Thank you very much, sir. "Even great men have their poor relations."
God bless you, sir. You are a gentleman, "a very perfect gentle knight".
Geoffrey Chaucer.
Thank you, sir. "For verily, my cup runneth over."
"May your sweetness never blush unseen."
My gratitude knows no bounds, sir.
Here I sit, your slave, "poor, infirm, weak and despised".
William Shakespeare.
Oh, you're a gentleman, sir. And so was he.
"Blessed are the poor in spirit," sir.
"Blessed are the poor in spirit."
For yours is the Kingdom of Heaven, sir.
(Hurdy-gurdy playing)
(Coins rattling)
(Screaming)
Thief!
But we arranged it two weeks ago. We were to have supper at my club.
Yes, he did mention it to me this morning.
It was just before the lady called.
Lady? Which lady?
Well, I don't know her name, but the lady called and Mr Holmes went out.
In that case, I shall take advantage of an early night.
- (Doorbell) - I must answer the door.
Of course.
- It might be a clue! - Ah.
- I hope I'm not being a nuisance. - He won't mind. He's the kindest of men.
Mrs Whitney to see you, Doctor.
Kate, this is a surprise!
Not a pleasant one, I fear, John.
Thank you, Mrs Hudson. Perhaps some tea?
That would be most welcome. Forgive me for causing so much trouble.
You're causing us no trouble at all. Please.
Your assistant told me you were dining with Mr Holmes.
- You've been to the surgery? - You had just left.
Mr Holmes has disappeared without trace, as you can see.
In that case, I really shouldn't bother you with my problems.
Mr Holmes disappears at regular intervals.
There is really no cause for alarm, only curiosity.
But... why did you want to see me?
If you are ill, you should not be travelling across London.
I am not ill.
It's Isa.
Ah. Well, if Isa is ill, I can visit him at home.
He is not at home.
He too has disappeared without trace?
You can probably guess what he's doing.
I imagine he's indulging his addiction. Opium?
- I fear so. - Well, he's done this before, has he not?
What makes this circumstance so very different?
Normally, his... orgies
are confined to one day.
He leaves the house in the morning and returns in the evening,
pale and shattered.
- And this time? - I have not seen Isa for 48 hours.
Have you the remotest idea where he might be?
There is an establishment called the Bar Of Gold.
In Upper Swandham Lane. I believe he is there.
But I dare not go there alone.
No respectable woman
would go within a hundred miles of that vile alley unaccompanied.
- Will you come with me? - No.
- But... - I shall go there on my own.
Go home, and if your husband is where you think he is,
I guarantee to have him back with you within two hours.
- I dare not imagine what state he'll be in. - (Knocking)
Your tea, Doctor.
My apologies, Mrs Hudson. I am going out. But Mrs Whitney will take tea.
And what am I to tell Mr Holmes, should he return?
Tell him I have disappeared without trace.
Upper Swandham Lane please, cabbie.
I sometimes wonder whether men ever really, truly grow up.
They seem to remain little boys for ever.
Do you wonder about that, Mrs Hudson?
No, Mrs Whitney, I don't wonder about it. I know it.
And they always need us to kiss them better afterwards.
In a manner of speaking, of course.
(Horses' hooves)
- Stay close by. - Sir.
(Riotous screaming and shouting)
Aaah!
(Coughing and moaning)
No, thank you. I have not come here to stay. There is a friend of mine here.
I just wish to speak to Mr Isa Whitney.
Isa!
My God! Watson!
What's the time?
- It's 11. - What's the day?
Friday the 19th.
I thought it was Wednesday.
It is Wednesday.
You're trying to frighten me.
Your wife has been waiting for you to return home for two days.
Two days? Surely not.
A few hours, perhaps.
Three pipes, four pipes...
I forget.
I've got a cab outside and you are going home now.
Must I?
If you value my friendship and your wife's love.
Oh, poor Kate.
(Watson) Come on.
I have to pay.
I owe the manager money.
You have to pay for your own destruction. I'll see to it.
Just get out of this dreadful place.
Let go! Take your hands off!
Holmes!
- Shh, quiet. - What on earth are you doing?
Like you, going about my business. You have a cab?
- Yes. - Then, pray, send him home in it.
He looks too limp to get into any kind of mischief.
- I'll see you in five minutes. - All right.
(Wheezing)
Give this to the lady of the house.
Holmes?
- Quite so. - I was surprised to see you in that place.
You think I've added opium to all my other weaknesses?
