tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65552408650214610202024-03-04T20:19:06.333-08:00221bThe home of Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson. Visitors are invited to enjoy our growing collection of articles, reviews and the like regarding the World's first Consulting Detective. Volcano Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14372941500458681755noreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555240865021461020.post-7074077634473650442018-11-04T08:21:00.001-08:002018-11-04T08:21:35.613-08:00The Absentee Detective - the New Sherlock Holmes anthology<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So,
the new Sherlock Holmes anthology ‘The Absentee Detective’ is, as
you might just have heard, my new (And second) book. Due for release
November 22<sup>nd</sup> 2018, it’s available NOW for Pre-Order on
Amazon and we’re currently in negotiations for an Audio-Book
release. But how to give you, the stunningly good-looking, stylish
and discerning readers of my blog a sneaky peaky as it were?. Why, by
giving a short synopsis of each of the four stories!.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In
The Detective Who Wasn’t, a young boy in World War II Cornwall
enlists the aid of ‘Sherlock Holmes’ and ‘Watson’ when his
devoted Collie turns vicious – the only problem being the two are
actually actors <i>playing </i><span style="font-style: normal;">the
parts of the famous Consulting Detective and his trusty Aide…
despite this, the two try to help young Toby Fairweather, but they
stumble upon a sinister plot involving suspected Nazi spies and a
secret that could change the shape of the War itself.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">The
second tale, The Detective Who Wasn’t There features Dr. John
Watson in a mystery that arises when a prominent Statesman is found
murdered in his stately home. But was the Earl of Aldrington the
innocent victim he appears to be? Can Watson – by himself, unravel
a plot against the British Empire? And just </span><i>where </i><span style="font-style: normal;">is
Sherlock Holmes when Britain needs him the most?</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Next,
a departure in more ways than one… The Unlikely Detective is just
that; the unlikeliest Detective you could imagine. Me. Set in England
in the early Nineties, this is the story of how I stumbled upon none
other than the secret journal of Mycroft Holmes, Holmes’ older and
apparently smarter brother. Of all the places to begin a hunt for
clues, a car boot sale has to be the most unusual – and the case
took on a life of its own, leading yours truly into a maze of
Government cover-ups and one of the Cold War’s last – and oddest,
secrets.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Finally,
we travel to the Hollywood of 1941; the Golden Era of the movies.
Everyone will be familiar with the Sherlock Holmes films of Basil
Rathbone, but how much do we know about the man himself? His private
life and loves? I take you behind the scenes as the man himself
records </span><i>The New Adventures of Sherlock Holmes</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
for NBC Radio, as he and his friend and colleague Nigel Bruce are
caught up in a plot to destroy America. Controversially, the story
includes elements of fact as well as fiction… it is up to the
reader to decide what they believe – and whom. </span></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">The
Absentee Detective is priced at £10.99, $16.95 and </span><span style="font-style: normal;">€</span><span style="font-style: normal;">12.99.
ISBN 978-1-78705-340-3</span></span></span></div>
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Volcano Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14372941500458681755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555240865021461020.post-83706741901896399782018-10-11T08:55:00.003-07:002018-10-11T08:59:40.187-07:00Exclusive!; Author Interview with Mark Sohn<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #21409a;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #21409a;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>The
latest addition to the plenitudinous array of Sherlock Holmes novels
is out on Amazon this very week; <i>The Absentee Detective</i> is
Mark Sohn’s second Holmesian work, following on from <i>Sherlock
Holmes and the Whitechapel Murders</i><span style="font-style: normal;">,
an Amazon best-seller. We’ve managed to secure an exclusive
interview with the Author – which, to be honest, wasn’t that much
of a scoop seeing as I </span><i>am </i><span style="font-style: normal;">Mark
Sohn… still, work with what you’ve got, as the Magistrate said to
the flasher… </span></b></span></span>
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<span style="color: #21409a;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-style: normal;">Ahem.
So, I decided to ask – erm, myself some searching questions…</span></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #5c2d91;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="background: transparent;"><span style="font-style: normal;">So,
why ‘The Absentee Detective?’</span></span></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #21409a;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>Well,
the book’s an anthology; four stories set in and around the World
of Sherlock Holmes. Holmes himself makes an appearance, but only in
one of these tales – and you won’t be sure which one until the
very end.</b></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #5c2d91;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Why
not just do four Sherlock Holmes stories?; isn’t that the point?</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #21409a;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>You
can get that in a thousand other books; I wanted to go beyond that,
to explore what Sherlock Holmes really </b></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><b>means
– </b></span><b><i>and to do that I had to explore other angles; in one
story, for instance, the actor Basil Rathbone finds himself facing
danger – not as his famous alter-ego so familiar to millions on the
silver screen, but as a flesh and blood man facing a terrible
dilemma. If you just want some run of the mill detective fiction,
this book won’t be for you, but if you want to go deep into the
experience of </i><span style="font-style: normal;">being </span><i>Holmes,
I think I’ve found a way for you to do that while still giving the
readers plenty of good old-fashioned thrills, mystery and suspense. </i></b></span></span>
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<span style="color: #5c2d91;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>So
the stories place the reader, as it were, in the position of Sherlock
Holmes?</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #21409a;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>To
an extent, yes. I’ve used other characters – even myself in one
instance, as a kind of metaphorical Holmes; actors that play him
feature in two of the stories, while in one Doctor Watson has to work
to solve the mystery. How </b></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><b>does
</b></span><b><i>a ‘normal’ person attempt to solve the sort of crimes
only Sherlock Holmes can tackle – how do you go through those
legendary thought processes without such a first-rate mind? That’s
what you get as you go through the stories.</i></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #5c2d91;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>The
theme of airships – I’ve noticed that you keep returning to that…
any reason?</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #21409a;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>Well,
since I asked, erm, me – yes; I’ve always been fascinated with
dirigibles – airships, blimps, call them what you will – I’d
like to see them used more in everyday transportation, for a whole
range of practical and environmental reasons… but really, they are
just so cool I couldn’t resist ‘popping one in’ one of the
tales. As I’m interviewing myself, can’t you ask how I manage to
look so sexy or something?</b></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #5c2d91;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>No.
No I can’t; the cover of <i>Absentee Detective</i> is fairly
striking. Can you expand on that?. </b></span></span>
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<span style="color: #21409a;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>Happy
to; a very talented chap named Brian Belanger does the covers for my
books, as well as quite a few other writers’ - I spoke to him at
length and mentioned I was a huge fan of Saul Bass, the legendary
artist who did such striking work on posters such as Hitchcock’s
</b></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><b>Vertigo</b></span><b><i>. His
angular silhouettes struck a chord and Brian came up with a terrific
concept where a stylised Holmes stands in silhouette in an open
doorway; it really stands out and I think is, if anything, even
better than his work on the first book. </i></b></span></span>
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<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #5c2d91;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Finally;
what’s it like interviewing yourself?</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #21409a;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>Frankly,
bizarre; where’s my fee?</b></i></span></span></div>
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<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #5c2d91;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Already
spent; Mark Sohn, thank you very much…</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span style="color: #2bfe00;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>The
Absentee Detective </b></span></span></i><span style="color: #2bfe00;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><b>is
available now from:
</b></span></span></span><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Absentee-Detective-Conspiracy-Connivance-Intrigue/dp/1787053407/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1539219472&sr=1-1&refinements=p_27%3AMark+Sohn"><span style="font-style: normal;">https://www.amazon.co.uk/Absentee-Detective-Conspiracy-Connivance-Intrigue/dp/1787053407/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1539219472&sr=1-1&refinements=p_27%3AMark+Sohn</span></a></span></div>
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Volcano Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14372941500458681755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555240865021461020.post-65625055602491884762017-12-01T16:31:00.000-08:002017-12-01T16:31:00.085-08:00From the Ministry of Shameless Self-Promotion... <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit8XUXfqTqdoupzL0-u0WKSDpaHQEjFtcadiwWzeRrAuAAJGpeqDv2U-Pg1O9U38ORrS6dGPIkreyHg-VZRnu_l4EZMMBu7Zo_WD0eWVGDAMhRK5d7om6pryWxHYHSOdubx7Q4_JCsHsg/s1600/CHRISTMAS+2017+WIP.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1278" data-original-width="1600" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit8XUXfqTqdoupzL0-u0WKSDpaHQEjFtcadiwWzeRrAuAAJGpeqDv2U-Pg1O9U38ORrS6dGPIkreyHg-VZRnu_l4EZMMBu7Zo_WD0eWVGDAMhRK5d7om6pryWxHYHSOdubx7Q4_JCsHsg/s320/CHRISTMAS+2017+WIP.PNG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Here's a link to the Author's page... handsome chap, isn't he?... (Whistling innocently)<br />
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https://www.amazon.co.uk/Mark-Sohn/e/B06XB6ZMHF</div>
Volcano Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14372941500458681755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555240865021461020.post-41510130317892525072017-12-01T16:27:00.001-08:002017-12-01T16:27:18.846-08:00The Sherlock Holmes Christmas list 2017<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0rFLCFNpnA_Qz_nCX3dmjdFI1Qlb7EQOvF9XsFrut43Eb_g0I1WnD0V8iMgAZkS61HIo-5U-UQSTVJzY1145VuVRNG7UjrfOorrMFj1HT-i1UK2-h14u0Rl7ubeTFN1j0iJQvzJqHUho/s1600/tumblr_p088erGSly1r38d7do1_1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="905" data-original-width="1280" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0rFLCFNpnA_Qz_nCX3dmjdFI1Qlb7EQOvF9XsFrut43Eb_g0I1WnD0V8iMgAZkS61HIo-5U-UQSTVJzY1145VuVRNG7UjrfOorrMFj1HT-i1UK2-h14u0Rl7ubeTFN1j0iJQvzJqHUho/s320/tumblr_p088erGSly1r38d7do1_1280.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Yes, it's almost here, <i>that </i>time of year again. A time of celebration and caring, of giving and pretending you wanted those hand-knitted gloves from Dotty old Aunty Ethel... bah! humbug! I say; I shall be drawing up the drawbridge, liberally spiking the drive with broken glass and retreating to the study with an impressive quantity of Port and Cigars, with some Brandy just in case of medical emergency. But what's this?; there's nothing on the telly and the radio's bust?. Relax - merely reach for one of the books you bought beforehand, you clever, clever thing... <br /><br />
http://aguidetodeduction.tumblr.com/post/168041062177/the-mxpublishing-christmas-list-if-youre-looking</div>
Volcano Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14372941500458681755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555240865021461020.post-61464663100432283542017-05-06T02:34:00.000-07:002017-05-06T02:34:14.799-07:00Now in print!; Sherlock Holmes' Practical Handbook of Bee Culture<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSH5qIhRehuWEytZQRUkzFePvzgCA6uO6RqKVToi3KLKyy-cd3D2g6P0p1OEmxBDQcHV3BVVAZBQp84FDUuCgifRcHQrTZWswQV4JRW_ehD2sFsMid7heVzzd_s2oFJ5VUfqe7R_-9kE8/s1600/51qf9qCGjiL._SX346_BO1%252C204%252C203%252C200_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSH5qIhRehuWEytZQRUkzFePvzgCA6uO6RqKVToi3KLKyy-cd3D2g6P0p1OEmxBDQcHV3BVVAZBQp84FDUuCgifRcHQrTZWswQV4JRW_ehD2sFsMid7heVzzd_s2oFJ5VUfqe7R_-9kE8/s320/51qf9qCGjiL._SX346_BO1%252C204%252C203%252C200_.jpg" width="223" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On
a drive in East Sussex, Paul Ashton and his Wife decided to stop at a
car boot sale. What he found there has both shocked and delighted the
literary World. For just £2, Mr. Ashton purchased an old copy of
<i>Practical Handbook of Bee Culture-</i><span style="font-style: normal;">the
Author?, none other than Sherlock Holmes!. It was thought no copies
of the </span><i>Handbook </i><span style="font-style: normal;">had
survived, yet here over 267 pages is the diary kept by the great man,
covering events from his 1903 move to a farm near Beachy Head, in
East Sussex.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At
this time, Holmes was engaged to his former landlady Mrs. Hudson and
fulfills his promise of a retirement keeping bees. The book itself
contains exhaustive advice for the would-bee keeper (!) as well as
original and unique accounts of some of Holmes' final cases.
