy forearm and wrist all dotted and scarred with innumerable puncture marks. Finally, I thrust the sharp point home, pressed down the tiny piston, and sank back into the velvet lined armchair with a long sigh of satisfaction. Three times a day for many months Watson had witnessed this performance, but custom had not reconciled his mind to it. On the contrary, from day to day he had become more irritable at the sight, and my conscience swelled nightly at the thought that I had lacked the courage to desist. Again and again I had registered a vow that I should stop, but I maintained my cool nonchalant ear, for I knew well that it made me the last man with whom one would care to take anything approaching to a liberty. But of course, only to a point.

Watson Confronts Holmes’s Drug Use

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So which is it today, Holmes? Morphine or cocaine? It is cocaine. A seven per cent solution. Would you care to try it? No. No indeed. My constitution has not gotten over the Afghan campaign yet. I cannot afford to throw any extra strain upon it. Well perhaps you are right, Watson. I suppose that its influence is physically a bad one. I find it, however, so transcendentally stimulating and clarifying to the mind that its secondary action is a matter of small moment. But consider, Holmes, count count the cost. Your brain may, as you say, be roused and excited, but it is a pathological and morbid process which involves increased tissue change, and which at last may leave a permanent weakness. You know too, what a black reaction comes upon you. Surely the game is hardly worth the candle. Why should you, for a mere passing pleasure, risk the loss of those great powers with which you have been endowed? Please remember, Holmes, that I speak not only as one comrade to another, but as a medical man, to one for whose constitution he is to some extent answerable. So please, do not be offended. Oh, my dear Watson, I'm not offended. On the contrary, I relish the conversation. My mind rebels at stagnation, Watson. Give me problems, give me work, give me the most abstruse cryptogram, or the most intricate analysis, and I am in my proper atmosphere. I can dispense with the artificial stimulants. But I abhor the dull routine of existence. I crave for mental exaltation. That is why I have chosen my own particular profession, or rather created it, for I am the only one in the world. The only unofficial detective The only unofficial consulting detective. I am the last and highest court of appeal in detection. When Gregson or Lestrade or Jones are out of their depths, which, by the way, is their normal state, the matter is laid before me, and I examine the data as an expert and pronounce a specialist's opinion. I claim no credit in such cases, my name figures in no newspaper. The work itself, the pleasure of finding a field for my particular powers, is the highest reward. But you have yourself had some experience of my methods of work in the Jefferson Hope case. Yes, indeed. I must say I was never so struck by anything in my life. My practice has extended recently to the continent. I was consulted last week by Francois Le Villard, who, as you probably know, has come rather to the front lately in the French detective service. He has all the Celtic power of quick intuition, but he is deficient in a wide range of exact knowledge, which is essential to the higher developments of his art. The case was concerned with a will, and possessed some features of interest. I was able to revert him to two parallel cases, the one at Riga in eighteen fifty seven, and the other in Saint Louis in eighteen seventy one, which have suggested to him a true solution. Here is the letter which I had this morning acknowledging my assistance. I tossed the letter over to Watson. There is a profusion of notes of admiration. Magnifique Coutimede Tour de force. He has rather ardent admiration for you, Holmes. He speaks as a pupil to his master. Oh he rates my assistance too highly. He has considerable gifts himself. He possesses two out of three qualities necessary for the ideal detective. He has the power of observation and that of deduction. He is only wanting in knowledge, and that may come in time. He is now translating my small works into French. Your

Holmes’s Monographs And The Detective Art

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works? Oh you didn't know. Oh yes, yes. I have been guilty of several monographs. They are all upon technical subjects. Here, for example, is one upon the distinction between the ashes of the various tobaccos. In it I immunerate a hundred and forty forms of cigar cigarettes and pipe tobacco, with coloured plates illustrating the difference in the ash. It is a point which is continually turning up in criminal trials, and which is sometimes of supreme importance as a clue. If you can say, definitely, for example, that some murder has been done by a man who was smoking an Indian Lucre, it obviously narrows your field of search. To the trained eye, there is as much difference between the black ash of a trichinopoly and the white fluff of the bird's eye, as there is between a cabbage and a potato. You do have an extraordinary genius for minutiae. Well I do appreciate their importance. Here is my monograph upon the tracing of footsteps, with some remarks upon the uses of plaster of Paris as a preserver of impressions. Here too is a curious little work upon the influence of a trade upon the form of the hand, with lithographs of hands of slaters, sailors, cork cutters, compositors, weavers, and diamond polishers. That is a matter of great practical interest to the scientific detective, especially in cases of unclaimed bodies, or in the discovering of the antecedents of criminals. But I believe I wary you with my hobby. No, no, no, not at all. It is of the greatest interest to me, especially since I have had the opportunity of observing your practical application of