I merely said I was surprised to see you there.
- As I was to see you! - I was searching for a friend.
- And I for an enemy. - An enemy?
Had I been recognised, my life would not have been worth an hour's purchase.
John!
I am in the midst of a most remarkable enquiry.
I hope you were not smoking a substance.
Only to the extent necessary to merge with the surroundings.
I'm off to Leigh in Kent. Are you coming?
- Of course. - Ha!
I think we should be safe now, Watson. Would you take the reins?
Where exactly are we going?
The Cedars. A lovely villa near Leigh, in Kent.
May I ask why I am going to Leigh in Kent
in the middle of the night on a Friday in March?
You are my trusty comrade and chronicler, and I may need both.
Here are the facts as I understand them.
Several years ago, there came to Leigh in Kent a gentleman, Neville St Clair.
'He took a large villa, The Cedars,
'and about a year later, married the daughter of a local brewer.
'They have two small children.
'He has interests in several companies and travels to the City every morning,
'returning by the 5:14 train from Cannon Street every night.
'He is a man of temperate habits, a good husband, an affectionate father
'and is popular with all who know him.'
His debts, as far as we can ascertain,
amount to 88 pounds and ten shillings,
while he has £220 to his credit at the Capital and Counties Bank.
There is no reason to think money troubles have been weighing him down.
A veritable paragon.
Watson, there is a hint of scepticism in your voice which does you no credit.
Mrs St Clair came to you saying her husband had disappeared?
Exactly.
It seems to be a continuous thread in life's fabric.
Watson, what is this?
I shall ignore your air of resignation to the world's frailties and continue.
Please, do.
On Monday, St Clair left for the City as usual.
He promised he would bring home a box of building bricks for his children.
- Building bricks? - Mark that well, Watson.
'Soon after he left, Mrs St Clair received a telegram
'to say a parcel of considerable value had arrived for her
'at the offices of the Aberdeen Shipping Company.
'She decided to travel to the City,
'collect her parcel, have lunch and do some shopping.
'It was by chance that she found herself in Upper Swandham Lane,
'that same vile alley that we both visited this evening, Watson.
'And it was at this point that something quite singular took place.'
Money, please?
We're starving. Starving!
Get out of it!
Clear off! Get out of it!
Neville!
(Screams)
Neville!
Where are you going?
- I'm going upstairs. - There is nobody upstairs.
I saw my husband waving from a upstairs window.
There is nobody upstairs.
I saw him. I know my own husband. What's he doing here?
There is nobody upstairs!
(Screams)
- Neville! - Go on!
(Watson) 'They threw her out? ' (Holmes) 'They did.'
Blackguards!
The Malay, and the lascar who owns the establishment,
a man of the vilest antecedents and a murderer.
- A murderer? And yet he goes free? - The building backs onto the river.
There is a trap door for the disposal of bodies.
- Why don't the police arrest these two? - The police have arrested a cripple!
- Cripple? - There is more to tell. But here we are.
Thank you.
Mr Holmes.
- Any news? - Mrs St Clair, I thought you'd be asleep.
Sleep does not come easily at a time like this.
My friend and colleague, Dr Watson,
who has kindly agreed to help in my investigation.
- Mr Holmes has spoken of you. - Mrs St Clair.
I have taken the liberty of asking the doctor to stay.
And I took the liberty of preparing a little cold supper.
- Dr Watson, you take my place. - No...
Watson, Mrs St Clair is a very strong-willed woman.
- You refuse her at your peril. - Thank you.
Mr Holmes, before we eat, I should like to ask one or two plain questions,
to which I should like plain answers.
Certainly, madam.
Do you, in your heart of hearts, think that Neville is still alive?
Frankly, now, I am not hysterical, nor am I given to fainting.
Frankly, then. I do not.
- You think he is dead? - I do.
- Murdered? - I don't say that.
- Perhaps. - On what day did he meet his death?
Monday.
So how do you explain that I received a letter from him today, being Friday?
Now, Mrs St Clair...
- I wonder if you would do me a favour. - By all means.
I have told Dr Watson what happened up to the moment you were ejected.
Would you tell us what happened subsequently?
- For Dr Watson's benefit? - And for mine.
I, too, have to re-examine the facts as we know them.
Now, if you are not too tired...
Of course.
As you may imagine, I do not take kindly to being forcibly removed.
I sought and found police help.
- Two constables and Inspector? - Bradstreet.
