This is the monastery's account
dating to the early 15th Century.
Oh, precisely what I thought.
But surely this has great political significance.
A matter of particular delicacy.
Sorry to disturb you, sir,
but inspector Hopkins would like to see you.
The promising Inspector Hopkins.
Draw up to the fire and warm your toes.
I hope you have no designs
upon us on such a night as this, inspector.
This is my brother, Mycroft.
Maybe you have not met before?
I'm sure, I would have remembered.
May I shake your hand, sir?
Yes, if you must.
Now Mrs. Hudson knows a prescription
containing hot water and a lemon.
I'll bring some up for you, inspector.
It'll help keep out the chill.
Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.
Where is Dr. Watson?
Oh, in his surgery.
This dreadful weather
has produced a queue into the street I'm told.
Well they're wasting their time.
Watson's only cure for any ailment
is linus powder and a grated apple.
Mr. Holmes, you know you only say that
because you miss the doctor.
Cigar?
No, no, thank you.
It must be something important
to bring you out in such a gale.
It is indeed.
Did you see anything of the Yoxley case
in the latest editions?
I see nothing later then the 15th Century today.
We've been studying a 500-year-old palimpsest.
Palimpsest?
Enough of the 15th Century,
you bring us news in the 20th.
Well it's only a paragraph,
and all wrong at that.
So you've not missed anything.
I'm relieved to hear it, inspector.
It's down in Kent,
seven miles from Chatham
and three from the railway line.
I was wired for at 3:15,
got to Chatham at 5:00,
conducted my investigation,
was back at Charing Cross by the last train
and straight to you by cab.
Which means you're not quite certain of your case.
It means I can make neither head nor tale of it.
There's no motive, Mr. Holmes.
Motive, Inspector, what motive?
A man is dead,
there's no denying that.
But I can see no reason between heaven and earth
why anyone should wish him harm.
Tell us about it.
A few years ago
Yoxley Old Place was taken by an elderly man
by the name of Professor Coram.
He's an invalid,
keeping his bed half the time
and the other half-hobbling about the house on a stick
or being pushed about the grounds by the gardener
in a bath chair.
Here we are.
Quite stupid, aren't you.
Now just take it easy, be very careful.
Careful.
Now where's my secretary, Mrs. Marker?
The professor is writing a learned book
and found it necessary about a year ago
to take on a secretary,
Mr. Willoughby Smith,
a young man straight from the university.
And if one can accept the doctrines of Monophysitism
then perforce one must also re-evaluate
Christian theology.
To suggest...
Yes.
To suggest...
Or to argue.
Which one of us is writing this book,
you, or me?
You are, of course.
To suggest...
From the first it appears that Smith
was a quiet, well-educated fellow
with hardly any weak spot in him at all.
And yet this is the lad
who met his death this morning
in the professor's study
under circumstances that can point only to murder.
Murder?
Willoughby Smith was murdered you say, Inspector?
Do go on.
Your hot lemon drink, inspector.
Thank you Mrs. Hudson,
a man without a single enemy in the world.
Mrs. Hudson, you're under foot again.
When you say hardly any weak spots,
what exactly do you mean?
We all have vices of some kind or another.
Willoughby Smith has nothing against him,
either as a boy at Uppingham
or later as a young man at Cambridge.
Although I gathered that he was fond of a drink or two.
Well nothing wrong with that.
He also had a bit of an eye for the ladies.
Each to his own.
Perhaps he was hiding a terrible secret.
Smith knew no one in the neighborhood
and lived very much as his employer did.
The professor was buried in his work
and existed for nothing else.
A man after your own heart, Sherlock.
Apart from the three people you have mentioned,
who else can be found in the house?
An elderly housekeeper, Mrs. Marker,
and a young maid, Susan Tarlton.
So who found the body?
The maid, Mr. Holmes.
She said she was working in an upstairs room
when she heard a cry.
She said by the time she got to the study
Smith was lying on the floor fatally wounded.