Observation Versus Deduction Explained

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it. But you spoke just now of observation and deduction. Surely the one to some extent implies the other. For example, observation shows me that you have been to the Wigmore Street Post Office this morning, but deduction lets me know that when you were there you dispatched a telegram. Right, right on both points. But I confess that I don't see how you arrived at it. It was simply a sudden impulse upon my part, and I have not mentioned it to you or anyone else. It is simplicity itself. So absurdly simple that an explanation is superfluous, and yet it may serve to define the limits of observation and of deduction. Observation tells me that you have had a little reddish mould adhering to your instep. Just opposite the Seymour Street office, they have taken up the pavement and thrown up some earth which lies in such a way that it is difficult to avoid treading in it upon entering. The earth is of this particular reddish tint, which is found as far as I know, nowhere else in the neighborhood. So much is observation, the rest is simply deduction. Well how then did you deduce the telegram? Why, of course, I knew that you had not written a letter, since I sat opposite you all morning. I see also in your open desk there, that you have a sheet of stamps and a thick bundle of postcards. What could you go into a post office for? Of course, to send a wire, eliminate all other factors, and the one which remains must be the truth. In this case it certainly is so. The thing, however, is, as you say, very, very simple. Would you think me impertinent if I were to put your theories to a more severe test? Oh no, on the contrary, it may prevent me from taking a second dose of cocaine. I should be delighted to look into any problem which you might submit to me. Well

The Watch Test Turns Personal

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I have heard you say that it is difficult for a man to have any object in his daily use without leaving the impression of his individuality upon it in such a way that the trained observer might read it. Now I have here a watch which has recently come into my possession. Would you have the kindness to let me have an opinion upon the character or habits of the late owner? Watson handed over the watch with some slight look of amusement on his face. I am sure he felt that the test was an impossible one. I balanced the watch in my hand, gazed hard at the dial, opened the back, and examined the works, first with my naked eye, and then with a powerful convex lens. Watson could hardly keep from smiling at my crestfallen face when I finally slapped a case closed and handed it back to him. There are hardly any data. The watch has been recently cleaned, which robs me of my most suggestive facts. You are right. It was clean before being sent to me, but I must say, Holmes, what data could you expect to find from an unclean watch? Though unsatisfactory, my research has not been entirely barren. Subject to your correction, I should judge that the watch belonged to your elder brother, who inherited it from your father. That you gather, no doubt, from the HW upon the back. Quite so. The W suggests, of course, your own name. The date of the watch is nearly fifty years back, and the initials are as old as the watch, so it was made for the last generation. Jewelry usually descends to the eldest son, and he is most likely to have the same name as his father. Your father has, if I remember correctly, been dead for some years. Therefore the watch has been in the hands of your eldest brother. Right so far. Anything else? He was a man of untidy habits, very untidy and careless. He was left with good prospects, but he threw away his chances, lived for some time in poverty with occasional short intervals of prosperity, and finally, taking to drink he died. That is all I can gather. Watson sprang from his chair and limped impatiently about the room, with a rather bitter expression upon his face. This is unworthy of you, Holmes. I could not have believed that you have descended to this. You have made inquiries into the history of my unhappy brother, and now you pretend to deduce this knowledge in some fanciful way. You cannot expect me to believe that you have read all this from his old watch. It is unkind, and and to speak plainly, it has a touch of the charlatan about it. My dear doctor, pray, please accept my apologies. Viewing the matter as an abstract problem, I had forgotten how personal and painful a thing it might be to you. I assure you, however, that I never even knew you had a brother until you handed me that watch. Then how in the name of God did you get these facts? They are absolutely correct in every way. Ah, well, that is simply good luck. I could only say what was the balance of probability. I did not at all expect to be so accurate. But it was not mere guessw. No, no, no, I never guess. It is a shocking habit, destructive to the logical faculty. What seems strange to you is only so because you do not follow my train of thought or observe the small facts upon which the large inferences may depend. For example, I begin by stating that your brother was careless. When you observe the lower part of that watch case, you notice that it is not only dinted in two places, but it is cut and marked all over from the habit of keeping other hard objects such as coins or keys in the same pocket as the watch. Surely it is no great feat to assume that a man who treats a fifty guinea watch so cavalierly must be a relatively careless man. Neither is it a very far fetched inference that a man who inherits one article of such value is pretty well provided for in other respects. It is very customary for pawnbrokers in England when they take a watch to scratch the number of the ticket in pinpoint upon the inside of the case. It is more handy than a label, and there is no risk of the number being lost or transposed. There are no less than four such numbers visible to my lens on the inside of this case. Inference that your brother was often at low water. Secondary inference that he had occasional bursts of prosperity, or he could not have redeemed the pledge. Finally, I ask you to look at the inner plate, which contains the keyhole. Look at the thousands of scratches all round the hole, marks where the key has slipped. What sober man's key could have scored those grooves? But you will never see a drunkard's watch without them. He winds it at night, and he leaves these traces of his unsteady hand. Where is the mystery in all this? It is as clear as daylight I regret the injustice which I did you. I should have had more faith in your marvellous faculty. May I ask whether you have any professional inquiry on foot at present? None. Hence the cocaine. I cannot live without brain work. What else is there to live for? Just stand at the window here. Was there ever such a dreary, dismal, unprofitable world? See how the yellow fog swirls down the street and drifts across the dun colored houses? What could be more hopelessly prosaic and material? What is the use of having powers, doctor, when one has no field upon which to exert them? Crime is commonplace. Existence is commonplace, and no quality saves those which are commonplace have any function upon the earth. Watson had opened his mouth to reply to this triade, when with a crisp knock, our landlady entered, bearing a card upon the brass salver.