Adjusting remarkably to domestic life, Holmes takes to rustic life
with the passion of the city-dweller. Among the former Detective's
acquisitions is a box brownie which he uses to great effect capturing
images both charming and dramatic. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqEqF5bQL0RFgFbmyPSWuvQeVcst6olSurPSCbrm_X9KMthbEptXHrURRrH0l7bbVWNiHUFdmjK6fEviD8WVgCRNBFYoHdSEXuP64SYBGwP1Wv4prQcrmdbwEggfe_GD5CaEhiC4Y9djs/s1600/010_FotoSketcher.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqEqF5bQL0RFgFbmyPSWuvQeVcst6olSurPSCbrm_X9KMthbEptXHrURRrH0l7bbVWNiHUFdmjK6fEviD8WVgCRNBFYoHdSEXuP64SYBGwP1Wv4prQcrmdbwEggfe_GD5CaEhiC4Y9djs/s320/010_FotoSketcher.jpg" width="255" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Just for fun-Holmes showing Watson his Hives (IMAGE NOT IN THE BOOK!) </span></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Holmes'
work also includes a litany of current events – as well as their
intrinsic value, these serve to give the book a framework and place
the events securely in their time, as they happened. In the approved
style of Forrest Gump and </span><i>The Hundred Year Old Man (who
climbed out of the window and disappeared</i><span style="font-style: normal;">)
Holmes moves through this period meeting or renewing acquaintance
with such luminous creatures as Lenin and Debussy, to name, but two.
Old habits die hard though and from time to time Holmes engages his
legendary mind on those problems to which is is best suited-an
enquiry for a concerned American family here-a poltergeist case
there, these include two cases that set Holmes' past crashing into
his present.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
rural idyll continues, with Holmes the bee-keeper fully immersed in
village life. A visitor!-none, but Watson and the two old friends
discuss the atrocious events known as the Whitechapel Murders. Other
cases follow- bigamy and blackmail mix with the ever-present trials
and tribulations of apiculture. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">The
book blends Holmes' (fictional) cases with actual criminal scandals
of the day in a seamless fashion and as well as solving a Regal
jewellery theft with his old comrade-in-arms, Holmes finds the time
to champion the cause of Suffrage, foil Latvian Anarchists and
attempt to recover a stolen Da Vinci. Ill-health then causes Holmes
to break off his writing-or so we are told. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">The
book itself concludes with an intriguing yet informative end-note
from Mr.Ashton. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">For the first
time, A</span><span style="font-style: normal;">shton reveals that
Sherlock Holmes became a Secret Agent, including a stint working on
vital matters to foil the Germans at the outset of the Great War. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">So,
does </span><i>Practical Handbook of Bee Culture</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
warrant a place on your shelf?. Most assuredly!; it is a gem, a weave
of fact and fiction that sets Holmes' later years down for posterity
in a unique and rather charming way. As a Sussex resident myself, I
was delighted with the Author's knowledge of the area and the whole
thing is such an unexpected pleasure I have no hesitation in
recommending this fine book to you all.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Practical-Handbook-Culture-Sherlock-Holmes/dp/1787051234"><span style="font-style: normal;">https://www.amazon.com/Practical-Handbook-Culture-Sherlock-Holmes/dp/1787051234</span></a></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
</div>
Volcano Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14372941500458681755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555240865021461020.post-84108177178211550832017-04-17T09:59:00.000-07:002017-04-17T09:59:05.282-07:00THE TRIALS OF SHERLOCK HOLMES - EXCLUSIVE AUTHOR INTERVIEW<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFWsJTXBHhHZ0MXtPvsu_ixa0MKBARcad22SX9O0FztunP3S5hH5TO2IQHlydoLj9pBurR7Erqr-ReIRxMaMEyiWDFGRnQD9LbRmOtkzDKRwTw-D0oRhbKe6ZvGBUge8vo9xAIh7rQBD4/s1600/266b3c98-e64d-41cd-b4c5-714e23f5eb14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFWsJTXBHhHZ0MXtPvsu_ixa0MKBARcad22SX9O0FztunP3S5hH5TO2IQHlydoLj9pBurR7Erqr-ReIRxMaMEyiWDFGRnQD9LbRmOtkzDKRwTw-D0oRhbKe6ZvGBUge8vo9xAIh7rQBD4/s320/266b3c98-e64d-41cd-b4c5-714e23f5eb14.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Here
at 221b our interest was captured by a new and most promising author;
aficionados may have visited James Moffett's excellent blog where all
things Holmes are covered in a refreshing and concise manner. We have
been lucky enough to be granted an interview with the man of the hour
himself, but first let us share this remarkable site with you;
<a href="https://apalaceforthemind.wordpress.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #009933;">https://apalaceforthemind.wordpress.com/</span></a></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Now
you will be delighted to hear, James has written his first novel, <i>The
Trials of Sherlock Holmes</i><span style="font-style: normal;">, a
collection of short stories which can be approached individually or
as separate tales</span><i>. </i><span style="font-style: normal;">Here
is the Publisher's blurb;</span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>It
is a cold London morning in 1887, and the discovery of a dead man in
an abandoned house plunges Sherlock Holmes and Dr John Watson into a
series of eight trying cases that will test the friendship of the two
companions and threaten the safety of the country itself. From a
staged murder to an impossible suicide, the theft of a national
document to the disappearance of an entire family, London's foremost
consulting detective and his faithful companion must seek out the
clues and venture into the very heart of each mystery. All the while
a sinister force, lurking amid the busy streets of London, stalks
their every case, testing their own mental and physical prowess;
ultimately they require the assistance of their closest allies,
including Mycroft Holmes and the unsophisticated Inspectors Gregson
and Lestrade. Will Holmes and Watson be able to avert the approaching
threat that appears to be vengefully heading straight for them? </i></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Intrigued,
</span><span style="font-style: normal;">to say the least</span><span style="font-style: normal;">
we tracked down the author and here is the result of our conversings;</span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">James,
what inspired you to challenge Holmes with such a dazzling range of
cases?.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">The
idea of 'The Trials of Sherlock Holmes' initially started as a single
novel. It then occured to me to try and tackle the whole concept of a
collection of short stories from a different perspective. In essence,
the book can be experienced either as a single overarching case or
collection of separate stories. The way it is written allows for each
short story to serve as either a collection of adventure, or one of
eight chapters in a series of stories that are ultimately
interlinked. That provided for an interesting take on Holmes and his
quest to discover the truth.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #0000cc;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">What
got you writing in the first place?.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My
passion for writing was in fact something of a recent spark. At a
young age I was never much into reading or writing, but there was
always a sense of wanting to "create" something of my own.
Some six years ago I discovered how liberating and satisfying writing
can be and this has led to the creation of a blog and the idea that
started the journey to this book's completion.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #0000cc;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Which
writers inspire you?.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Besides
Arthur Conan Doyle and J.R.R. Tolkien as inspiring authors, I much
prefer going by genre or book rather than specific writers. Besides
the occasional thriller novel, I'm also keen on reading biographies
of historical figures, science-related arguments and fantasy
stories.</span></span><br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #0000cc;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Who
is your favourite Actor to play Holmes and why?.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Tricky
question! Without being too much of a cliche' I must admit that
Jeremy Brett's interpretation is spot on. At the same time, given the
modern-day alternative, Benedict Cumberbatch is as good as Brett.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #000099;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Controversial!...
have you any advice for aspiring writers?. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Keep
on writing! It's advice I have received and advice I relay to others.
Sometimes, having the drive to write something that you want others
to read is strong. Yet, there are circumstances when you're not
always going to feel good about what you're writing. The trick is to
keep at it until you're done. Nothing beats the satisfaction you get
once you've completed your own work - whether it is published or not.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #000099;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
agree there... what are you working on next?. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I
am currently hard at work on a long historical fantasy poem, whilst
fleshing out ideas for a Sherlock Holmes novel. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #000099;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We
await these with interest. Thank You for talking to us.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja40zQ094nfonChDSjXQ-ITuAxo-LKVZvvoldbERmDAA8i_gr6enPCI1bUyACsZZinEf-Y8OhwN2Iol25E2tdPJbJ5REJC0ixxAZlJiKF2JwoEFRj2SvPmb8-LUcMBkXUy21o-W8DmHsI/s1600/JAMES+MOFFETT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja40zQ094nfonChDSjXQ-ITuAxo-LKVZvvoldbERmDAA8i_gr6enPCI1bUyACsZZinEf-Y8OhwN2Iol25E2tdPJbJ5REJC0ixxAZlJiKF2JwoEFRj2SvPmb8-LUcMBkXUy21o-W8DmHsI/s320/JAMES+MOFFETT.jpg" width="272" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;">James Moffett (Photo Copyright: Author)</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">James
Moffett is a Masters graduate in Professional Writing, with a
specialisation in novel and non-fiction writing. He began developing
a passion for writing when contributing to his University's student
magazine. His interest in the literary character of Sherlock Holmes
was deep-rooted in his youth and has recently launched a blog on
Arthur Conan Doyle's titular character; </span></span><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">the
aforementioned </span></span><a href="https://apalaceforthemind.wordpress.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #007826;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">https://apalaceforthemind.wordpress.com/</span></span></span></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">James'
book <i>The Trials of Sherlock Holmes </i><span style="font-style: normal;">(</span><span style="font-style: normal;">ISBN:
</span><span style="font-style: normal;"><b>9781787051355</b></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><b>)
</b></span><span style="font-style: normal;">weighs in at 220 pages
and is reasonably priced at £9.99. It </span>is published on the
13<sup>th</sup> of June, but you can guarantee a copy for yourselves
by Pre-Ordering here-</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Trials-Sherlock-Holmes-James-Moffett/dp/1787051358?_encoding=UTF8&psc=1"><span style="color: #007826;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">https://www.amazon.co.uk/Trials-Sherlock-Holmes-James-Moffett/dp/1787051358?_encoding=UTF8&psc=1</span></span></span></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black;">-</span><span style="color: black;">or
direct from the publisher;</span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="http://www.mxpublishing.co.uk/product/9781787051355/The+Trials+of+Sherlock+Holmes"><span style="color: #007826;">http://www.mxpublishing.co.uk/product/9781787051355/The+Trials+of+Sherlock+Holmes</span></a></span></span></div>
</div>
Volcano Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14372941500458681755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555240865021461020.post-69633745234632206342017-04-10T05:22:00.001-07:002017-04-10T05:22:08.069-07:00Dan Andriacco's Baker Street Beat: A Ripping Good Ripper Tale<a href="http://bakerstreetbeat.blogspot.com/2017/04/a-ripping-good-ripper-tale.html?spref=bl">Dan Andriacco's Baker Street Beat: A Ripping Good Ripper Tale</a>: Perhaps the most overworked of all pastiche storylines is that of Sherlock Holmes vs. Jack the Ripper. But as well-worn as the trope is...Volcano Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14372941500458681755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555240865021461020.post-57654031275843458902017-04-03T13:05:00.003-07:002017-04-03T13:05:43.387-07:00Sherlock - A Study in Pink; imagining the present through echoes of the past.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoy5Mb6rAPee1smWMviGOREfW7znkywNjbWWOnOyN74BrbZCNwOF3_kY9d10jGFFlPNP1Es97wOerVipslV6BTv7TtGPDACVJz6Vc5vvWgPBAskYoVlqi2okQ1uMzxImO1DEX-96-XCco/s1600/TITLE.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoy5Mb6rAPee1smWMviGOREfW7znkywNjbWWOnOyN74BrbZCNwOF3_kY9d10jGFFlPNP1Es97wOerVipslV6BTv7TtGPDACVJz6Vc5vvWgPBAskYoVlqi2okQ1uMzxImO1DEX-96-XCco/s320/TITLE.PNG" width="214" /></a></span></span></div>
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<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Images.