She says.
Professor.
The professor.
It was she.
The maid is prepared to swear
that those were his exact words.
The professor, it was she.
I've drawn up a rough plan
that should give you a general idea
of the position of the professor's study
and also the various points of the case
which seem to me to be essential.
As you can see
there are two corridors which lead from the study.
One goes directly to a door at the back of the house
and the other straight to the professor's
ground floor bedroom.
Two corridors with a 90-degree angle
joined at one end outside the study.
Now assuming the assassin entered the house,
how did he get in?
Undoubtedly by the garden path and the back door,
which gives direct access
via the corridor to the study.
Exactly.
And he must have made his escape along the same line.
For of the two other exits from the study,
one was blocked by the maid
as she ran downstairs
and the other goes straight to the professor's bedroom.
Could not the assassin have made his escape from the study window?
Locked sir, from within.
I see.
It was an excellent opportunity
to put your theories into practice.
I directed my attention at once to the garden path,
which was saturated with recent rain.
No footmarks were to be found on the path
but there could be no question
that someone had passed along the grass border, which lines it.
And that he'd done so
in order to avoid leaving a track.
You found footmarks there?
Not exactly, but the grass was trodden down
and it could only have been the murderer
since neither the gardener nor anyone else
had been in the area that morning
and the rain had only begun during the night.
Bravo, inspector.
I knew you'd appreciate my reasoning, Mr. Holmes.
These tracks in the grass,
were they coming or going?
It was impossible to say.
There was never any outline.
Pouring rain and blowing a hurricane ever since.
They'll be harder to read now than the palimpsest.
So inspector, what did you do
after you made certain
that you've made certain of nothing?
Well really, Mr. Holmes,
I think I made certain of a good deal.
Somebody had entered the house
cautiously from without.
And then there were the dying man's own words.
And finally,
there was a very important piece of evidence
found clasped in his right hand.
Willoughby Smith had excellent sight.
There can be no question
that these were snatched from the face
or the person of the assassin.
The person you seek is a woman,
Mycroft.
That can be inferred from their delicacy,
and also, of course,
from the last words of the dying man,
they're handsomely mounted in solid gold.
They are of unusual strength,
she must have appalling eyesight,
a lady whose vision
has been so extremely contracted
for any great length of time
would surely carry physical characteristics
of such vision.
Puckered forehead,
peering expression,
rounded shoulders.
They've also recently been repaired.
Of course, I'd intended to go
the round of the London opticians.
There's a train from Charing Cross to Chatham
at 6:00 in the morning, Mr. Holmes.
Then I shall take it.
Have you anything more to tell us
about the case inspector?
I think you know as much as I do now,
perhaps more.
Perhaps,
perhaps.
What puzzles me
is the utter want of all object in the crime.
A man has been cruelly murdered, Mr. Holmes,
and not a ghost of a motive can anyone suggest.
Who alerted their local police?
Mortimer, the gardener, an innocent.
As soon as it became clear
that it was a matter for Scotland Yard,
the chief constable sent for me.
Sorry, sir, can't go in there.
Just walk this way please.
It's all right constable,
these gentlemen are with me.
Apart from this lethal paper knife
and the pince-nez,
has anything been rearranged
or removed in this room since yesterday morning?
No, Mr. Holmes.
Everything is exactly as it was.
And the body?
The body fell here.
The wound was in the right side of the neck,
from behind, forwards.
Excellent inspector,
and this bureau?
The professor assures me that nothing is missing.
I'm satisfied that no robbery has taken place.
Why did you not tell me about this scratch, Hopkins?
Well I noticed it of course,
but you'll always find scratches around a keyhole.
It looks recent.
Very recent.
There's the varnish, too,
like earth on either side of a furrow.
Is it significant?
That's father's magnifying glass.
Yes.
He gave it to you?
Hum.
How ironic, excuse me.
Who was the last person to enter this room
before Willoughby Smith and his murderer?
