The most insidious and cruel murder,
that a criminal mind could possibly create at the end of the XIX century,
was prevented.
Deliberate criminal had fallen a victim to his own intrigues:
He was bitten by venomous snake.
Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson came back
to 221-B, Baker-street.
THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES AND DOCTOR WATSON
PART TWO
BLOODY SIGNATURE
Based on the book of stories by A. Conan Doyle
Starring
Sherlock Holmes - Vasily Livanov
Doctor Watson - Vitaly Solomin
Mrs. Hudson - Rina Zelenaya
Also starring
Borislav Brondukov, Igor Dmitriev, Nikolay Karachentsov,
V. Aristov, V. Baganov, A. Ilyin, L. Òischenko, O. Khromenkov
BAKER STREET
- What are you doing? - Shooting. Don't you see?
What an odd way to decorate the room with the Queen's monogram.
I'm bored, Watson.
My god, you've smoked a lot.
And you've ruined the wall.
What will you tell the landlady?
I won't tell her anything. I'll disguise the hole with a rug.
- You will give me the rug, won't you? - No, I won't.
Watson, stop being sore with me.
You lost your billiard-game and you wreak your vexation on me.
Two holes are definitely missing here.
Mr. Holmes, the armorer said
he will have 38-caliber bullets only on Tuesday.
We'll wait until Tuesday. There's not much we can do.
You call that criminal chronicle!
A baker beat up his apprentice with a rolling-pin.
A drunken sailor broke a glass window.
A pocket-thief caught in a bus during an unsuccessful attempt
to steal someone's cash.
Mind you, Watson, unsuccessful!
They can no longer accomplish even the simplest things.
No, the criminal world is definitely degenerating.
- One can only be thankful. - Yes. As an honest philistine,
a loyal servant of her Majesty I am thankful.
But as a detective!
How did you know I played billiards?
Simple deduction. You could have easily guessed.
There's chalk on your hand.
You're not a tailor, not a school-teacher.
Why the chalk then?
Deduction: You played the billiards. If you had won,
you would come home in a good mood.
That's right.
And very simple...
After you explained it to me.
Today's your turn to play white.
Please.
Check.
You must learn to make logical conclusions.
Things can say more about people than people about things.
A beautiful paradox.
But there are things that have no face. That look the same.
Take my watch for instance.
I've had it for a year already.
Well?
What can you say?
There's not much I can say about you.
That you're a pedant and you clean it regularly.
That all?
About you - yes.
But it did tell me something about your elder brother.
The watch belonged to your father, then it went
into possession of your elder brother.
That's a simple one.
There's "G.W." engraved on it.
Only the surname coincides, that means it is not mine.
You knew my father had long passed away,
and I've told you I had it for only a year.
That means my father left it to my elder brother.
And he...
then gave it to me.
Watson, you're making amazing progress.
Thank you for the compliment.
But I expected you to say something
about my brother's character,
his habits, about...
what kind of person he was.
You'd like that?
Very well.
Your brother was a disorderly light-minded man,
a drunk.
He inherited a fair amount of money, but wasted it all.
However at times fortune was king to him.
Finally he ruined himself and died.
I don't know who told you the life story of my poor brother,
but it is not a subject for jokes.
I shouldn't have interfered with your family matters.
I didn't know my guess would be so precise.
I assure you, the watch told me all that.
I didn't explain the logical chain of deductions to you
and offered the conclusion. That's why you don't believe me.
Please let me explain.
You see these numbers scribbled with a needle?
You know what they are? Numbers of receipts.
That's what they do in all pawn-shops to avoid confusion.
Your brother pawned the watch 4 times. But he bought it out,
otherwise you wouldn't have it.
Now look at the key-hole.
It has tiny scratches all over it.
People usually wind watches in the morning,
and in the morning his hands were shaking.
And that happens to people who drink very much.
And finally the fact, that now you have it,
says to me that your brother died.
You're right, Holmes.
Right as usual.
I'm sorry I offended you with mistrust.