Afghanistan. The British Army. Dreams... memories. John Watson bursts
from his nightmares to another night, wracked with guilt, haunted by
the past, mocked by the present. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8zTmmQz3y2iiV1qoWRbW5k6eJJNiUMX9ft98GIzaWcStOzkmiffRPBHZtxfXSw-pbFC7lorL1yLKyZFa1ZJx4V0a-FWBkcc7VbVzYZ93cdn-S7EKxNF8LNDZqJSMKESOBQjVhYCyfmPI/s1600/A+TRAUMA.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8zTmmQz3y2iiV1qoWRbW5k6eJJNiUMX9ft98GIzaWcStOzkmiffRPBHZtxfXSw-pbFC7lorL1yLKyZFa1ZJx4V0a-FWBkcc7VbVzYZ93cdn-S7EKxNF8LNDZqJSMKESOBQjVhYCyfmPI/s320/A+TRAUMA.gif" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIi_wP5cUlqU2tN1-X02WHt6oI_41iFsjxU3vUu5LBJ8eXj29K1Q3XaeZRPkFoIwdE85lYsVaDZJ6Eap6GsXsJNtwOszINOmEws9zsuh8NohUquh0iOiTl2CkabZx3AffkOG5wTvlTGaY/s1600/vlcsnap-00004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIi_wP5cUlqU2tN1-X02WHt6oI_41iFsjxU3vUu5LBJ8eXj29K1Q3XaeZRPkFoIwdE85lYsVaDZJ6Eap6GsXsJNtwOszINOmEws9zsuh8NohUquh0iOiTl2CkabZx3AffkOG5wTvlTGaY/s320/vlcsnap-00004.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyVXKu8egFOwtn8QUx14zwZ31cbTB4r73WRoGlF0KXLDebTiXURxxHVFmP8WSv5jTRRpkyFJLAKnvBpFe5dNRqb0dQLL8weu5sfZn3NL5ldA0UIsBhGyurisCB7mICz_ItN9qRB7NVRvk/s1600/vlcsnap-00005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyVXKu8egFOwtn8QUx14zwZ31cbTB4r73WRoGlF0KXLDebTiXURxxHVFmP8WSv5jTRRpkyFJLAKnvBpFe5dNRqb0dQLL8weu5sfZn3NL5ldA0UIsBhGyurisCB7mICz_ItN9qRB7NVRvk/s320/vlcsnap-00005.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Martin Freeman plays John Watson, Doctor and ex-Soldier.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sitting on his singly bed in his
dingy flat, he's utterly lost. The stick he walks with leans on the
table. Breakfast is an apple. Coffee in a Medical Corps mug. Sliding
his drawer open reveals a pistol*, </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheZvdbKH1SU4ocP8OHFMZoXyzwgR_a_EgeBu_5wAPRTIHrYBTipc9LiuewulA69DOLBsgJL55WaUuQUOBjbJuhh46c7g5A2N1dgidRndh8h2qk20fiJYuzCpkGl1xNm04fpKPxcqKrHq8/s1600/vlcsnap-00007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheZvdbKH1SU4ocP8OHFMZoXyzwgR_a_EgeBu_5wAPRTIHrYBTipc9LiuewulA69DOLBsgJL55WaUuQUOBjbJuhh46c7g5A2N1dgidRndh8h2qk20fiJYuzCpkGl1xNm04fpKPxcqKrHq8/s320/vlcsnap-00007.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">but he takes his laptop out
instead. He's got a blog, at the advice of his therapist. It isn't
working, hasn't written a word.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">*A
Sig Sauer P226 for the obsessed among you. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKccg5XVWreC_-bBazk1EOuhzdN3V3v6G4rJUH2nFQztQSvMmO20SlJRPuc_TSdfhYFTflCEdWybCDKHoVQzYszzTtUiOM9QdXHYgl1OxcV4hR-x3X9KIwkXHbEqUnpuIG-xLPMNi4O2Q/s1600/vlcsnap-00009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKccg5XVWreC_-bBazk1EOuhzdN3V3v6G4rJUH2nFQztQSvMmO20SlJRPuc_TSdfhYFTflCEdWybCDKHoVQzYszzTtUiOM9QdXHYgl1OxcV4hR-x3X9KIwkXHbEqUnpuIG-xLPMNi4O2Q/s320/vlcsnap-00009.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Therapy
isn't helping much, either, come to mention it. In the chair, he
notes she's written down 'still has trust issues.' She notes he's
read that upside down. Fair point. It'll take him a while to adjust
to civilian life, she says. And writing a blog about everything that
happens to him will honestly help. Swallowing hard, he tells her
'Nothing happens to me.' Cue the music.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW_YTzmYg_m4IHjcYheip-XG7__7lMRGv6qmyCuM1PBarnIriKaeEnSxMMVYv1aihtJwKIzAtabHfGmJfIS3jhr0QMr6esczDD7LD961YgyoaYFA4AL5hha5VMxM8OuGorroNA17pDyZU/s1600/C+TITLES+TWO.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW_YTzmYg_m4IHjcYheip-XG7__7lMRGv6qmyCuM1PBarnIriKaeEnSxMMVYv1aihtJwKIzAtabHfGmJfIS3jhr0QMr6esczDD7LD961YgyoaYFA4AL5hha5VMxM8OuGorroNA17pDyZU/s320/C+TITLES+TWO.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Titles;
London, crowded, teeming London. Piccadilly Circus then Westminster.
That tilt-focus thing that was fashionable so many years back, you
know, the gimmick that makes everything look like that model village
your parents dragged you to. Distressed titles over glimpses of
magnifying lens, gun, chemical experiment. Expansive, dramatic music
to match. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjokarkKRKrdjD5i0cSEZIQOkdXJi3FHfSdVMb545_gqwibxP3g1vUJZkdxGID1C9dxP2xsOJpeDPeMZBn0FC134h6V2yqlqGPfU1ZtHAdymzkFSBlJE3XtcqO5QMvHyJojN_u-vWsqx-Y/s1600/D+TITLES+THREE.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjokarkKRKrdjD5i0cSEZIQOkdXJi3FHfSdVMb545_gqwibxP3g1vUJZkdxGID1C9dxP2xsOJpeDPeMZBn0FC134h6V2yqlqGPfU1ZtHAdymzkFSBlJE3XtcqO5QMvHyJojN_u-vWsqx-Y/s320/D+TITLES+THREE.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
London skyline; The Old Bailey to St.Paul's, the Gherkhin loitering
in the background as if ashamed to be seen in such illustrious
company. October 12<sup>th</sup>, we are told. A man in a business
suit phones his PA from the station asking where the car is; they
flirt, she professes her love, suggests he gets a cab. Sir. Jeffrey
Patterson does <i>not </i><span style="font-style: normal;">take
cabs!. Happy at the thought of impending carnality, he goes to find
one.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sir.
Jeffrey is in a deserted building. No longer happy, he opens a glass
container and removes a large pill. Eyes wide with fear, he puts it
between his teeth. Writhing in his death agonies, he dies, quite
alone. </span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh20-d-Ru7lia_X0v_HeypQZirK-N1bxbunzO7aMjwV_BzqmVXDTP3bGGEcAywJUiO9gqCWjFp-w27FmSyZmAUCLEJEAh6nNRgwCmWKhjBm84UG6V5Qi3TinOdvmFop39W4C74Jyq82Kqg/s1600/E+THE+BAD+PILL.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh20-d-Ru7lia_X0v_HeypQZirK-N1bxbunzO7aMjwV_BzqmVXDTP3bGGEcAywJUiO9gqCWjFp-w27FmSyZmAUCLEJEAh6nNRgwCmWKhjBm84UG6V5Qi3TinOdvmFop39W4C74Jyq82Kqg/s320/E+THE+BAD+PILL.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfMJj4pUvTA7hyphenhyphenX6dnOMtbozF4gc_a4D-FnK5McnM6uvjxWLeaAEfkj9LBUJHA1zIlA0qnAuP70wZgMQBPY34XWF0OqjCSuZmyPP029MPl4pFVnAEoDMHLgZ6sG_YM34yPcuqq-0jHZa0/s1600/vlcsnap-00001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfMJj4pUvTA7hyphenhyphenX6dnOMtbozF4gc_a4D-FnK5McnM6uvjxWLeaAEfkj9LBUJHA1zIlA0qnAuP70wZgMQBPY34XWF0OqjCSuZmyPP029MPl4pFVnAEoDMHLgZ6sG_YM34yPcuqq-0jHZa0/s320/vlcsnap-00001.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH6HN72Gl-Y_IlOBwNqLjMzV3GIID3H0Q3KcuPNNGkZQt73TYDiEjbiVGnws-4evBtOXtHtlnM1Vry46yCILq92rssDla5zMCb1rtA6Ht7Can054wTwvyrK_3Sl94k9kF43dELuUq8xUQ/s1600/vlcsnap-00011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH6HN72Gl-Y_IlOBwNqLjMzV3GIID3H0Q3KcuPNNGkZQt73TYDiEjbiVGnws-4evBtOXtHtlnM1Vry46yCILq92rssDla5zMCb1rtA6Ht7Can054wTwvyrK_3Sl94k9kF43dELuUq8xUQ/s320/vlcsnap-00011.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">At
the press conference, his Widow tells the media he was a happy man,
who lived life to full (didn't he just...) and loved his family
(among others). For him to have taken his life in this way is both
mystery and shock. Helen, the PA watches distraught from the
sidelines. </span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGF4F2h1VRTir-D9GQVu1aPPMCi2ZpKhs1w6IRlaupjx_-Xg-pun671UJ6FjYJs46Gd6Li_b9za1b7bb46wuWibbyJVyRc0QnkA7et6NF6dOgLZr00K_FzKo7SrLLseIFihtScYBW4y5g/s1600/vlcsnap-00002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGF4F2h1VRTir-D9GQVu1aPPMCi2ZpKhs1w6IRlaupjx_-Xg-pun671UJ6FjYJs46Gd6Li_b9za1b7bb46wuWibbyJVyRc0QnkA7et6NF6dOgLZr00K_FzKo7SrLLseIFihtScYBW4y5g/s320/vlcsnap-00002.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">November
26</span><sup><span style="font-style: normal;">th</span></sup><span style="font-style: normal;">.
Heavy rain. Two young men try and fail to hail a cab, Gary and Jimmy.
Jimmy runs back to get another brolly, not wanting to share. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Two
minutes, no more. After more, Gary turns back to see where his friend
is. Jimmy's in a bad place; a sports centre. </span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhck-igT00IaA6n3WdPAt7ez2SP0UX8WpXGSeWj3JjzCeAQy-30lNq66HLwXpwbC_Ar9gxBbMNvWGa69VafLyvjDeiFtGnvRMQKef5Yr2tJfoVvWJYacriAiLd_dysJjFx6ykjMFgsKU8I/s1600/vlcsnap-00004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhck-igT00IaA6n3WdPAt7ez2SP0UX8WpXGSeWj3JjzCeAQy-30lNq66HLwXpwbC_Ar9gxBbMNvWGa69VafLyvjDeiFtGnvRMQKef5Yr2tJfoVvWJYacriAiLd_dysJjFx6ykjMFgsKU8I/s320/vlcsnap-00004.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Holding a jar of
familiar-looking pills, he weighs it up, his face racked with pain
and doubt. The next day the paper's are full of his death, his
Uncle's disbelief at his suicide. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">January
27</span><sup><span style="font-style: normal;">th</span></sup><span style="font-style: normal;">.