- And then you returned to the building? - Yes.
The period of time between these visits?
About 20 minutes.
'By the time we returned, the door was unbolted,
'though I am sure the lascar had bolted it when I left earlier.'
- I want to look upstairs. - There is nobody there.
If there is nobody there, you can't object to my looking. You men stay here.
He was in this room.
Time and again, I tell you, there is nobody here.
May we look in that room?
(Screams)
You mustn't be worried by this gentleman.
He is an old friend of the Constabulary.
You know, Inspector, according to WS Gilbert,
"A policeman's lot is not a happy one."
Mr Boone is a professional beggar.
No, not a beggar!
An honest trader.
- Does this man lodge here? - Yes.
- You told me nobody lived here. - Madam, a beggar is nobody.
"If you prick us, do we not bleed?"
Shakespeare, Mr Boone. I know that one. You've told it to me before.
Inspector!
(Bradstreet) The River Thames, Mrs St Clair.
And a large window.
Mrs St Clair, a window and a river in close proximity
does not automatically mean violent death.
- Have you been here the past hour? - Yes.
- Anyone else been here? - No. I have been "as Ionely as a cloud".
- Tennyson. - Wordsworth, Inspector.
(Laughter)
He was standing here. I saw him.
Mrs St Clair, there is no evidence to suggest that he was ever here.
Building bricks, Inspector.
So I see.
My husband left for the City this morning and the last thing he said to me
was that he'd buy some bricks for our little girl.
I see.
Either of you gentlemen buy building bricks?
Somebody must have left them.
And these are my husband's clothes!
Are you sure?
Shall I describe them to you in detail as you examine them?
My husband's tailor's name is Snodd, if you care to examine the label.
Inspector Bradstreet began to believe my story.
His men made an extensive search.
They found a bloodstain upon the windowsill.
They searched the Malay, the lascar and Boone, but found nothing.
They failed to find my husband's overcoat.
Overcoat?
The one item of clothing that was not accounted for.
Until low tide.
It's heavy, sir.
Weighted down with something.
There were 421 pennies,
270 halfpennies, stuffed into every pocket of the overcoat.
Your conclusion, Watson.
Speak freely, Dr Watson. I have lived with every possibility, however hideous.
The murderer must have been Boone the beggar.
Who else could have access to such a vast number of pennies?
That was the conclusion reached by the police.
They've arrested Boone and he is in Bow Street Station.
Even though my husband is still alive.
(Exasperated sigh)
Now, Mrs St Clair, let us re-examine the significance of this letter.
- May I read it to Dr Watson? - By all means.
"Dearest,
"Do not be frightened.
"There is a huge error, which it may take some little time to rectify.
"Wait in patience. Neville."
Written in pencil on the flyleaf of a book, octavo size, no watermark.
Posted in Gravesend by a man with a dirty thumb. Not your husband's writing?
- No. - But the note is.
Without question. It is the hand he used when he was in a hurry.
Whoever gummed down the envelope had,
unless I am very much in error, been chewing tobacco.
This is a trifle, of course, Watson,
but there is nothing so important as trifles.
Mrs St Clair,
there was an enclosure.
His signet ring.
(Sniffs) Hmm.
Mrs St Clair, has your husband ever spoken of the Bar Of Gold?
- Never. - Dr Watson has a question to put to you.
Erm... This is a difficult question to ask, Mrs St Clair,
but has your husband ever shown any signs of taking opium?
He always appeared normal, though I confess I would not recognise the signs.
What are they?
Listlessness, a lack of energy, inability to concentrate, a general air of apathy.
Dr Watson is a specialist in uncontrolled addiction.
My husband was not an opium addict.
That's to say, is not an opium addict.
Mr Holmes, I know you think my husband is dead.
I realise that letter could have been written on Monday and posted today.
I know the circumstances as described
lead to the inescapable conclusion that he has been murdered.
But equally, I know that he is alive.
There is such a keen bond of sympathy between us,
I should know if evil came upon him.
Please help me to find him.
Watson, If St Clair is alive and well,
why doesn't he come home and demonstrate the fact?
- Because he is not alive and well. - But this letter?
Could have been written at any time. Under duress. It could be a forgery.
- And the signet ring? - Easily removed.
Especially if the victim is dead.
Indeed.
Proceeding on the hypothesis that Neville St Clair is dead,
how did he meet his death?
- He was murdered. - By whom?
The police think it was this chap Boone.
I see no reason to disagree with the police.