That's nothing.
Checkmate.
What are you planning on doing now?
I'll go study pharmacology.
Everyone has something to do.
If you only knew how I hate days like this?
Even the most brilliant mind gets rusty without work.
Watson, how about some deduction training?
Come here.
See that gentleman?
What can you say about him?
Well... he's a Londoner, goes his usual way.
- Doesn't look around. - Logical.
A well-off man with good appetite.
- You can tell by the clothes and the paunch. - Bravo.
That's about it.
I can add something else.
He's 48, married, has a son,
loves his dog - a red setter -
and works at the Foreign Ministry.
After the story with the watch I can believe your every word.
But how, goddammit?!
Elementary, my dear Watson.
You see, this man happens to be
my brother, Mycroft Holmes.
You pulled my leg, Holmes.
But I asked for it. I shouldn't be so credulous.
But seriously, Holmes. There goes a man,
ordinary looking.
The one who crosses the street. What can you say about him?
- The retired navy sergeant? - Retired sergeant, eh?!
He must be your brother too.
Have mercy on me, Holmes.
You know I can't check that, and you play jokes on me.
There's a man to see you. Looks like a retired sergeant.
Please, come in, sir.
There's a letter for Mr. Holmes.
Please.
If I may ask, have you ever served with the navy sir?
- I have, sir. - In what rank?
Sergeant of the Royal Marine Corps, sir.
Thank you.
- How did you know? - Know what?
That he was a sergeant and served in the navy?
Oh that... It's a long story, not worth wasting our time.
A very interesting letter.
Mrs. Hudson.
How did you know the messenger was a retired sergeant?
I really don't know.
He had a picture of a blue anchor on the back of his hand.
- A tattoo. - That's right, a tattoo.
So I figured he was a sailor.
Side-whiskers trimmed in a military fashion.
So I thought - navy sailor.
Conducts himself with dignity, but doesn't look like an officer
- So I... - Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.
Watson!
Here, read this.
"Dear Mr. Holmes,
Tonight in an abandoned house on Brixton Road
our police officer found a dead man's body.
No signs of violence.
But drops of blood could be seen near the body.
Knowing that you like riddles like that I invite you to take
part in the investigation.
With respect. Tobias Gregson."
The most intelligent detective in all Scotland-Yard.
They have this guy Lestrade, but he's like a fox-terrier,
Abundance of energy and very little intellect.
You know, I was too soon to get disappointed.
There'll still be enough crimes for our lifetime.
What do you make of that letter?
Me either. We're going to Brixton Road.
Good day. Inspector Gregson here?
I'm Sherlock Holmes. He's with me.
Not bad. Now we can go into the house.
I'm glad you came.
No one touched anything. Everything's kept the way it was
Except the path to the entrance.
As if a herd of bisons trampled down on it.
I hope you had a chance to examine it before that.
There was so much I had to do inside the house.
Besides, frankly I didn't give it too much thought.
There he is, sir.
Find anything in his pockets?
A gold watch with a chain, a golden tie-pin.
A wallet with business-cards
in the name of a mister E. Drebber from Cleveland.
- An American, that's what I thought. - Me too.
Money. 7 pounds 30 shillings.
There. 2 letters.
One addressed to E. Drebber, the other to Joseph Stangerson.
Both letters are from the steamship company.
- Regarding tickets to New-York. - You try to find Stangerson?
Yes, of course.
Sit, Toby!
Good day, inspector Lestrade.
May I introduce Dr. Watson, my assistant.
How did you get here, Mr. Holmes?
- Gregson invited me. - That wasn't necessary, Gregson.
I am investigating this case and I don't need assistants.
Maybe you need a chief?
What I definitely don't need is your stupid jokes.
Please proceed.
Gregson!
Letters...
Since you're here anyway, try not to get in the way.
Watson!
This is interesting.
"Revenge". A murder then?
Written in blood.
- You sure there are no wounds? - Not a scratch.
The blood is fresh.
Watson!