Beth Davenport is at a 'do.' She's your local MP and Junior Minister
for Transport and it's her birthday. Her aides have taken the car
keys </span><span style="font-style: normal;">and she's dancing-or
attempting to. A great night. So great, the next time we see Beth
she's on a construction site sobbing pitifully and reaching for...
but you've guessed. How sharp you are... </span></span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sergeant
Sally Donovan does the talking this time, the assembled Press and
media snapping away, while, distracted, Detective Inspector Greg
Lestrade takes a text. </span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFiiHqJvmEh04_5OEOXJ8kLE78mAZ5kEKrXNIH3-dTxsCFMukLIQlSP1hUiwCeAedcOHwo2bdJLExF9RgWDFmWzLY3ojM1oqCHnsdyCcs6ay2cPxoHpNTDLn2Jfq4IQqcO5zigVo6GtaQ/s1600/vlcsnap-00008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFiiHqJvmEh04_5OEOXJ8kLE78mAZ5kEKrXNIH3-dTxsCFMukLIQlSP1hUiwCeAedcOHwo2bdJLExF9RgWDFmWzLY3ojM1oqCHnsdyCcs6ay2cPxoHpNTDLn2Jfq4IQqcO5zigVo6GtaQ/s320/vlcsnap-00008.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rupert Graves is Lestrade.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sgt Donovan confirms this suicide closely
resembles those of Sir. Jeffrey Patterson and young James Phillimore.
Now DI Lestrade fields the questions. <i>How can suicides be linked?.</i>
<i>You can't have serial suicides...</i> well, apparently you <i>can.
These three people-there's nothing that links them?. </i>They haven't
found a link yet, but they will. As if by magic, every mobile in the
room gets an identical, one word text; <i>Wrong!. </i> </span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAvfDewQzVJv5ncY8XEjd4mIotPftSqGL2za6P3IfpCqIiPCTMSYxrIhCDaS6QP_uj5TJJaN0M21p7gULN0o7Y9SRXky9wpF21pN0hniK9Hwf-o2o8NxzWde76Ffv8L3C2xfr7P-6OY4E/s1600/H+WRONG%2521.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAvfDewQzVJv5ncY8XEjd4mIotPftSqGL2za6P3IfpCqIiPCTMSYxrIhCDaS6QP_uj5TJJaN0M21p7gULN0o7Y9SRXky9wpF21pN0hniK9Hwf-o2o8NxzWde76Ffv8L3C2xfr7P-6OY4E/s320/H+WRONG%2521.gif" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Reading her own
'Wrong!', Sally Donovan tries to deflect asking everyone to ignore
this singular intrusion. There's more; <i>If these are suicides, why
are the Police investigating?. </i>Holding on to some fading notion
of credibility, Lestrade clenches his hands and insists the suicides
are clearly linked. It's an unusual situation and they've got their
best people investigating... everyone in the room checks their
mobiles as the word 'Wrong!' makes a re-appearance. Another question
from the pack;<i> If these are linked, is there a chance it's the
work of a serial killer?</i>. These are suicides, the Police know the
difference. Yes, but if they <i>are</i> connected, how do people keep
themselves safe?. 'Don't commit suicide.' is Lestrade's answer to
that, perhaps unwittingly committing career suicide with a phrase...</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7oiwQywXAxVS8K1v5npHIQiExM6XSBO1Jn4v6XSBazX9RkmiOg1k4ub6ENAQ_5owZBmt51n-aShDEsyJS3o1z1nPZJcRHTza6E74c-jhxVKsemZauSBZ50xrr85IKADlaq_NLJIL8A0E/s1600/vlcsnap-00010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7oiwQywXAxVS8K1v5npHIQiExM6XSBO1Jn4v6XSBazX9RkmiOg1k4ub6ENAQ_5owZBmt51n-aShDEsyJS3o1z1nPZJcRHTza6E74c-jhxVKsemZauSBZ50xrr85IKADlaq_NLJIL8A0E/s320/vlcsnap-00010.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">under her breath, Sally tosses him a line; the woman is from the
Daily Mail. Influential, if you are Middle England, white and think
cricket is a sport. Rolling his head in despair, he trots out the
standard Mail quote about 'frightening times' and 'taking
precautions.' We are all as safe as we wanna be. Wrong!. The next
text if for Lestrade's eyes only. You know where to find me. Signed
'SH'. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3DQK7vAff-GBT6JHd-Mc97wT4BVgXTBUACkJjtRoJNvVlJQ7O7kmhsP3eUa0B2-KLNRC_5in1N5fi9wTruSZvL-jLcO5VIMIHFKlrF95ZR9xClLMPvM9fFIn5ZplbX1QkMO4UH54unfw/s1600/vlcsnap-00012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3DQK7vAff-GBT6JHd-Mc97wT4BVgXTBUACkJjtRoJNvVlJQ7O7kmhsP3eUa0B2-KLNRC_5in1N5fi9wTruSZvL-jLcO5VIMIHFKlrF95ZR9xClLMPvM9fFIn5ZplbX1QkMO4UH54unfw/s320/vlcsnap-00012.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Going
through a busy CID floor at Scotland Yard, Sgt Donovan tells her Boss
he needs to stop 'him' doing 'that'. If Lestrade knew how he does it,
he could stop him. Also walking, awkwardly with a stick, is John
Watson, taking a stroll through Russell Square Gardens, when he's
hailed by an old acquaint, Mike Stamford was at Barts with Watson
back in the day. Mike heard John was abroad somewhere getting shot
at. What happened?. He got shot... oh. </span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIpUPqc0fjGbVR8kacD2UIcSCYqDzoc_PEFqz-aTLHilgSDXO9ksQKib3rdvp5x-AXDWGyC4jkhJFKWtG6cMZCfJiOnjPJdff-FXdRhlz_GXV5MfUSRZFQS1fklyIhLeYYJAOQRnIA4b0/s1600/vlcsnap-00013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIpUPqc0fjGbVR8kacD2UIcSCYqDzoc_PEFqz-aTLHilgSDXO9ksQKib3rdvp5x-AXDWGyC4jkhJFKWtG6cMZCfJiOnjPJdff-FXdRhlz_GXV5MfUSRZFQS1fklyIhLeYYJAOQRnIA4b0/s320/vlcsnap-00013.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Over a cup of Criterion
Coffee, they talk; Mike's teaching at Barts now, John... well, he
can't afford London on an Army pension. Couldn't Harry help?, not
happening. A flat share?. Who'd want him for a flatmate?. Stamford
laughs; he's the <i>second</i> person to ask him that today. And
who's the first?.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgokM5qN-N4XWjd44Ih1ClIDqDaT2OZedYK7q7aIoceZtyIgbmXI7IN9tfPERbQfKl8boMSomx7GP8OtZzsNA0l4atqlu2cOdHPbbTvGrbBLxmU7uC2imvOxwxa-ebOflnCowhDtkXTxNA/s1600/I+SHERLOCK.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgokM5qN-N4XWjd44Ih1ClIDqDaT2OZedYK7q7aIoceZtyIgbmXI7IN9tfPERbQfKl8boMSomx7GP8OtZzsNA0l4atqlu2cOdHPbbTvGrbBLxmU7uC2imvOxwxa-ebOflnCowhDtkXTxNA/s320/I+SHERLOCK.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
young man unzipping the body bag is tall, thin, young, hair unkempt.
Blue eyes and a mischievous expression that suggests either he
doesn't quite get what's going on or doesn't much care. How fresh?;
Just in responds Miss Hooper, the doyenne of the dissecting rooms.
67, natural causes. Used to work here (Barts) A nice guy. She watches
with what is quite obviously infatuation as Sherlock Holmes examines
the body. He decides to start with the riding crop.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwT4E6UmGCmet5J3Zo-iGb5w6E7hpDcK-XAikLOdqxql9mg34ZGYyRQr4Amd1yhPFjCEzFycoYSwM0Hw5jVvRJAWpo6C63Hk4WIHf8It6KTyW-7FcKqdTsMh7ySJ8PIFvj0Cua9RkUR50/s1600/vlcsnap-00014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwT4E6UmGCmet5J3Zo-iGb5w6E7hpDcK-XAikLOdqxql9mg34ZGYyRQr4Amd1yhPFjCEzFycoYSwM0Hw5jVvRJAWpo6C63Hk4WIHf8It6KTyW-7FcKqdTsMh7ySJ8PIFvj0Cua9RkUR50/s320/vlcsnap-00014.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";">Benedict Cumberbatch portrays Sherlock Holmes.</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggVfMWMhFBuV07a7DwZOH1Z0C6V_25izyhzmuEfrO3k9QTz3KrY-JGS5LrxLObWkBvkrIDm-HxUzUjJMech5_Y5DmaVU1e_8wrPbyKbBx1u6Vmmg8qIVhKm-XYRQOQUH_DKCC_uZ-H7ho/s1600/J+MR+WHIPPY.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggVfMWMhFBuV07a7DwZOH1Z0C6V_25izyhzmuEfrO3k9QTz3KrY-JGS5LrxLObWkBvkrIDm-HxUzUjJMech5_Y5DmaVU1e_8wrPbyKbBx1u6Vmmg8qIVhKm-XYRQOQUH_DKCC_uZ-H7ho/s320/J+MR+WHIPPY.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Miss
Hooper watches her idol as he energetically thrashes the life out
of... <i>well</i>, just thrashes the cadaver. </span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6U26VaKPB0UNxEU5hp1d7h17gJAvWGyIufDU-3aNhGOsOWbbrtpYNv8uUfZEMsjjaNoDgx3vmMzavrSdCZeVuVuKY8l7uTNe9AEhyphenhyphen4YWOXDl9PZf0Dd3Kq-MjdyjwgmI8SlpvLU14xP4/s1600/vlcsnap-00015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6U26VaKPB0UNxEU5hp1d7h17gJAvWGyIufDU-3aNhGOsOWbbrtpYNv8uUfZEMsjjaNoDgx3vmMzavrSdCZeVuVuKY8l7uTNe9AEhyphenhyphen4YWOXDl9PZf0Dd3Kq-MjdyjwgmI8SlpvLU14xP4/s320/vlcsnap-00015.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Louise Brealey is Miss Hooper. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Her attempt at a joke
reaches a deaf ear as Holmes states coldly he needs to know what
bruises form in the next twenty minutes; a man's alibi hangs on it.
She can text him. She asks maybe later, when he's finished...
Sherlock does a take. Something's changed. She wasn't wearing
lipstick before. She just... refreshed it a bit. Would he like to
have coffee?. He would; Black, two sugars please, he'll be upstairs.
Her hopes shattered on the floor, she squeaks out an okay to an empty
room. </span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">In
the lab, Sherlock carefully drops some liquid from a pipette and
prepares a slide, looking up irritably as Stamford brings in Watson.