- Except... - Except what?
- He's a cripple? - Yes.
- How severe is his disability? - He has only a slight limp.
When there is a weakness in one limb,
it's very often compensated for by exceptional strength in the others.
You are not convinced?
This man is a professional beggar.
He is well-known in the City. He is well-liked in the City.
I have seen him many times.
He has a remarkable faculty for repartee, with which he delights his many clients.
He sounds harmless. Why did the police arrest him, rather than the lascar?
That is the very question I put to Inspector Bradstreet.
No, no, I'm innocent, I tell you. I'm innocent! No, no.
A murder has been committed.
By a process of elimination, Boone must be the murderer.
- Are these Neville St Clair's clothes? - Mmm.
Why did you eliminate the lascar as a suspect?
Mrs St Clair saw her husband upstairs, apparently in a struggle.
She went to a downstairs door and was confronted by the lascar.
While they were conversing, or to be precise,
while the lascar and his assistant were ejecting Mrs St Clair,
the fight was proceeding upstairs, leading to the death of Neville St Clair.
A 21 st birthday present. A man of meticulous habits, no scratches.
What was the motive in killing St Clair?
That remains to be established.
Not a trace of opium. Could it be robbery?
No, no. St Clair's wallet was in his pocket, the money untouched.
How do you explain the coins in the overcoat?
I cannot truly answer that, Mr Holmes.
Let me try.
Boone kills St Clair.
He removes the outer garments, hoping to capitalise on them and their contents.
He lifts the body, carries it across the room,
forces it through the open window, hence the abrasion,
blood on the windowsill.
- He releases it. - Where it is sucked away by the tide.
In the midst of this, he hears the scuffle as Mrs St Clair tries to force her way in.
- There is not a moment to be lost. - He must dispose of the clothing.
He starts with the overcoat.
He realises at once it will float and not sink, so what does he do?
He rushes to a secret horde where he has accumulated the fruits of beggary,
stuffs all the coins he can lay his hands on into the pockets of the overcoat...
And drops it into the water.
And would have done the same with the other garments if you had not arrived.
He conceals the other garments behind the curtain.
They would not have been noticed, had Mrs St Clair not been so persistent.
Inspector, whatever plot has been hatched in that opium den,
I cannot but imagine that the lascar is not somehow involved.
I was sorely tempted to arrest him on the day.
I'll send a couple of men up there now.
No. Erm... Inspector...
With your permission, may I suggest an alternative strategy?
By all means.
Let me visit the opium den, discreetly, incognito.
We shall learn what we may.
- What did you learn? - Nothing.
Nothing.
(Sighs)
Everybody, as far as I can ascertain, appears to be telling the truth.
I cannot see...
an overall pattern.
Can you see a pattern, Watson?
No. I see no pattern.
But I do see a woman,
who, despite all objective circumstances, believes her husband is alive.
You have said on many occasions that the impression of a woman
may be more valuable than the conclusion of an analytical reason.
Yes.
But if he is still alive,
where is he?
I have no idea, but I do have an urgent request.
It's now past four in the morning. May I sleep?
- Certainly. - Thank you.
Aah!
(Creaking)
Watson.
Watson!
- What time is it? - Dawn.
Ugh. I've only had two hours' sleep!
I wonder if you'd do me the kindness of considering waking up?
- I assume you have a good reason? - Are you game for a drive?
Certainly. But does it have to be this early?
I have a theory I wish to test.
- Is anyone's life at stake? - Certainly not!
Would it be possible to test your theory later?
- I'll see you downstairs in five minutes. - Five minutes.
Come on, Nelson!
You have the grand gift of silence, Watson.
It makes you quite invaluable as a companion.
You are in the presence of one of the most absolute fools in Europe!
- You exaggerate. - I deserve to be kicked!
- At the moment you woke me up... - I have the key, Watson! Here!
In this Gladstone bag!
Good morning.
Watson, I confess I've been as blind as a mole.
But it is better to learn wisdom late than never to learn it at all. Bradstreet!
Bradstreet, I have called about that beggar man, Boone.
- He's in the cells. What can I do for you? - I should like to see him.
- He will be asleep. - Most of the population is asleep.
Very well, Mr Holmes, if you will come this way.
- You can leave your bag. - I'll take it with me.
It contains the key.
He's a dirty scoundrel.
Filthy, refuses to wash.
Says washing weakens a man's resistance.
Asleep.
He's a beauty, isn't he?