I was.
Mrs. Marker.
The housekeeper.
Yes, please sit down.
Thank you, I prefer to stand.
You've probably heard of Mr. Sherlock Holmes?
No.
It's really not important.
You were in this room
before Willoughby Smith was murdered?
About a quarter of an hour before.
Why?
I am the housekeeper, Mr. Holmes.
I try to keep the study
as clean and as tidy as possible,
not that you'd notice the difference.
Were you alone in here?
I was alone.
I never come in here
when the professor's at work.
As far as I know,
Mr. Smith was upstairs in his room at the time.
So you didn't see him at all?
Not until after he...
he was...
been...
I'd finished my housework in here
and I was preparing the professor's lunch
when I heard...
(Scream)
By the time I reached the study,
Mr. Smith was dead.
Then you were obviously too late
to hear his last words?
I heard nothing except that dreadful cry.
Wake up, constable.
What did you do then?
I went straight to the professor's room.
He was horribly agitated.
He'd heard enough to know
that something terrible had happened.
Did you dust this bureau this morning?
I did.
Did you observe the scratch by the lock?
I did not.
Of course you didn't, Mrs. Marker.
Your duster would have swept away
those scraps of varnish.
And where's the key?
The professor keeps it on his watch chain.
At all times?
At all times.
Good, good, good,
we're making progress.
Thank you Mrs. Marker.
Would you be so good
as to ask the housemaid to come along to the study?
Certainly inspector.
Let us see,
what this desk reveals.
Uh, Mycroft, this is interesting.
What is it?
An entry for today
in Willoughby Smith's handwriting.
Abbey, 7:30,
how curious.
I think I can answer that one for you, sir.
Professor Coram is writing a book
about early Christian heretics.
And there are a number of Abbey ruins
within reasonable traveling distance of the house.
Abbey, 7:30, why 7:30?
Miss Tarlton, please come here.
Please sit down.
Mr. Holmes is a detective from London.
Would you tell him everything
you saw and heard yesterday morning?
It was between 11:00 and 12:00.
Professor Coram was still in bed.
When the weather is poor
he seldom rises before midday.
Mrs. Marker was busy with some work in the kitchen.
So.
Now you can look at me.
So where were you?
I was hanging some curtains
in one of the bedrooms upstairs.
Mr. Smith had been in his own room.
At that moment I heard him walk along the passage
and descend to the study.
How can you be sure that is was Willoughby Smith?
Because he had a familiar tread, sir.
I didn't hear the study door close.
About a minute or so later
there came a dreadful cry.
It was a wild horrid scream,
so strange and unnatural.
It could have come either from a man or a woman.
I ran down to the study.
Found Willoughby lying on the floor.
Saw the blood,
I didn't realize,
he must be dead.
And then he spoke.
It was she.
Professor, it was she.
Yes.
Curious words.
Do you know what they mean?
No, sir.
Are you sure?
No, sir.
Could anyone have left by the rear exit
after the time you'd heard the scream?
You mean before I got down the stairs,
I'd have seen them in the passage.
And the backdoor never opened
or I would have heard it.
Thank you, Miss Tarlton,
Mycroft, inspector.
Perhaps he was the victim of a lover's quarrel?
How very tiresome for the man.
It's nearly midday.
Will the professor still be in his room?
Yes, he hasn't left it since yesterday morning.
Then you must introduce me.
Ah.
What is it, Mr. Holmes?
Both corridors are lined with coconut matting.
I've noticed.
Thank you, sir.
What of it.
It seems to me to be suggestive.
Indeed.
Come.
Close the door, Hopkins.
The cold air won't help my bronchial condition.
One of you gentlemen must be Sherlock Holmes.
This is my brother, Mycroft.
Are you a smoker, Mr. Holmes?
I have few other vices.
Uh, Alexandrian.
Yes, Pray take a cigarette.
Thank you.
I have them especially prepared by lonides.