It's all changed since John's time here. Holmes wants to borrow
Mike's phone as he's got no signal. What's wrong with the landline?;
he prefers to text. As Stamford left his mobile in his coat, John
proffers his and Sherlock accepts, Mike introducing Watson as an old
friend.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmVJpcW0FPbviwt9xcD41RNp6YkP59EC6B2ii-zmV5CJdCimHyme0298hOKab9guWaQHpEJQDwcn2Pz46xnmmGjGrj5QQ1uZKYbVd_OVOc7xDgvill753Ygx_Cb1i_3k7cH5mU2jZijjQ/s1600/vlcsnap-00018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmVJpcW0FPbviwt9xcD41RNp6YkP59EC6B2ii-zmV5CJdCimHyme0298hOKab9guWaQHpEJQDwcn2Pz46xnmmGjGrj5QQ1uZKYbVd_OVOc7xDgvill753Ygx_Cb1i_3k7cH5mU2jZijjQ/s320/vlcsnap-00018.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Texting, Sherlock hits him with 'Afghanistan or Iraq?'.
Stamford's smiling-seen this bit before, but Watson is taken
aback-how did he?... but Molly arrives with coffee. Taking it without
thanks, the odd young man walks off asking what happened to the
lipstick. It wasn't working she says. 'Really?, I thought it was a
big improvement... your mouth's too-small now.' Awkwardly, she leaves
as, without looking from his experiments, the brusquely youthful
Holmes asks 'How do you feel about the violin?.' It takes a moment
for Watson to realise this is aimed at him. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>I
play the violin when I'm thinking, </i></span></span>
</div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>sometimes
I don't talk for days on end</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>-would
that bother you?; </i></span></span>
</div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>potential
flatmates should know the worst about each other.</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Uneasy,
Watson thinks Mike told Sherlock about him. Not a word. Donning coat
and scarf, Sherlock explains he told Mike this morning he must be a
difficult man to find a flatmate for. And here is an old friend just
returned from Afghanistan. No difficult leap. Watson wants to know
about the Afghan bit, but Sherlock ignores the question; he's got his
eye on a nice place in central London. Together they should be able
to afford it. Meet there tomorrow evening at seven. <i>Sorry, got to
dash-I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary. </i>Not at all
sure what to make of any of this, Watson asks is that it?. Pausing at
the door and returning, Sherlock asks Is that what?. Well, they've
only just met and are going to look at a flat together.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Problem?.
They don't know a thing about each other, he doesn't know where they
are meeting, even the name. His manner oddly unsettling, somehow
distant and focused at once Sherlock tells him; </span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKp3tM59vskgv46B3KrzeQhPUyZpB0siIcJkOan4rmql3UarjKV2QktB2ud-9dPhUT6-5lYclQMGARbkjfNMpYZJwlFyuwI198SIz_SqC0Q1GbE1Bx10x8lxl81BjEUNLfC7IOvR8DFaA/s1600/vlcsnap-00021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKp3tM59vskgv46B3KrzeQhPUyZpB0siIcJkOan4rmql3UarjKV2QktB2ud-9dPhUT6-5lYclQMGARbkjfNMpYZJwlFyuwI198SIz_SqC0Q1GbE1Bx10x8lxl81BjEUNLfC7IOvR8DFaA/s320/vlcsnap-00021.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>I
know you’re an army doctor and you’ve been invalided home from
Afghanistan.</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>I
know you’ve got a brother with a bit of money who’s worried about
you, but you won’t go to him for help because you don’t approve
of him - possibly because he’s an alcoholic, more likely because he
recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist
thinks your limp is psychosomatic - quite correctly, I’m afraid.
That’s enough to be going on with, don’t you think?</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>The
name’s Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221b Baker Street. </i></span></span>
</div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Watson
is left utterly speechless, Stamford re-assuring him that he's always
like that. The music swells to a forceful exuberance, the miniature
London gimmick again and Watson sits back down on his bed. He checks
his messages. There's an odd one from Sherlock; If brother has green
ladder arrest brother.* </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv1W_CPrI3pkUszaAfr2H5C_-F_yeAamg18MCA_A63uh11IECMUSFyv5hyphenhyphenpLJtVrzdrlpCHdIlY15qA-racsAb3GG078krI83dq1zO6e0ollr2eAy4CPcaL16bxIQkrfnwD2D5uX-lipo/s1600/vlcsnap-00013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv1W_CPrI3pkUszaAfr2H5C_-F_yeAamg18MCA_A63uh11IECMUSFyv5hyphenhyphenpLJtVrzdrlpCHdIlY15qA-racsAb3GG078krI83dq1zO6e0ollr2eAy4CPcaL16bxIQkrfnwD2D5uX-lipo/s320/vlcsnap-00013.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sighing, Watson goes to his laptop to search
Sherlock Holmes. At the same time, a woman dressed in pink squats
down on her matching heels to reach, trembling, for a bottle of
pills.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUx4bq88HMvACm4tJYgimI7YuyPqXVPPp4kzPaMnT57KYquJrhfcEo5vO9UdpaIDJzHn9jPV2lg0yNEI0Z7kTHPd1O3IGKEDHQqcSZEjUeHkHwY1hmbJ1IC1yQaV05WEoegNYKfjleYDs/s1600/vlcsnap-00024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUx4bq88HMvACm4tJYgimI7YuyPqXVPPp4kzPaMnT57KYquJrhfcEo5vO9UdpaIDJzHn9jPV2lg0yNEI0Z7kTHPd1O3IGKEDHQqcSZEjUeHkHwY1hmbJ1IC1yQaV05WEoegNYKfjleYDs/s320/vlcsnap-00024.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">*A
subtle reference to the case Holmes is working on, taken from an
unfinished Holmes story found among the papers of Sir. Arthur Conan
Doyle after his death. </span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1vUlegrccy20wmNjz52EVSkge1TfeUc4wYYWHoyk5HFo0dimwtpklaF-FzOLZaeeQIFB7UXRzl8PPDFBCmhbwmAwIWBJ0jfNF2oVT0sVCj1o1oKVYOvhrJDEmyBUsAwn2i44ipZuYqCA/s1600/vlcsnap-00026.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1vUlegrccy20wmNjz52EVSkge1TfeUc4wYYWHoyk5HFo0dimwtpklaF-FzOLZaeeQIFB7UXRzl8PPDFBCmhbwmAwIWBJ0jfNF2oVT0sVCj1o1oKVYOvhrJDEmyBUsAwn2i44ipZuYqCA/s320/vlcsnap-00026.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Baker
Street, W1. Seven sharp sees Watson limping up to 221b, by Speedy's
Cafe just as a black cab disgorges Holmes. The place looks expensive
remarks Watson, but Sherlock points out Mrs. Hudson the landlady owes
him a favour and has given him a good deal. A few years ago her
Husband was on Death row in Florida and he helped out. So he stopped
her husband being executed?; John is skeptical, but with a smile
Sherlock tells him 'Oh no; I ensured it.' </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPUNB4eCA5LpW_pZ_ndCv6uruw1AskXTnox2jufeLviPWjxFeBES6hjpNlcSbBYyFsMkeyEjo6ZwQGEl31EYqzSMj_8tMD-5ZMThsqoPedik9BMIdlL21vGlHMtoWP6pZ_TNCTgpE6RZo/s1600/vlcsnap-00027.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPUNB4eCA5LpW_pZ_ndCv6uruw1AskXTnox2jufeLviPWjxFeBES6hjpNlcSbBYyFsMkeyEjo6ZwQGEl31EYqzSMj_8tMD-5ZMThsqoPedik9BMIdlL21vGlHMtoWP6pZ_TNCTgpE6RZo/s320/vlcsnap-00027.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<br />
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The door opens and Mrs.
Hudson welcomes them in with a hug for Sherlock. </span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_UYRxOwn4f3Uz8TpA-c66zAmYhMu092Zh1XWWYozgjcuNh5KEotKMPNIaByyt0oLdpfXbiHEKcJA0mFtBP_exiHKepnsBQ0uzYBthvVmIAUCUKwezjmCzg-uHNldyyemihy0S8wcCl_Q/s1600/vlcsnap-00028.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_UYRxOwn4f3Uz8TpA-c66zAmYhMu092Zh1XWWYozgjcuNh5KEotKMPNIaByyt0oLdpfXbiHEKcJA0mFtBP_exiHKepnsBQ0uzYBthvVmIAUCUKwezjmCzg-uHNldyyemihy0S8wcCl_Q/s320/vlcsnap-00028.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<br />
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Its first floor, the
room itself a bit of a time-warp circa 1975, filled with boxes of
bric-a-brac, old books, some furniture, god knows what else. Sliding
doors to the kitchen, the table covered with chemical apparatus. John
thinks it could be very nice... as soon as they get this rubbish
cleaned out... </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOmCsSmoZr6nN9CQJzKbHlJc1r4XxGm_CNRTOjbjnkB47-hHYZwCkNClRcq-7X7KM1INa1xq_ZcJqqqq-y6C02GbNHi_VetpX-4L_jTt8LFbUqRtRL0JFBHcvFe4SQfG6pgBiooeKFt1Y/s1600/vlcsnap-00029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOmCsSmoZr6nN9CQJzKbHlJc1r4XxGm_CNRTOjbjnkB47-hHYZwCkNClRcq-7X7KM1INa1xq_ZcJqqqq-y6C02GbNHi_VetpX-4L_jTt8LFbUqRtRL0JFBHcvFe4SQfG6pgBiooeKFt1Y/s320/vlcsnap-00029.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<br />
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">embarrassed, Sherlock makes a show of tidying his
possessions, transfixing a piece of mail to the mantelpiece with a
knife. Watson is left wondering about the human skull on the
mantel... </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMnaZDqA4NeUqNfYDQCFkbNzREYmy_KCww6hwAsn_XIqvoFDRfKbX-VRO5UdZlQ39ou5K4aT-yQxW8sa7BaCr3e85EqyAts5xWmzXU7bL0Sn0YBMtyBfOTuEDcdZIjWn4Ssvg98tUXOm8/s1600/44.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMnaZDqA4NeUqNfYDQCFkbNzREYmy_KCww6hwAsn_XIqvoFDRfKbX-VRO5UdZlQ39ou5K4aT-yQxW8sa7BaCr3e85EqyAts5xWmzXU7bL0Sn0YBMtyBfOTuEDcdZIjWn4Ssvg98tUXOm8/s320/44.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<br />
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mrs. Hudson, a slightly dotty, charming favourite aunt type
mentions the second bedroom upstairs-if they need two. Frowning, the
bemused Watson responds of course they'll need two. There's all sorts
round here, she says, Mrs. Turner next door's got <i>married</i>
ones... </span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj31kaSBA-JkVVjTIQ-9QZKMVy0xE88hVJXOfpQAlSQTECT2EKMfaLu5bOc4hbcyXidUqiKyY8KX3kQyYFFg5MvxF_PIwAsp-lW3A0J9sWSIqPSlf4JMB22ulM2kwGNcxE7PDE5fjGS0_M/s1600/vlcsnap-00032.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj31kaSBA-JkVVjTIQ-9QZKMVy0xE88hVJXOfpQAlSQTECT2EKMfaLu5bOc4hbcyXidUqiKyY8KX3kQyYFFg5MvxF_PIwAsp-lW3A0J9sWSIqPSlf4JMB22ulM2kwGNcxE7PDE5fjGS0_M/s320/vlcsnap-00032.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Una Stubbs is Mrs. Hudson.</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Choosing
an Union Flag* cushion, Watson patriotically parks his arse on it,
staking claim to the comfortable armchair. He lets Holmes know he's
checked his blog; The Science of Deduction. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Thoughts?. With
unmistakable challenge, Watson relates Holmes' claim to know a
software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb.