And this is even more interesting.
- Allow me. - This was under his left leg.
It slipped off Drebber's finger when he struggled with the
killer. Gregson, put it on the inventory list.
It would be too small even for his little finger.
All right...
Then...
It must have belonged to the killer.
Now we know: The murderer was short
and had small hands!
- Wrong. - What?
If you're interested,
you can write down the description of the murderer.
The murderer...
is a fairly young man.
A little...
shorter than me.
Wears heavy boots, smokes charuta,
black American cigarettes.
He came here in a two-wheeled cart together with his victim.
The horse had 3 old horseshoes, 1 new on the front right leg.
Possibly the murderer's face is red.
A trifle, but perhaps it can help us.
Mr. Holmes, I don't know how you do these tricks of yours,
you won't tell me anyway.
All right, how did he kill Drebber?
- Maybe you know that too? - I do. He used poison.
Fast-acting poison.
Sorry, sir. I beg your pardon, there's something wrong here.
Wives put poison
in their husbands' coffee.
Or they put it in old people's drops to inherit the property.
But here, at night! In an abandoned house!
How could he have poisoned this Drebber?
The house stood empty for 3 years.
But today, when patrolling, I saw light in one of the windows.
I found that suspicious and decided to go see what it was.
- I go in and I see... - Wait a minute, Res.
You didn't go right in. Why did you go back to the gate?
- How did you know? - Isn't that so?
It is.
How should I explain it?
You see, I'm not afraid of anyone who walks on the ground.
Underneath - is a different matter.
3 years ago a tenant hanged himself in this house.
Well, I thought, what if it's him wandering around?
I went back to the gate. Thought I'd wait for my partner.
But then I decided to go in. I come in and I see...
We know what you saw. What did you do next?
I ran outside and blew my whistle, and my partner came.
- Was there anyone near the house? - Nearly no one.
A drunkard was leaning against the fence bawling a song.
I was going to take him to the station, but we were busy.
- What did he look like? - The usual way.
He was drunk stiff, dressed in a brown coat.
A bit shorter than you, with a red face.
Remember, Res, a policeman's head is not just for
wearing the cap.
Yesterday you could earn a sergeant's stripes.
You were looking at the killer, but you didn't take him in.
Still I don't understand many things about this case.
Where did the blood on the floor come from?
And then, why didn't the murderer run away,
but waited near the house until the police arrived?
I can answer that. He came back for the ring.
When he saw the policemen, he pretended to be drunk.
And, Watson,
this ring will be very useful to us.
We can use it as bait to catch fish...
Just like they use sprat to catch pike.
I suggest we sleep on it.
Good night.
(Plays the violin)
The killer watched you from the moment you went into the house.
He hit you on the head, searched your pockets but didn't take
anything. Not even your gun.
How did you get here?
You were asking questions all evening, and at night,
when I didn't hear you snoring -
I'm sorry, but you do have that little habit -
I figured you decided to try yourself as a detective.
He was going to come back for the ring. I thought of an ambush
myself, but decided that that would scare him away.
As a detective you were unprofessional
and too self-assured, that's why he attacked you first.
- How do you feel? - Like a complete idiot.
Don't lose heart, Watson.
A terrible crime on Brixton Road.
They killed an American.
Thank god, inspector Lestrade is handling the case.
The papers write he's the best.
Inspector Lestrade is a complacent fool!
It's what the "Times" writes.
Anything interesting in the ads column?
Today on Brixton Road
a golden wedding ring was found.
Inquire with Doctor...
Watson?
221 B, Baker Street, 5 p.m. To 7 p.m.
- Doctor Watson? - I'll pretend to be Watson.
You don't mind, do you?
Of course not.
- Where will you get the ring? - Borrow it from the police.
- Good day. - Good day.
Inspector, would you give me the ring for a couple of days?
Ask Gregson. I have nothing against that.
If you lose it, he will be responsible.
Mr. Holmes, I don't know what you're after,
but I want to give you some advice.