Mary Morstan Brings A Mystery

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A young lady to see you, Mr Holmes. Ah Miss Mary Morston. Hm, I have no recollection of the name. Ask the young lady to step in, Mrs. Hudson. Don't go, doctor. I should prefer that you remain. Miss Morston entered the room with a firm step and an outward composure of manner. She was a blonde young lady, small, dainty, well gloved, and dressed in the most perfect taste. There was, however, a plainness and simplicity about her costume which bore with it a suggestion of limited means. The dress was a somber greyish beige, untrimmed and unbraided, and she wore a small turban of the same dull hue, relieved only by the suspicion of a white feather in the side. Her face had neither regularity of feature nor beauty of complexion, but her expression was sweet and amiable, and her large blue eyes were singularly spiritual and sympathetic. I have never looked upon a face which gave a clearer promise of a refined and sensitive nature. I could not but observe that as she took the seat which I placed for her, her lip trembled, her hand quivered, and she showed every sign of intense inward agitation. I I have come to you, Mr. Holmes, because you once enabled my employer, Mrs. Cecil Forrester, to unravel a little domestic complication. She was much impressed by your kindness and your skill. Mrs. Cecil Forester I believe that I was of some slight service to her. The case, however, as I remember it, was a very simple one. She did not think so. But at least you cannot say the same of mine. I can hardly imagine anything more strange, more utterly inexplicable than the situation in which I find myself. Please, Mrs. Morston, state your case. I am sure that you will want privacy, so you will, I am sure, excuse me. The young lady held up her gloved hand to detain Watson. Mr Holmes, if your friend would be good enough to stop, he might be of great service to me. Watson relapsed into his chair. Briefly, these are the facts. My father was an officer in the Indian regiment, who sent me home when I was quite a child. My mother was dead, and I had no relatives in England. I was placed, however, in a comfortable boarding establishment at Edinburgh, and there I remained until I was seventeen years of age. In the year eighteen seventy eight my father, who was a senior captain of his regiment, obtained twelve months' leave and came home. He telegraphed me from London that he had arrived all safe, and directed me to come down at once, giving the Langham Hotel as his address. His message, as I remember, was full of kindness and love. On reaching London, I drove to the Langham and was informed that Captain Morston was staying there, but he had gone out the night before, and had not yet returned. I waited all day without news of him. That night, on the advice of the manager of the hotel, I communicated with the police, and the next morning we advertised in all the papers. Our inquiries led to no result, and from that day to this no word has ever been heard of my unfortunate father. He came home with a heart full of hope, to find some peace, some comfort, and instead. She put her hand to her throat, and choking a sob, cut short the sentence. The date, Miss Morston. I opened my notebook. He disappeared upon the third of December, eighteen seventy-eight, nearly ten years ago.