Answering the challenge, Sherlock says 'Yes', and he can read
Watson's military career in his face and leg and the drinking habits
of his brother in his mobile phone. Somewhat subdued, John asks how,
but just receives an enigmatic look . Mrs. Hudson returns with paper;
how about these suicides?. She thinks this would be right up his
street. Three, exactly the same. His expression one of intense
interest, Sherlock looks out of the window at the Police car that has
just pulled up outside. Four. There's been a fourth...</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">*If
you call it the Union Jack you must leave now, never to darken my
door again. Philistine. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">DI
Lestrade takes the stairs in a rush to announce this one is in
Brixton, Lauriston gardens. There must be something different as he's
never come to pick him up before. This one left a note. Will he
come?. Who's on Forensics?; Anderson. Anderson won't work with me
states Sherlock. He needs an assistant. Watson is clearly frustrated
not to be a part of all... this, whatever <i>this </i>is. Declining a
ride in a Police car, Sherlock tells a grateful Lestrade he'll
follow. No sooner has the Detective Inspector left than Holmes leaps
up exclaiming 'it's Christmas'; four serial suicides and now a note!. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Grabbing his scarf he makes to leave, telling Mrs. Hudson he'll be
late, cold food will suffice. Her protestation that she's a landlady
not a housekeeper is left behind. He tells John not to wait up, to
have some tea. Mrs. H comments Sherlock's just like her husband,
always dashing about; clearly John's more the sitting down type.
'Damn my leg!' He ejaculates. She offers to make tea-just the once,
she's not his housekeeper. Couple of Biscuits, if she's got them. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Not
your housekeeper... she leaves to make tea while Watson reads the
front page of The Times; something about Suicide Cults with a photo
of Beth Davenport. There's a photo of the man who just called; naming
him as DI Lestrade. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The quiet voice from the doorway startles Watson;
'You're a Doctor.' Sherlock re-enters, pianist's fingers fussing into
his gloves. 'In fact you're an <i>Army </i>Doctor.' </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Keen, Watson
stands as Holmes goes on; any good?. Proudly-hopefully, Watson
professes himself to be very good. <i>Seen a lot of injuries then.
Violent deaths. Seen some trouble, too.</i>.. Yes, far too much. <i>Want
to see some more?.</i> Oh, God yes...</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sherlock
hails a cab and they set off. Sensing Watson has questions, he
invites them. <i>Where are they going?.</i> Crime scene. <i>What do
you do?.</i> What do you think?. Watson would have gone with Private
Detective, but the Police don't go to them. He's a <i>Consulting</i>
Detective-the only one in the World, he invented the job. When the
Police are out of their depth-which is always-they come to him.
Cynical, Watson says the Police don't go to amateurs. Proving his
point, Sherlock reveals how he got to Iraq or Afghanistan. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">He didn't
know-he <i>saw... </i>from the haircut and the bearing he got
Military, from his comment on how things had changed he studied there
at Barts. Army doctor; obvious. His face is tanned, but no tan above
the wrists. Abroad, not sunbathing. Bad limp when walking, but he
didn't ask for a chair when standing, as if he's forgotten about it;
at least partially psychosomatic. Therefore original injury
traumatic-hence wounded in action. Wounded in action?-Afghanistan or
Iraq. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">By
now noticably quieter, John reminds Sherlock of his mention of a
therapist. With a psychosomatic limp of course he's got a therapist.
Then there's his brother. His brother?; the phone-expensive, e-mail
enabled, mp3 player-if he's looking for a flatshare he didn't have
the money to waste on such a gadget. Therefore, a gift. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The phone is
heavily scratched, from the same pocket as keys, coins etc. Holmes
states Watson wouldn't treat his one luxury item so callously, so;
previous owner. The next part is easy enough-it's engraved; <i>Harry
Watson from Clara XXX. </i></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i></i></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOrlWtixXmGh5-p2iluGLbC4OlmARq0gGjnebANjmhzBiHRfGxRwlG7FmeMDVHEcvRm-qGwym-xqIpafL_buC_46bAZjDC-Z6U9no9J3BUWA61VdKhk2wiNk-dNzhiRStWyZ-qvK3SZ7c/s1600/vlcsnap-00015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOrlWtixXmGh5-p2iluGLbC4OlmARq0gGjnebANjmhzBiHRfGxRwlG7FmeMDVHEcvRm-qGwym-xqIpafL_buC_46bAZjDC-Z6U9no9J3BUWA61VdKhk2wiNk-dNzhiRStWyZ-qvK3SZ7c/s320/vlcsnap-00015.jpg" width="320" /></a></i></span></span></div>
<br />
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Harry Watson, clearly a family member
who's given John his old phone. Not father-this is a young man's
gadget, possibly cousin, but he's a war hero who can't find a place
to live-unlikely to have extended family, none he'd be close to. So,
brother it is. Clara and three kisses-romantic. The expense of the
phone suggests Wife rather than girlfriend. The model is only six
months old. A marriage in trouble-after six months he just gives it
away?. If she'd left, he'd have lept the phone-sentiment-no, he
wanted rid; <i>he</i> left <i>her. </i>Giving John the phone means he
wants him to stay in touch.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">You’re
looking for cheap accommodation, but you’re not going to your
brother for help - that says you’ve got problems with him. Maybe
you liked his wife, maybe you don’t like his drinking - How can
Sherlock possibly know about the drinking?. The power connection. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuuJR4qw2sppMo1d1dhLXsdowR7dM9QHlkBd9hEGZ2tYkGF_tP8edQHRBYREdheuZzrqoigECDvqdWl2sZWTC-PBkypvFPnRczYrMjo1qS1LiKKc44cQ6mQ28g2WiwwQE-Z7KrrQFMiXM/s1600/vlcsnap-00016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuuJR4qw2sppMo1d1dhLXsdowR7dM9QHlkBd9hEGZ2tYkGF_tP8edQHRBYREdheuZzrqoigECDvqdWl2sZWTC-PBkypvFPnRczYrMjo1qS1LiKKc44cQ6mQ28g2WiwwQE-Z7KrrQFMiXM/s320/vlcsnap-00016.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Tiny little scuff marks all round it - he plugs it in every night to
recharge, but his hands are shaking. Never see those marks on a sober
man’s phone, never see a drunk’s without them. There you go, you
see? John was right. <i>Right about what? </i>The police don’t
consult amateurs. John is amazed and says as much. Sherlock seems
surprised by this-and pleased. Extraordinary, in fact. That's not
what people usually say... usually they say 'Piss Off'... </span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">As
they arrive at Lauriston Gardens, walking to the scene Sherlock asks
if he got anything wrong. Harry and me don't get along, admits
Watson. Clara and Harry split three months ago and are divorcing.
Sherlock hadn't expected to be right on everything; he wasn't. Harry
is short for Harriet. Sergeant Donovan watches them approach,
greeting Sherlock with 'Hello Freak.' he explains he was invited.
Clearly this is not a towering intellect. With a face that says 'Slap
me' she sneers a 'well you know what I think, don't you?' at
Sherlock, who instantly replies 'Always' before telling her she
didn't make it home last night and strolling up to the house
examining the roadway intently. An unpleasant looking oik in a
forensics boiler suit is exiting the house, removing his gloves. This
is Anderson. Anderson hates Sherlock who hates idiots like Anderson
in turn. After some unpleasantness, Sherlock infers his Wife is away,
which the forensics man dismisses; clearly someone told him. No, his
deodorant told him. It's for <i>men</i>. Well of course it's for men,
that's why he's wearing it. <i>But so is Sgt. Donovan... </i>Anderson's
attempt at retaining his dignity is somewhat destroyed by Sherlock's
comment about the state of Donovan's knees... perhaps she came round
to scrub the floor?. With Watson in tow, Sherlock enters the house.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Lestrade,
donning a forensics suit, wants to know who Watson is and Sherlock
simply says 'He's with me.' Declining a paper suit for himself,
Holmes follows the Di upstairs in the shabbily abandoned house.
Lestrade tells him he's got two minutes and a name; Jennifer Wilson,
acoording to her cards. Hasn't been here long-some kids found her.
The late Ms Wilson is face down, immaculate pink nails and everything
else. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGdqKEFZjaS2qE0RgzwH1zGUXZpbzGDpLGEhAIrYS2-FIdfbW6YqCHI05-pMPLP2Y7rYE1iB1170Bz2voMmT7Dhkt7t5mJbAGdZIXsTG6cPGf0xNxXm3s2jn9bIRXR-feZ0ewzN20vMMI/s1600/vlcsnap-00001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGdqKEFZjaS2qE0RgzwH1zGUXZpbzGDpLGEhAIrYS2-FIdfbW6YqCHI05-pMPLP2Y7rYE1iB1170Bz2voMmT7Dhkt7t5mJbAGdZIXsTG6cPGf0xNxXm3s2jn9bIRXR-feZ0ewzN20vMMI/s320/vlcsnap-00001.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">She's lying in the press-up position. Unexpectedly, Sherlock
snarls at Lestrade to shut up, although he hasn't spoken. He was
<i>thinking</i>, it's annoying. Lestrade and Watson exchange a look
and Sherlock goes into the room. The woman has scratched a single
word 'Rache' into the floorboards, with her nails. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnhNGw7kcU2wvXPUMJNqihsiP5d4khPol1MBi7bS3dluJR588bv5yCdDCtixNp9WFfNc9ftWzFSALxoTbQ3J9yG-a7WpkEO-scvO_zIMQAlD7_y5tq15uop5X1F-dWy6GbLeA0QqxtIu4/s1600/vlcsnap-00017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnhNGw7kcU2wvXPUMJNqihsiP5d4khPol1MBi7bS3dluJR588bv5yCdDCtixNp9WFfNc9ftWzFSALxoTbQ3J9yG-a7WpkEO-scvO_zIMQAlD7_y5tq15uop5X1F-dWy6GbLeA0QqxtIu4/s320/vlcsnap-00017.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">As Sherlock's
singular mind begins to work, we see his thoughts; the words 'left
handed' appear over her nails, </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8u763I3j1Hk6DVWM0sBP38L6nH4hLV6VBEQDdSliexOXiOi_q1feaB79SmvGjwKsllYN5fnwPp9BPzDQSN_-gdumgbpWS3JKA6bkkvq-AKt7VnACtmkvsPm1D7mzpbkDOPYw7i53jC6I/s1600/vlcsnap-00018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8u763I3j1Hk6DVWM0sBP38L6nH4hLV6VBEQDdSliexOXiOi_q1feaB79SmvGjwKsllYN5fnwPp9BPzDQSN_-gdumgbpWS3JKA6bkkvq-AKt7VnACtmkvsPm1D7mzpbkDOPYw7i53jC6I/s320/vlcsnap-00018.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtpQUb-N8SOTPE4Kwwig9hHr_qpM2lbEZTeHjkIpYCmJTcoU9SVeD1lgThQW-v6THqKHXeBK96EZaDZ557HhMiiOjrmkwUBiBvBKIF5c8ho3pUmOde5N6xMbgi3GcHS-cQ1zdJKIXQhJI/s1600/vlcsnap-00019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtpQUb-N8SOTPE4Kwwig9hHr_qpM2lbEZTeHjkIpYCmJTcoU9SVeD1lgThQW-v6THqKHXeBK96EZaDZ557HhMiiOjrmkwUBiBvBKIF5c8ho3pUmOde5N6xMbgi3GcHS-cQ1zdJKIXQhJI/s320/vlcsnap-00019.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Rache, German noun for revenge... no,
must be Rachel... </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4gZk2BTjLPp_t9fF4ujU_IeO8lhWH18G3of8hETuSSaX7BtU2_wRt2XnwB_I-lCLaz4wGkDj2dTbCd4bXzhwn7uzR1L9ksXGPQqAj-5vfffI82lcpSBMifeIeNA2dNuP2F9Vf1UjEpu8/s1600/vlcsnap-00021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4gZk2BTjLPp_t9fF4ujU_IeO8lhWH18G3of8hETuSSaX7BtU2_wRt2XnwB_I-lCLaz4wGkDj2dTbCd4bXzhwn7uzR1L9ksXGPQqAj-5vfffI82lcpSBMifeIeNA2dNuP2F9Vf1UjEpu8/s320/vlcsnap-00021.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">back of jacket 'wet', folding umbrella; 'dry',
running a finger beneath the collar of her jacket; 'wet'. Producing a
natty little folding lens, the Consulting Detective scans her
jewellery, a bracelet is clean, </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBQh9bIzOfBxsIHDeAQlALITEaG7jOgrTxmI1YkVIH-XFrqeJMi034OHEuRw60wIqMBaOd95q5GbpxlmuL3LCaQWQOJNnBQwNStgvTD45wbYO3K-IzLFVvlwG4qamHPTS8VOXMqAX6Mtg/s1600/vlcsnap-00024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBQh9bIzOfBxsIHDeAQlALITEaG7jOgrTxmI1YkVIH-XFrqeJMi034OHEuRw60wIqMBaOd95q5GbpxlmuL3LCaQWQOJNnBQwNStgvTD45wbYO3K-IzLFVvlwG4qamHPTS8VOXMqAX6Mtg/s320/vlcsnap-00024.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">likewise ear-rings and neck-chain,
wedding band 'dirty'. As if it were an uncanny little fruit machine,
the words spin to produce the fact she's been married over ten years,
unhappily so. Removing the ring shows the inside to be clean,
polished, in fact. Regularly removed, she was a serial adulterer.