Inspector, do me the goodness of opening the door as quietly as possible.
(Anxious grunting)
(Terrified grunting)
Gentlemen, let me introduce Mr Neville St Clair of Leigh, in the county of Kent.
Great heaven!
It is true. And pray, what am I being charged with?
With making away with Mr Neville St Clair.
Making away with myself?
Well, I've been in the force for 27 years. This takes the cake!
But since it is obvious that no crime has been committed,
I am illegally detained.
"My strength is as the strength of ten, because my heart is pure."
Alfred Lord Tennyson.
(Holmes) You lied to your wife, Mr St Clair.
Is that purity?
Let it be understood that I would have endured imprisonment,
even execution,
rather than reveal my miserable secret to my wife and children.
All is now revealed, Mr St Clair.
So be it.
My father was a schoolmaster in Chesterfield.
I received an excellent education.
I travelled, took to the stage,
and finally became a reporter on a London newspaper.
One day, my editor wished to have a series
upon begging in the metropolis, and I volunteered to supply them.
- So you became a beggar? - Yes.
And your experience as an actor must have proved invaluable.
Yes.
Exactly.
Yes, I painted my face to make myself look as pitiable as possible.
I manufactured frightening scars.
I twisted my lip with the aid of a piece of flesh-coloured plaster
and then, with a dark wig and appropriate clothing,
took my position in the busiest part of the metropolis,
ostensibly as a match seller, but, yes,
really, as a beggar.
- And you did well? - Yes.
In one day, I took twenty-six shillings and four pence.
I wrote my articles, my editor was delighted and I thought no more about it.
Until one day, I backed a bill for a friend of mine,
and had a writ served on me for twenty-five pounds.
Well, I was at my wits' end. I mean, what could I do?
And then, suddenly, an idea came to me.
I asked for a fortnight's holiday from my employers,
and spent the time in the City, begging.
In ten days, I had the money and was able to pay back the debt.
That was when I fell into the trap.
How much were you earning from the newspaper?
- Two pounds a week. - Far less than begging.
During the last few years, I have earned at least seven hundred pounds a year.
- But that's a gentleman's income! - Calm there, Bradstreet.
It is pertinent to say that Mr St Clair is no ordinary beggar.
People do not expect a beggar to quote extensively from Shakespeare,
Mr Dickens, the Bible or the latest popular songs.
An aristocrat among beggars.
It is not for me to claim such a distinction,
but, as the Inspector rightly observes,
I had a gentleman's income, so I proceeded to live like a gentleman.
I bought a villa in Kent. I married a beautiful and respectable woman.
And every morning, I travelled to my business in the City.
You must have been embroiled with the lascar by this time?
Yes. I paid him a generous rent for the use of his upstairs rooms.
My secret was safe with him.
I fell among thieves but found honour, of a sort.
You see, every morning, I would emerge as a squalid beggar,
and every evening transform into a gentleman.
Tell us about Monday.
'I had finished for the day,
'and was dressing in my room above the opium den,
'when suddenly I looked out of the window.
'To my horror and astonishment, there was my wife in the street,
'her eyes fixed full upon me.'
Neville!
(Screams)
'I ran along to try and find the lascar.'
- You must not let her in. - I will say there is nobody upstairs.
- She may return with the police. - I will tell them there is nobody.
- Mr Boone will be upstairs. - Ah! Mr Boone is a lodger.
- He has a right to be upstairs. - (Knocking)
Neville!
'I then became Boone the beggar once more.
'And then it occurred to me that there might be a search of the room,
'and that my clothes might betray me.
'So I picked up my coat, weighed down by the coins I had just transferred
'from my leather bag in which I carry my takings.'
The rest of my clothes would have followed,
but at that moment, the police arrived.
The rest, you know.
We found blood on the windowsill.
In my haste to open the window, I cut myself.
A minor abrasion.
But, "If you prick me..."
And thus I was arrested, on suspicion of having murdered myself.
(Holmes) And thus you caused your wife much anguish.
- I wrote her a letter! - And gave it to the lascar to post?
It was not delivered. It arrived yesterday.
He probably gave it to one of his sailor customers.
I shall never forgive myself the agony I have inflicted upon my wife.
- Can I go to her now? - I think we must impose one condition.
- Anything. - There must be no more of Hugh Boone.
I swear it, by the most solemn oath that a man can take.
(Hissing)
Farewell, sweet Boone.
"A flight of angels sing thee to thy rest."
William Shakespeare.