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His luggage?

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Remained at the hotel. There was nothing in it to suggest a clue. Some clothes, some books, and a considerable number of curiosities from the Andaman Islands. He had been one of the officers in charge of the convict guard there. Had he any friends in town? Only one that we know of, Major Sholto, of his own regiment, the thirty fourth Bombay Infantry. The Major had retired some little time before, and lived in Upper Norwood. We communicated with him, of course, but he did not even know that his brother officer was back in England. I have not yet described to you the most singular part. About six years ago, to be exact, upon the fourth of may, eighteen eighty two, an advertisement appeared in the Times, asking for the address of Miss Mary Morston, and stating that it would be to her advantage to come forward. There was no name or address appended. I had at that time just entered the family of Mrs. Cecil Forrester in the capacity of governess. By her advice I published my address in the advertisement

Pearls, A Disappearance, And A Letter

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column. The same day there arrived through the post a small cardboard box addressed to me, which I found to contain a very large and lustrous pearl. No word of writing was enclosed. Since then, every year upon the same date, there has always appeared a similar box containing a similar pearl, without any clue as to the sender. They have been pronounced by an expert to be of a very rare variety, and of considerable value. You can see for yourselves that they are very handsome. She opened a flat box as she spoke and showed me six of the finest pearls that I have ever seen. Your statement is most interesting. Has anything else occurred to you? Yes. And no later than today. That is why I have come to you, Mr Holmes. This morning I received this letter, which you will perhaps read for yourself. Thank you. The envelope too, please. Postmark London, South West, date july seventh. Hmm. Man's thumb mark on corner, probably postman. Best quality paper. Envelopes at sixpence a packet. Particular man in his stationery. No address. Be at the third pillar. Father from the left outside the Lysium Theatre tonight at seven o'clock. If you are distrustful, bring two friends. You are a wronged woman, and I shall have justice. Do not bring police, if you do, all will be in vain. Your unknown friend Well really This is a very pretty little mystery. What do you intend to do, Miss Morson? That is exactly what I want to ask you. Then we shall most certainly go. You and I, and yes, why doctor Watson is the very man. Your correspondence says two friends. He and I have worked together before. But will you come, Dr. Watson? I should be proud and happy if I can be of any service. You are both very kind. I have led a rather retired life and have no friends whom I could appeal to. If I am here at six, will it do, I suppose? You must not be any later, Miss Morston. There is one other point, however. Is this handwriting the same as that upon the pearl box addresses? I have them here. She produced half a dozen pieces of paper. Well, you are certainly a model client. You have the correct intuition. Let us see now. I spread out the papers upon the table, and gave a little darting glance from one to the other. They are disguised hands, except the letter, but there can be no question as to the authorship. See how the irrepressible Greek E will break out, and see the twirl of the final S. They are undoubtedly by the same person. I should not like to suggest false hopes, Miss Morston, but is there any resemblance between this hand and that of your father? Nothing could be more unalike. I expected to hear you say so. We shall look out for you then, at six. Pray allow me to keep the papers. I may look into the matter a little before then. It is only half past three. Au revoir, Miss Morston. Au revoir, gentleman. With a bright, kindly glance from one of us to the other, she replaced her pole box in her bosom and hurried away. Standing out the window I watched her walking briskly down the street, until the grey turban and white feather were but a speck in the somber crowd. I must say, Holmes, she is a very attractive woman. I had lit my pipe again, and was leaning back with drooping eyelids. Is she? I did not observe. You must forgive me, Holmes, but I must say that you are really an automaton, a calculating machine. There is something positively inhuman in you at times. Ha well, it is of the first importance not to allow your judgment to be biased by personal qualities. A client is to me a mere unit, a factor in a problem. The emotional qualities are antagonistic to clear reasoning. I assure you that the most winning woman I ever knew was hanged for poisoning three little children for their insurance money, and the most repellent man of my acquaintance is a philanthropist who has spent nearly a quarter of a million upon the London poor. Well, surely in this case, Holmes No, no, I never make exceptions. An exception disproves the rule. Have you ever had the occasion to study character and handwriting, Watson? What do you make of this fellow's scribble? It is legible and regular. A man of business habits and some force of character. I shook my head. No no, look at these long letters. They hardly rise above the common herd. That D might be an A, and that I an E. Men of characters always differentiate their long letters, however illegibly they may write. There is vacillation in his case and self esteem in his capitals. I am going to go out now. I have some references to make. Let me recommend this book to you, one of the most remarkable ever penned. It is Wynwood Rader's Martyrdom of Man. I shall be back in about an hour. It was half past five before I returned to Baker Street. I was eager and in an excellent mood. My spirits were high. There is no great mystery here in this matter. I took the cup of tea which Watson had poured out for me. The facts appear to admit of only one explanation. What, Earns? You have sold it already. Well that would be too much to say. I have discovered a suggestive fact, that is all. It is, however, very suggestive. The details are still to be added.