Sends me 1,000 at a time.
I grieve to say that I have to arrange
a fresh supply every fortnight.
You sir?
No, thank you, no,
I prefer this.
Tobacco and my work,
that's all there is left of me,
tobacco and my work.
Now, only tobacco.
Who could have foreseen such a terrible catastrophe?
I assure you, Mr. Holmes,
that after, what, just a few months, training,
he was an admirable assistant.
What do you think of the matter, hey?
I have not yet made up my mind.
I would indeed be indebted to you
if you could throw a light
on all that is dark to us,
such a blow, paralyzing to a poor, old bookworm,
invalid, like myself.
Could you not continue with your work, professor?
Alas Mr. Holmes,
I seem to have lost the faculty of thought.
Oh dear.
My magnum opus,
my analysis of documents
found in the Coptic monasteries
of Syria and Egypt.
It is a work that I hoped to have cut deep
at the very foundations of revealed religion.
This looks impressive.
But with my enfeebled health,
I don't know that I shall
ever be able to complete it,
without my assistant.
I don't want to trouble you
with a lengthy examination.
Simply,
to ask you what Willoughby Smith
meant by his last words,
"The professor, it was she?"
Susan,
a country girl, Mr. Holmes.
You must be aware of the incredible stupidity
of that class.
I fancy the poor fellow
murmured some incoherent words
and she twisted them into a meaningless message.
You have no explanation yourself for the tragedy?
Possibly.
I breathe this only among ourselves.
Possibly suicide.
Suicide.
Young men have their hidden troubles, Mr. Holmes,
an affair of the heart perhaps,
which we will never know.
It's a more probable supposition than murder.
And what of the pince-nez?
A fan, a glove, eye-glasses
who knows what article may be carried as a token
or treasured when a man puts an end to his life.
I must get out of here.
Possibly I speak as a child,
seems to me Willoughby Smith
met his fate by his own hand.
Willoughby Smith was murdered.
He did not commit suicide.
Good afternoon, sir.
Yes, I agree.
So the professor's theory has no bearing on the case.
Will you be good enough
to arrange carriage and escort for me
as far as the railway station?
Of course, sir.
I have to get back to town
so I'll take you there myself.
You're very kind.
I think you might find
this more beneficial
than Alexandrian tobacco.
Do you remember what papa used to tell us
when we were young?
Eliminate the impossible
and whatever remains,
however improbable,
must be the truth.
I forget his exact words
but those are near enough.
See you in London.
Ionides.
I'm overlooking something,
and it's staring me in the face.
Oh, thank you my dear.
Bad news I'm afraid, sir.
There isn't another train for Charing Cross
till late this evening.
You should double-check the railway timetable
before dragging me to this wretched place.
I know sir and I'm sorry sir.
Just a minute, inspector.
London can wait.
I think we should postpone our trip for a little while
to attend a political meeting.
We hear of reform after reform.
We shouldn't encourage these women, Mr. Holmes.
They're troublemakers,
no better then criminals.
Organizer, Miss Abigail Grosby
meeting held in the church hall
at half past 7:00.
Think back inspector,
Willoughby Smith's diaries,
Abby 7:30.
Do you mind?
Thank you gentlemen for your sensitivity.
We hear of reform after reform
and yet still nothing is done
to improve the position of women in society.
The fate of our country
is still being decided by men alone
and yet women,
who are subjected daily and equally
to the laws of the land,
are not permitted to vote.
That must be Miss Abigail Grosby,
formidable.
Votes for women indeed,
whatever next,
women police,
women politicians?
I'm not going to tell you again.
The struggle for female enfranchisement
has so far been a peaceful one.
God forbid.
The time has come and we must ask ourselves
how much longer the state of affairs can continue?
How much longer we should allow ourselves
to be treated like second-class citizens?
You tell them Abigail.
Poppycock.
I'd like to read you a letter
which I received two days ago
from Mrs. Garrett Fawcett,
urging us to continue the fight
until we achieve our aims.