Good day.
Stop playing children's games.
While you search around dumps with your magnifier...
us, ordinary sleuths
have already come onto something.
- Congratulations. - Thank you.
But we are not giving away our secrets.
- Yes, Gregson? - Eh?
- We're not giving away our secrets? - Oh, no, no.
Mr. Holmes...
we know who killed Drebber.
We haven't found the man yet, but we know his name.
Yes!
Mr. Holmes, you remember the letters in Drebber's pocket?
One was addressed to him, the other...
To Joseph Stangerson.
You remember!
For you it may be just a name, but I found out who he is.
He was E. Drebber's personal secretary.
- So? - What do you mean, "So"?
They were not on very good terms lately,
the landlady and the neighbors say, that every night
they heard noises and swearing in Drebber's apartment.
And what's most important - threats.
But there's more to it!
When we came to the lodge to talk to that character,
we found out,
that he'd disappeared. Left abruptly...
leaving all his belongings behind.
So the case acquires a new turn.
We have to find this Stangerson.
Gregson, you'll be responsible for the ring.
When he comes, I'll meet him here.
You hide under the staircase.
If you hear noises run upstairs. You have the gun with you?
Excellent.
I read your ad in the paper. I need Doctor Watson.
Yes, please.
Over here, please.
Follow me.
Mr. Watson.
There's a lady to see you about the ring.
- Is this your ring, madam? - Yes. Oh my god!
I can't tell you how grateful I am!
My husband, brigadier-general Sir Arthur Fitz-Simmons
was killed in India in the battle for Agra.
Since then I am in mourning. And this wedding ring...
is the only thing I have for memory.
He loved me so much! He...
Doctor, a glass of water please!
Watson!
Sherlock...
Watson, I have to bring my apologies.
Just recently I laughed at you and this moron Lestrade,
but now I made a fool of myself.
- Was it him? - The murderer? No.
It was his accomplice. A professional actor.
A very talented actor at that.
And still I should have figured him out. The black veil...
Gloves to conceal makeup...
My friend, I was punished for my arrogance.
Now we will have to give the ring back to Gregson.
He took the ring?!
- That's right. - Oh no!
Have you noticed that the accomplice came here by cab?
And the killer on Brixton Road also came by cab.
Inspector, Lestrade made ill prophesies and I lost the ring.
But I promise to return it to you in two days time.
I hope so. Otherwise I'll have to pay for it from my salary.
And it's not too big.
But I haven't come for the ring.
We found the hotel where Stangerson is staying
under a different name. Lestrade has the arrest warrant.
You can come with us if you want to.
If he doesn't open, break down the door. I go in first.
You cover me.
- You stay here. Where is he? - Over there.
Keep it quiet.
Gregson, follow me.
Tss! Quiet.
Open it in the name of the law.
One...
Hands up!
What do you say, doctor?
Stab-wound.
This is Stangerson.
I think we can no longer suspect him of murder, can we?
Look at this.
It all adds up.
The money's intact.
A watch.
A telegram from Cleveland.
"Beware. J.H. Is in England".
And there's the missing link.
2 pills.
So? Just ordinary pills. Sleeping or stomach pills.
For him it doesn't matter. You'd better look here.
Nothing unusual. Just a ladder.
The murderer climbed up this ladder and then went down.
Let's go, Watson. There won't be anything interesting here.
Gentlemen, when you finish here, drop by our place.
- What for? - We'll have some sherry and talk.
Good day, gentlemen.
We found him.
Red face, brown coat.
Good work.
Wiggins. These are your new instructions.
Yes, sir.
And your fee.
Thank you.
Thank you, sir.
Thank you.
Anything else, gentlemen?
One cigar, sir.
Smoking is bad for your health. Look how thin I am.
That's because I smoke.
I was sure from the very beginning that Stangerson
wasn't planning to kill Drebber.
But when he escaped from the lodge
in such a hurry, leaving all his belongings,
I knew that he himself was afraid of the killer.