Holmes Links The Clues To Sholto

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I have just found on consulting the back files of the Times that Major Sholto, of Upper Norwood, late of the thirty fourth Bombay Infantry, died upon the twenty eighth of april eighteen eighty two. I may be very obstrue, Holmes, but I fail to see what this suggests. No? You surprise me, doctor. Look at it in this way, then. Captain Morston disappears. The only person in London whom he could have visited is Major Shulto. Major Shulto denies having heard that he was in London. Four years later Sholto dies. Within a week of his death, Captain Morston's daughter receives a valuable present, which is repeated from year to year, and now culminates in a letter which describes her as a wronged woman. What wrong can it refer to except the deprivation of her father? And why should the presence begin immediately after Sholto's death, unless it is that Sholto's heir knows something of the mystery and desires to make compensation? Have you any alternative theory which would meet these facts? But what a strange compensation, and how strangely made. Why too should he write a letter now rather than six years ago? Again, the letter speaks of giving her justice. What justice can she have? It is too much to suppose that her father is still alive. There is no other injustice in her case that you know of. Yes, there are difficulties. There are certainly difficulties. But our expedition of tonight will solve them all. Ah,

A Night Meeting And The Sign Of Four

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here is a four wheeler, and Miss Morston is inside. Are you all ready? Then we'd better go down, for it is a little past the hour. Watson picked up his hat and his heaviest walking stick, and I took my revolver from the drawer and slipped it into my pocket. I thought that our night's work might be a serious one. Miss Morston was muffled in a dark cloak, and her sensitive face was composed but pale. I was sure that she must feel some uneasiness at the strange enterprise upon which we were embarking. Yet her self control was perfect, and she readily answered the few additional questions which I put to her. His letters were full of allusions to the major. He and Papa were in command of the troops in the Andaman Islands, so they were thrown a great deal together. By the way, a curious paper was found in Papa's desk, which no one could understand, and I don't suppose that it is of the slightest importance, but I thought you might care to see it, so I brought it with me. It is right here. I unfolded the paper carefully and smoothed it out upon my knee. I then very methodically examined it all over with a double lens. It is a paper of Indian manufacture. It has some time been pinned to a board. The diagram upon it appears to be a plan of a part of a large building with numerous halls, corridors, and passages. At one point is a small cross done in red ink, and above it is three foot point three seven from the left, in faded pencil writing. In the left hand corner is a curious hieroglyphic like four crosses in a line with their arms touching. Beside it it is written in a very rough and coarse character The sign of four Jonathan Small, Mahamet Singh, Abdullah Khan, Dost Akbar. Now I confess that I do not see how this bears upon the matter. Yet it is evidently a document of importance. It has been kept carefully in a pocketbook, for the one side is as clean as the other. Yes, it was in his pocketbook that we found it. Preserve it carefully then, Miss Morston, for it may prove to be of some use to us. I begin to suspect that this matter may turn out to be much deeper and more subtle than I at first supposed. I must reconsider my ideas. I leaned back in the cab and began thinking intently. Miss Morston and Watson chatted in an undertone about our present expedition and its possible outcome. I maintained my impenetrable reserve until the end of our journey. For there was much to consider.

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Adapted and performed by J. P. Winslow, based on the original writings of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Tune in next time for part two of the sign of four.