That should interest you, inspector.
Well, well, well.
Mycroft.
On every side,
those in a position to help,
are stricken by deafness.
We're told that the country
has more important things to worry about
than votes for women.
Yet tell me,
what can be more important
than the rights of half of the population?
Was the late queen not also a woman?
I have had quite enough
of the criminal classes
for one day, inspector.
Where's that carriage you promised me?
I don't know nothing about nothing, sir, honest.
Then why are you crying Miss Tarlton?
Cause I don't want to be in no trouble.
I'll lose my situation if I do.
I'll ask you one more time,
was Willoughby Smith acquainted with
the schoolteacher Miss Abigail Grosby?
I don't know.
You do know Miss Tarlton.
It's useless to lie.
Yes, he was.
They knew each other all right.
They had a blazing row.
Abbey, will you listen to me please.
Day before yesterday.
You're wasting your time on these suffrages.
Don't you see that?
Thank you, Willoughby.
Your support is overwhelming as ever.
He said he loved me.
Take care of me,
and I believed him.
Don't you touch me.
Abby, Abby, Abby.
Don't touch me.
All right, all right.
I'm just trying to make you see reason.
You're spending your time
with these people you barely know
when you should be building a life with me.
Take your hands off.
God knows half of them are the lowest of the low.
These are not the sort of people
that you should be mixing with.
This is my life.
What I choose to do with it
and who I choose to do it with is my business.
No one is going to stand in my way.
Do I make myself clear?
If that's what you want.
I know exactly what I want
and at the moment it doesn't include you.
That's what emancipation does for a woman, is it?
You've been drinking.
I've told you not to come near me
when you've been drinking.
Makes you turn down a good offer of marriage,
a chance to be really happy
instead of a miserable blue stocking.
You'd better leave.
It's empty.
I think you might find this more beneficial
than Alexandrian tobacco.
Nothing wrong with her sight.
Miss Abigail Grosby,
Miss Crosby,
Mr. Sherlock Holmes.
The inspector has no doubt
explained state of things to you
then you know the seriousness of your position.
Do you have anything to say in your defense?
Only that I am innocent of the crime
of which I am accused.
But you did know the deceased?
Is that also a crime?
We were close friends until...
Until?
I meant more to him
than he did to me.
I realize that now.
But for all the world
I would not have wished him any harm.
The inspector informed me
that you had a violent quarrel with Willoughby Smith
the day before he died?
There were harsh words spoken on both sides,
but with good reason.
You probably know that I'm an active member
of the women's suffrage movement.
Willoughby believed, selfishly I think,
that my future way of life
and my liberty were at great risk.
I reassured him that our campaign here
was as peaceful as may be.
I have no wish to break the law
in order to change it,
unless...
Regarding, your bureau in the study,
does it contain anything
which someone might wish to steal?
Nothing of value that I know of,
family papers and letters
from my poor wife,
diplomas from universities
that have done me honor.
Have the key, you can look for yourself.
Snuff.
Your lunch professor.
Not hungry, Mr. Holmes?
Those cigarettes don't help your appetite.
For the same reason no doubt
that the professor returns to the kitchen,
more food than he eats.
Am I to assume
there have been further developments, inspector?
So I'm told, professor.
I fail to see, Mr. Holmes,
how I can be of any further assistance to you.
I forged and tested
every link of my chain, Professor Coram,
and I'm sure that it is sound.
What on earth is he talking about?
Two days ago,
a woman entered your study.
She came with express intention
of taking certain papers,
which were held in your bureau.
She had a key of her own.
Your own key doesn't have that slight discoloration,
which the scratch made upon the varnish would have produced.
She came, as far as my evidence can tell me,
without your knowledge,
to rob you.
Now surely having traced this lady so far,
you can also say what has since become of her?
I shall endeavor to do so.
In the first place,
she was seized by your secretary.
She stabbed him in order to escape.