If the police had arrested Stangerson,
that would have saved his life.
But, alas, they were late as usual.
I am curious to know what kind of instruction
you've given your desperados.
From what I heard they have traced the murderer.
Don't rush things, Watson.
There are 2 gentlemen to see you, sir.
One of them is Mr. Lestrade.
That's for the dog.
The receptionist and the owner don't know anything.
They haven't seen a thing.
But the little boy, the cook, was throwing away the slops
and he noticed that the ladder that was normally lying...
lying on the ground...
Go on, please.
Was leaning against the window.
Then a man climbed out of the window and down the ladder.
He was moving slowly and casually,
and the cook took him for a painter or a carpenter.
And only later it occurred to him,
that hardly anyone would work so early in the morning.
What did this man look like?
Not very tall, wearing heavy boots and a brown coat.
So?
I'm sure
those were not sleeping pills or stomach pills,
but fast-acting poison.
But he was stabbed, not poisoned.
I could do the chemical analysis of the pills myself,
but I think it will be more convincing
if they do it in Scotland Yard.
Oh, Mr. Holmes, Mr. Holmes...
Take it.
No! Toby!
Toby! Toby!
Spit it out. Toby, where are you going?
As you can see Scotland Yard has verified your hypothesis.
To it's health.
But it is alive.
Toby!
- Toby! - Our lab is always handy.
Mr. Holmes,
after experiments conducted on animals
they usually proceed
to those with people.
Mr. Holmes, what are you?
Mr. Holmes, you saw it...
Toby.
What's with you?
- Mister Holmes... - You've been warned.
You have been warned.
There will be no more murders. It'll be over soon.
The case is complicated and it may seem illogical at first.
That confused you.
However such intricate crimes
are most easy to solve.
Stop lecturing us.
If you know where he's hiding, just tell us.
- You want to know? - Yes, we'd like to know that.
I'll tell you, only...
- Watson. - What is it?
I feel sick.
Cabby, stop!
We have to help him.
Easy.
Water.
- Just a minute. - Help him up.
I want you to meet...
Jefferson Hope.
The man who killed Drebber and Stangerson.
What?
In a week they're going to try you in court.
If you want to say something before that, we're listening.
But we have to warn you that anything you say now
can be used against you.
He'll talk. We know how to make them talk.
I've got nothing to hide.
I've done my work, now you do yours.
So you admit you killed Drebber
and Joseph Stangerson?
No, that was not murder.
I tried them and I sentenced them to death.
They told the state authorities that I threatened them.
I spent 2 months in jail. When they let me out
I found out that they left to Europe,
ran away from me.
I saved some money, boarded a ship
and set out in search of them.
I searched Europe in and out.
There wasn't a place where I hadn't been.
But a year ago I found out they were back in London.
I searched all over London in my cab and finally found them.
Now I waited for the right moment.
Cab, sir.
- I live near here. - Take a ride, sir.
- It's not safe to walk around alone at night.
- Let's go. - Please.
- Take me to Regent Street. - Of course, sir.
- That's it, sir. We're here. - Oh really?
No, not that way. I'll show you.
Where did you bring me?
This is not my house.
Do you recognize me?
You...
I can see you do.
You want to kill me?
I could shoot you 10 times, like a mad dog.
Or stab you and your friend to death in a dark alley.
But I don't want that.
There are 2 pills here.
One is harmless.
The other contains poison.
Choose one of them.
I'll swallow the other one.
If there is justice in this world, you will die.
If there's none,
then I don't want to live anyway.
I won't take it.
You will.
You pretend to be God, but you are a common murderer!
I won't...
Remember Lucy Ferrier.
10 years ago I had a fiancée.
We met in Utah, in Salt Lake City.
The city of Mormons. You know who Mormons are?
A religious sect.
They're a gang of perverted fanatics.
They don't abide by our laws
and they only do what their leaders tell them.
They allow polygamy, like damned pagans.
So this Drebber
decided he wants to take my fiancée for his 4th wife.