Adulteress?. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCdlCt1U6A9nUsfZi5-UhX-4y77IkjGbxHxNJDIwQL_dB0P0jwZ-W0k7_utoIFdfcUEkXZPNDGDR843pe59vAQuxjMK2ohRiZKHVaEy0MzcmBS7wBTnOumJD_34bX6OrwyZJXlbJ2e13E/s1600/vlcsnap-00026.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCdlCt1U6A9nUsfZi5-UhX-4y77IkjGbxHxNJDIwQL_dB0P0jwZ-W0k7_utoIFdfcUEkXZPNDGDR843pe59vAQuxjMK2ohRiZKHVaEy0MzcmBS7wBTnOumJD_34bX6OrwyZJXlbJ2e13E/s320/vlcsnap-00026.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Finished,
Sherlock stands, removing his gloves as Anderson leans smugly in the
door frame. Lestrade asks if he's got anything, to which Sherlock's
reply is 'Not much.' Anderson claims she's German, attempting to
impress with his knowledge; 'Rache' German for revenge-she could be
trying to tell us... but Sherlock has slammed the door shut to reduce
the level of moron in the room, consulting his phone for the latest
Weather Maps. She is, in fact from out of town, intending to stay in
London one night, then return to Cardiff. So far, so obvious. Gaping
somewhat, Watson is finding this far from obvious, but Sherlock asks
his opinion of the body. Lestrade isn't happy; there's a whole team
outside, he's breaking the rules as it is. Watson goes to it,
however-examining the late Mrs Wilson. After a moment's attention to
her neck and hand, Doctor Watson pronounces her dead of asphyxiation,
probably choked on her own vomit. No smell of alcohol, possible
seizure, possible drugs. Intently, Sherlock reminds him of the
papers. Another suicide?. Lestrade's out of time here; he needs
whatever they've got.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Victim
late thirties, professional; probably media, judging by the alarming
shade of pink she favoured, up from Cardiff for the day, obvious from
the size of the suitcase. <i>Suitcase?.</i> Suitcase, yes, married
ten years, unhappily, with a string of lovers, none of whom knew she
was married. Arms folded, Lestrade is not in the mood for any
falsehoods here. Sherlock indicates the victim; wedding ring; ten
years old at least, the rest of her jewellery has been regularly
cleaned, not the ring -state of her marriage right there. Inside
shinier than outside; regularly removed, clearly not for work, look
at the manicure-she doesn't work with her hands, therefore lover<i>s</i>.
She'd never sustain the fiction of being single over that length of
time, hence the plural. Simple. Awestruck, Watson forgets himself,
exclaiming; 'That's brilliant.' Lestrade wants to know where Sherlock
got 'Cardiff.' </span></span>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">What
does he mean, 'suitcase?'; Lestrade's query is met with another;
'Yeah, where is it?.' She must have had a phone or an organiser...
find out who Rachel is. She wasn't writing an angry note in German...
the suitcase?; tiny splash marks on the back of one leg, caused by
the wheels. Smallish case, to judge by the spread. Case that size,
woman this clothes-conscious?; an overnight bag. So what has Lestrade
done with it?. There was not case, says the DI. This gets Sherlock's
attention and he rushes from the room to call down. Has anyone seen a
suitcase?. Frustrated, Holmes gesticulates expressively; they take
the poison themselves, chew the pills thems-there are clear signs,
even 'you lot' couldn't miss them. It's murder; all of them, he
doesn't know how. Serial killings. Gleefully, morbidly, Sherlock
scampers down the stairs exclaiming 'Got ourselves a serial killer.
Love them, there's always something to look forward to.'
Lestrade-Watson, too for that matter, are totally bewildered by all
this. The case!; she didn't eat it-the killer must have took it,
driven away with it. Watson thinks maybe it's at the hotel?. Look at
her hair!; she colour-co-ordinates everything, this woman wouldn't
have left the hotel with her hair in that... then, a bolt hits
Sherlock. </span></span><br />
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<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Serial killers are always hard, you have to wait for them
to make a mistake. He leaves, calling up for Lestrade to get onto
Cardiff, check the victim out, find out who Rachel is. Lestrade can't
wait!. 'Oh, we’re done waiting. Look at her! Really, look!
Houston, we have a mistake...' What mistake?. One word; 'Pink!.' Very
much the spare at the wedding, John limps down the long flights of
stairs on his stick.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Outside,
Sgt. Donovan informs him Holmes has gone; he just takes off. Feebly,
John realises he doesn't even know where he is, where he can get a
cab. Holding up the POLICE tape for him to pass under, she suggests
the main road. But she tells Watson he's not Sherlock's friend-he
doesn't <i>have</i> friends.Unpleasantly-but then everything about
this young woman <i>is</i> unpleasant, she tells John Sherlock gets
off on bodies, one day it won't be enough and he'll start supplying
them. Appalled, John asks why he would do that-because he's a
psychopath, she says, and psychopaths get bored. Lestrade calls her
back in and she advises Watson to steer clear of Sherlock Holmes.</span></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">As he
limps off painfully, an odd thing-a public phone box by him starts to
ring. Ignoring it, he hobbles off to the High Road. It's busy there,
so much so he has trouble getting a cab. Another oddity; the payphone
in Chicken Cottage is ringing, only to stop as a member of staff goes
to answer it. What was it Fleming said?; about once being
happen-stance and so on and so forth?-when the third public
phone-another box, begins to ring just as Watson reaches it, it's too
much and he goes to answer. </span></span><br />
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<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">A voice-well-educated, softly-spoken
tells him there's a security camera on the building to his left. Does
he see?. He asks who this is, but the voice repeats the question.
Looking up, he does, to see the camera swivel round. The mystery toff
directs Watson's attention to two other cameras, both of which do the
same trick. How is he doing this?. By way of answer, the voice
directs him to get into the car which has just pulled up; he won't
bother with the threats, the situation must be clear to Watson. A
large and rather burly driver steps out and opens the rear door for
him. With no other choice, he gets in.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">It's
a Jag or a Daimler or whatever these people have, driving though the
city at night. A stunning girl is sitting in the back alongside John,
pre-occupied with texting as they all are these days. An ugly habit.
As you do, he asks her name-she gives Anthea, but concedes it's not
her real name. She already knows his. Any point in asking where he's
being taken?. None whatsoever. At length, the car pulls up in an
empty factory of some description in front of the solitary figure
stood, one leg cocked to lean on his umbrella. </span></span><br />
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<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Is it John Steed?. As
Watson makes his way towards him, he indicates the sole chair, but
John isn't in the mood for any of it. He could have just phoned him
rather than all this. 'When one is avoiding the attentions of
Sherlock Holmes one learns to be discreet-hence this place.' The man
is tall, spare of build, all out of proportion from the neck up. This
curious fellow seems to have been a mish-mash; neck too long, chin
too high-a great pecking beak of a nose. When John declines to sit,
his sinister host remarks he doesn't seem very afraid. Defiantly,
John fires back he isn't very frightening, to which the man forces a
laugh and a sneering comment on the bravery of the soldier. 'Bravery
is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think-what is
your connexion to Sherlock Holmes?.' He barely knows him, met
him-yesterday. Yes-and since yesterday he's moved in with him and now
they're solving crimes together... might we expect a happy
announcement by the end of the week?. </span></span>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Watson
asks who this man is. An interested party. Interested in Sherlock,
why?; Watson gathers they aren't friends. You've met him, says the
umbrella man-how many friends do you imagine Sherlock Holmes has?.
He's the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock has; an enemy-in
Sherlock's mind, certainly. Holmes would say his arch-enemy, he does
love the dramatic... looking around, Watson dryly comments 'Well,
thank god you're above all that.' </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">A bleep; Watson has a text. <i>'Baker
Street. Come at once if convenient. SH.' </i>Mr. Umbrella asks if
Watson plans to continue his association with Sherlock. He could be
wrong, but he thinks that none of his business. It could be, says
Umbrella man. <i>It really couldn't... </i>Affecting to ignore John's
defiance, the odd fellow consults a note-book. If he intends moving
in to 221b, Baker Street, he'd be happy to pay a meaningful sum of
money on a regular basis. For?; information, nothing indiscreet...
Why the offer?; he worries about Sherlock. Constantly. He would
prefer for his interest to go un-noticed. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Bleep; If inconvenient,
come anyway. SH. Watson gives his answer; 'No.' At any price. He's
not loyal, just not interested. Mr. Umbrella takes another tack,
consulting his note-book again. 'Trust issues', it says. Swallowing
and frowning together, Watson asks what that is, but clearly this man
has access to his therapist's notes. Not good. Could it be, mystery
man asks, that he's decided to trust Sherlock of all people?. </span></span>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Done
with this, Watson turns towards the waiting car, but an odd remark
causes him to linger. He says that he can imagine people have warned
him about association with Holmes before, but he can see by his left
hand that's not going to happen... to John's bewilderment he asks to
examine it. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span>
</div>
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</div>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Bleep...
Watson doesn't read this one straight away. Mr. Umbrella walks off,
trying a little too hard to appear enigmatic as he does so. Still
glued to her phone, the girl approaches. She's to take Watson home.
He consults his phone. Could be dangerous. SH. With a little smile,
John notes his hand is, indeed, rock steady. She wants the address
and he gives it, needs to stop somewhere first; his place, where he
picks up his pistol, shoving it down the back of his belt. The
Jag-ler drops John off outside 221b, but he asks the pretty girl if
she'd mind not telling her boss his destination. With a smile, she
says 'Sure,' but she has, of course, already done so. <i>He who
dares... </i>punching like Muhammad Ali, Watson gamely tries to ask
her out, she's not interested. Defeated (But with my everlasting
admiration) he goes inside.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sherlock
Holmes is lying on the sofa, clutching his arm. Oh-oh. </span></span><br />
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<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">But-this is
2010, not 1890 and banging up cocaine in solution is <i>so </i>dated...
he's got nicotine patches on. Watson enters and asks what he's up to.