It was an unhappy accident,
but I am convinced that the lady had no intention
of inflicting so grievous an injury.
Horrified by what she had done,
she rushed wildly away from the scene of the tragedy.
Unfortunately for her,
she lost her pince-nez in the scuffle.
She ran down the corridor,
which she imagined to be that by which she had come.
Both were lined with coconut matting.
Only when it was too late,
did she understand that she had taken the wrong passage
and that her retreat was cut off.
What was she to do?
She could not go back.
She could not remain where she was.
She must go on.
She went on.
All very fine, Mr. Holmes.
Do you want me to say that I could lie in that bed
and not be aware
that a strange woman had entered my room?
Of course you were aware of her professor.
You recognized her through this haze of your existence.
You spoke with her.
You're mad.
You helped her to elude the police.
You're talking insanely.
I helped her to elude the police?
Well where is she now?
Here, where she has been all along.
You are right,
you're right.
Well I'll be damned.
I am here.
I could hear everything
and I know that you have learned the truth.
But you were right to say it was an accident.
I did not know it was a knife in my hand.
For in my despair,
I snatched at anything
and struck at him
to make him let me go.
I have only a little time here
and I would have, that you know the whole truth.
That I am this man's wife.
He's not an Englishman.
He's a Russian.
Why should you cling so hard
to that retched life of yours, Sergius?
It has done harm to so many
and good to none,
not even yourself.
You were 50
and I, a young girl,
when we married in St. Petersburg.
I loved you so much.
More then that,
I idolized you.
I would have done anything for you, and I did.
Because then you were everything to me.
But we were reformers,
Nihilists,
and soon there came a time of great trouble.
Sergius!
No, Sergius
no more deaths
no more.
Sergius!
Where's Sergius?
Forget your husband.
He has betrayed us all.
No.
Yes, Anna.
We are betrayed.
We were all arrested upon your confession.
Some of us went to the gallows
and some of us to Siberia.
After 20 years I was released.
You came to England with your blood money
and lived in quiet ever since.
Knowing well,
that if the brotherhood ever found out where you were
not a week would pass
before justice would be done.
I'm in your hands, Anna.
You were always good to me.
My brother, Alexis,
was noble, unselfish.
He hated violence
and wrote many letters
trying to dissuade us from such a course.
These letters would have proved his innocence
and you stole them from me and hid them.
So Alexis was sent to Siberia
where he is even now.
As soon as my time of imprisonment is over,
I determined to get the letters
that would procure my brother's release.
I knew that my husband had come to England
and after many months of searching
I determined where he was.
So at last I determined to get the letters for myself.
I had just removed them from the bureau
when the young man seized me,
the same young man I had met earlier that morning.
I had asked him where Professor Coram lived
not knowing that he worked for him.
And he must have told the professor about you.
The professor, it was she.
When he had fallen,
I ran but I went to the wrong door
and found myself in his room.
You, you talked of giving me up.
I showed you that if you did so
your life was in my hands.
If you gave me to the law
I could give you to the Brotherhood.
That as our lives
had once been bound together in marriage.
So our destinies
would forever be entwined.
(Speaking Russian).
It is finished.
It never began.
You had your meals sent in here
so she could share your food.
It was agreed that when the police left
that she should slip away into the night
and never be seen again.
These are the letters that will save my brother's life.
Take them to the Russian embassy.
Poison.
A letter by hand, Mr. Holmes.
Thank you Mrs. Hudson,
sleep well.
It was clear to me from the strength of the spectacles
that the wearer must have been almost blind without them.
And I therefore considered the hypothesis
that she remained within the house.
You might say it was elementary.
Oh, by the way,
don't mention the snuff to Watson.
Tell him you dropped a cigarette ash or something.
Leave me out of it.
But why on earth did the retched woman
feel compelled to take her own life?
She'd achieved her purpose,
past hope and in despair,
and the death of love, of course.
Oh, professor,
be sure your sin will find you out.