Lucy Ferrier.
Her father didn't want that kind of life for his daughter.
They fled, but the Mormons caught them in the desert.
Drebber's friend Joe Stangerson
shot old Ferrier.
And Lucy...
They dragged her to Drebber's house by force.
At the time I was in Nevada.
When I came back and found out about what happened,
I can't tell you what I felt.
I loved her...
so much.
Lucy was all I had.
I decided to take her away from that place.
But it was too late. Lucy died of shame and grief
after one month of living with that bastard.
Her friend gave me the ring.
I'd given it to her.
It was the last thing he heard:
"Remember Lucy Ferrier".
I got so excited, that blood streamed out of my nose.
That happens, doctors say it's plethora.
I dipped my finger in blood and wrote "Revenge" on the wall.
Not for a second do I regret what I've done.
Only one thing overshadowed my joy.
I dropped the ring.
Who was the man who came to me for the ring?
I won't tell you his name. You don't need to know it.
I'll say only, he is my friend, a jobless actor.
He doesn't know about the murder.
How did you find Stangerson?
You stabbed him, didn't you?
I can see you remember me.
Do you remember Lucy? And old Ferrier?
I'll give you all my money. I have a lot of it.
- Anything you want. - No.
I haven't come for that.
There are 2 pills here.
One is harmless, the other one contains poison.
Help!
I felt I was losing my strength
and stabbed him with a knife.
Anything else you can say?
You know the rest.
A boy ran up to me,
he said a gentleman was sick and I had to take him home.
That's how I got to know Sherlock Holmes.
The red face was just a guess. The footprints on the floor...
matched the boots
and the length of the step of the killer.
I thought the blood must have streamed from his nose.
Your guess proved right.
But why did you ask the boy to look for a cabby?
The killer drove in a cab and went into the house.
The cab didn't stand put, that means the cabby was not there.
The horse was moving about.
You could tell that by the prints of hoofs and wheels.
There were only 2 in the house - the killer and his victim.
Therefore the killer must have been the cabby.
A not so tall man in a brown coat
with a red face.
But there are 4 million people in London.
And god knows how many cabbies.
How do you find the right one, when you know so little?
Watson, I knew his name.
No, it is not a miracle.
I sent a telegram to Cleveland and got an answer.
They wrote that Drebber complained about his rival,
a man by the name of Jefferson Hope.
There was one catch in this case however,
until I found out one of the pills was harmless.
But when I found out that the killer gives his victim
an equal chance...
I somehow felt sorry
for this cruel and merciless,
but at the same time noble young man.
There's one of the unpleasant sides of a detective's work.
My job is to solve crimes,
but often the criminal evokes more sympathy than the victim.
I must admit,
I don't give all the criminals away to law-enforcement bodies.
Why?
There are certain minor crimes,
when a person is punished with the fear of being caught.
And it is a guarantee that next time he will think twice
before doing something like that again.
But if you put him to jail,
the jail habits will haunt him for the rest of his life.
But I'm afraid that doesn't refer to Jefferson Hope.
He ruined himself with his own hands.
A man can't be guided with just the craving for revenge.
It is one of the most useless feelings, it dries out the soul.
I always felt sorry for Count Monte Cristo.
What a waste of talent and money!
The one from the novel? I didn't read it. And Jefferson Hope...
Tonight Jefferson Hope died in prison.
- I knew it. - He killed himself?
It was a stroke.
- Maybe he was lucky. - What do the papers write?
They praise Gregson, and more so Lestrade.
And what about you?
Not a word about me, as usual.
What monstrous ingratitude!
As of this day I will start writing myself.
I shall be your chronicler.
And I won't allow them to misappropriate your merits.
Yes, they'll read my stories in all the different languages,
in Austria, in Japan, in Russia!
If I'll be damned!
Written by Yuly Dunskoy, Valery Frid
Directed by Igor Maslennikov
Director of photography Yury Veksler
Production designer Mark Kaplan
Music by Vladimir Dashkevich