A smoking habit is impossible to sustain in London these days...
helps him think. But <i>three</i> patches?; it is a three patch
problem*. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfJfgqrwZd31-M8olvfMUBTAs3mT_XzPm3JMjhBsNiIz_lbzT2OZiytqVn-eQ08zxZ-7pGXEPgsRnWI6-1X3n6GxOG-59XQvX-6qVmsfMXqcLGz7hSuww9DqpANrFVA54rvM_841AeNy4/s1600/vlcsnap-00011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfJfgqrwZd31-M8olvfMUBTAs3mT_XzPm3JMjhBsNiIz_lbzT2OZiytqVn-eQ08zxZ-7pGXEPgsRnWI6-1X3n6GxOG-59XQvX-6qVmsfMXqcLGz7hSuww9DqpANrFVA54rvM_841AeNy4/s320/vlcsnap-00011.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">When Watson reminds him he asked him to come, Sherlock
remembers why; he wants to borrow his phone. His own phone has a
recognisable number. What about Mrs. Hudson's phone?. She's
downstairs-he tried shouting, she didn't hear. Annoyed, Watson points
out he was the other side of London. Deep in thought, Sherlock allows
that the killer made a mistake in taking the victims' case. Realising
there’s no other way, he tells John 'We’ll have to risk it.
There’s a phone number on my desk - I want you to send a text.' At
the end of a very frayed tether, John re-iterates. 'You brought me
here, to send a text.' Taking the phone, John hobbles over to look
out of the window, telling Sherlock he's just met a friend of his.
Alarmed at this, Sherlock relaxes when Watson corrects himself to
'enemy'. Well, his arch-enemy, do people even <i>have</i>
arch-enemies?. Did he offer money?. Yes?. Did he accept?. No. Pity,
they could have split the fee...</span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">*I
know. You have to hand it to them for cheek though.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Watson
asks who this arch-enemy is. 'The most dangerous man you've ever met
and not the problem right now. On the desk. The number.' Watson is
shocked to see it's for Jennifer Wilson, the dead woman. Sherlock
dictates; </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">“What
happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out. 22
Northumberland Street. Please come.” </span></i></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></i></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcwmpoY_Yd4dvUmOMyrFPEnOHdbYSz2dAG0RNCIASgbEGv4Wk2fv9K17NEG61zLfkuesIer8xw5HXwWA6S9zCgTnI6HVlJ7VZnYhnf-W9M_qwPiz8LfpOZUphpzne2Y_h40Lk7jNNOWrs/s1600/vlcsnap-00035.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcwmpoY_Yd4dvUmOMyrFPEnOHdbYSz2dAG0RNCIASgbEGv4Wk2fv9K17NEG61zLfkuesIer8xw5HXwWA6S9zCgTnI6HVlJ7VZnYhnf-W9M_qwPiz8LfpOZUphpzne2Y_h40Lk7jNNOWrs/s320/vlcsnap-00035.jpg" width="320" /></a></i></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Getting
up, Holmes strides across to the kitchen to retrieve a pink suitcase
from a chair there, spinning one of the lounge chairs round to set it
down and open it. The contents are almost invariably pink. When
Watson notices, Sherlock, sardonic notes he didn't kill her. Watson
never thought he did, but it would be a perfectly logical assumption.
Hearing this, John asks if people assume Sherlock to be a murderer.
Now and then, yes. He found this by looking. The killer had to have
driven her to Lauriston Gardens, could only have kept her case by
accident, if it was in a car. No one could be seen with this case
without attracting attention - particularly a man; statistically
likely. So obviously he’d feel compelled to get rid of it the
moment he noticed he still had it - wouldn’t have taken him more
than five minutes to realise his mistake... </span></span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpSeFsmN4BcPbqrtf5XWiVfstS0rsDvXt2A9oK2kR7wh8aJayekym0uDurB5hlm8g2Q7J0luRcaO0xzm6LDEerpCt9uS_gzh1M2CGDj9HCePBLyHDl-d2WQic8J3A2_9O-LnogN_UtQ7o/s1600/P+SHERLOCK+TAKES+THE+CASE.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpSeFsmN4BcPbqrtf5XWiVfstS0rsDvXt2A9oK2kR7wh8aJayekym0uDurB5hlm8g2Q7J0luRcaO0xzm6LDEerpCt9uS_gzh1M2CGDj9HCePBLyHDl-d2WQic8J3A2_9O-LnogN_UtQ7o/s320/P+SHERLOCK+TAKES+THE+CASE.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Sherlock
checked every back street and place you could dump an object within
five minutes of the house; eventually finding the right skip. The
case, of course had to be pink. When John wonders why he didn't think
of it, Sherlock replies because he's an idiot then tells him not to
look like that-practically everybody is. The one thing missing is her
phone. Maybe she left it at home?. She has a string of lovers and is
careful about the fact, this woman </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">never</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
leaves her phone at home. </span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Perhaps
the murderer has it then. Watson is horrified to discover he's just
texted a murderer, but then the phone rings with a with-held number.
</span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Exalting in his triumph,
Sherlock explains anyone finding the phone would ignore that text.
The murderer-the murderer would panic. As Sherlock is getting up to
go out, Watson asks if he's spoken to the police. With four people
dead, there isn't time he says. So why is he talking to him?. John
isn't best pleased when the answer comes; 'Because Mrs. Hudson took
my skull...' Sherlock reassures him; he's doing fine as a stand-in.
Besides, he prefers company when he goes out - he thinks better
aloud, and the skull just attracts attention. Seeing John's
hesitation, he asks; 'Problem?'. John tells him what Donovan said,
about his getting off on all this. With that enigmatic half-smile of
his Sherlock replies 'And I said “Dangerous”. And here you are.'
Sherlock's gone for no more than a second before Watson grabs his
stick to follow. </span></span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMC2TTioiWoeNWPdZ7ASr7DY0Rd_SnEX7bLoWea5VSQSDX3anyFHO8bCMTYFUXEWFMt-Z2V18XZXJbWOztpuFW0KKfeiHV52YfrnVLegPwmnWBTwedROUrGsT8BrrknfR5yGBezxB4VNI/s1600/vlcsnap-00012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMC2TTioiWoeNWPdZ7ASr7DY0Rd_SnEX7bLoWea5VSQSDX3anyFHO8bCMTYFUXEWFMt-Z2V18XZXJbWOztpuFW0KKfeiHV52YfrnVLegPwmnWBTwedROUrGsT8BrrknfR5yGBezxB4VNI/s320/vlcsnap-00012.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">T</span><span style="font-weight: normal;">he
two reach Charlotte street (Not bad for a man on a stick) when Watson
asks where they are headed. Northumberland Street; five minutes from
here (On roller-skates, perhaps). John asks if he thinks the killer
stupid enough; no, he thinks he's brilliant enough. The brilliant
ones are always so desperate to be caught. Why?. Appreciation,
applause; at long last, the spotlight. ' The Detective's next comment
is most revealing; 'That's the frailty of genius, John, it needs an
audience.' This is his hunting ground, the crowded city. All of his
victims abducted from busy places. Think!; who do we trust-even
though we don't know them. Who passes un-noticed?.* Watson doesn't
know, but neither does Sherlock. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">*As
he started this bit, a black cab went by and I'm guessing you, too
were fairly leaping up and down by this point.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">They
enter a favourite </span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Tapas
</span><span style="font-weight: normal;">restaurant of Sherlock's and
take a window seat, </span><span style="font-weight: normal;">convenienly
overlooking 22 Northumberland Street. The proprietor comes up and
greets Sherlock warmly. Anything on the house free; for him and his
date!. </span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoDPJXwf7vklNdc3nehW4L0z6gOvD96J6r5NsiKYWsP7SftiLOROb45Mn5n5eSVh-ZhcKvf4oIF5VHS5ZHEXksJq8VCdwwB9plJ-YHXhhGez_Y3KDMx_vk8NH8o_aQdSYbCWiwr_QI02U/s1600/vlcsnap-00013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoDPJXwf7vklNdc3nehW4L0z6gOvD96J6r5NsiKYWsP7SftiLOROb45Mn5n5eSVh-ZhcKvf4oIF5VHS5ZHEXksJq8VCdwwB9plJ-YHXhhGez_Y3KDMx_vk8NH8o_aQdSYbCWiwr_QI02U/s320/vlcsnap-00013.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Watson's protest he's not his date falls on deaf ears. The
restaurateur, Angelo, insists Sherlock got him off on a murder
charge. Sherlock recalls he proved to Lestrade that at the time of
the killing, Angelo was in a completely different part of town
committing a burglary. 'He cleared my name' says the happy Angelo. I
cleared it a bit, says his benefactor. Eyeing Watson, </span><span style="font-weight: normal;">he
offers to get candles. More romantic. Piqued, John repeats his
statement. Not his date. Sherlock intently watches the target house,
shaken from his vigil by Watson's comment that people don't have
arch-enemies, not in real-life. </span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifTlwfxIjrgejXJ06TRpNF3CtkTivbKYBco0_sA2AuE8-cb0kKjrNha-QOympZYBgNvHTOrlBqsG_leMX2zaAXrlZZf1cv1yWZ4sZt1Jsu1Iz_H-G02gUeVLY_ObtxT0PRBRm97PRhW2o/s1600/vlcsnap-00014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifTlwfxIjrgejXJ06TRpNF3CtkTivbKYBco0_sA2AuE8-cb0kKjrNha-QOympZYBgNvHTOrlBqsG_leMX2zaAXrlZZf1cv1yWZ4sZt1Jsu1Iz_H-G02gUeVLY_ObtxT0PRBRm97PRhW2o/s320/vlcsnap-00014.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Sounds
a bit dull to Sherlock. John asks who he met, but his friend just
asks what people have in their 'real' lives. Friends; people they
know, people they like/don't like... girlfriends, boyfriends. Not
taking his eyes from the street outside, Sherlock thinks its still
dull. John asks if he has a girlfriend. No, not really his area.
Boyfriend?. No. Mistaking interest for, well, </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">interest</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">,
Sherlock starts to tell John he's married to his work and while
flattered... awkwardly, John tries to tell him it's all fine. </span></span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Luckily
for John, a taxi has just arrived outside number 22, a youngish man
staring intently at the house. Why a taxi?, clever. That's him!. He
tells John not to stare-they can't both stare, can they?. Grabbing
his coat, Sherlock leaves, followed by John. He's forgotten his
stick. The cab passenger looks back, seems to spot Sherlock's
interest and the cab rolls off. Watson's got the cab number, but
Sherlock wants the </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">cab</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">. </span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizX8FfhhOPT7yl-TKntrc3r_S2Vw6hjhWNNloUHrI_-p5BUuJ-Irkk9lCsWBIgZgDlOZUByNUQI-R7lF-K5Bz38b52181d9KAbX9iV4R9yj-pok-TabbFYqRGAen8AFsBsBtHZEyn_87c/s1600/R+HUMAN+SATNAV.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizX8FfhhOPT7yl-TKntrc3r_S2Vw6hjhWNNloUHrI_-p5BUuJ-Irkk9lCsWBIgZgDlOZUByNUQI-R7lF-K5Bz38b52181d9KAbX9iV4R9yj-pok-TabbFYqRGAen8AFsBsBtHZEyn_87c/s320/R+HUMAN+SATNAV.gif" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<br />
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Shutting his eyes, he quickly accesses his unique memory, working out
the way the cab will go. Sherlock sets off at a clip, Watson in tow
as they charge along the pavement and into a building-up the
stairs-to a winding iron stairway-jumping down to a rooftop
outside-as they go, we see the route the cab is taking-pedestrian
crossing holding it up for a moment-Sherlock leaps the gap between
buildings-Watson hangs back until Sherlock calls out 'We're losing
him!'.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">The
uneven chase continues-the taxi hits a 'No left turn' sign-the pair
sprint along an alleyway-</span><span style="font-weight: normal;">road
closures-no entry signs-</span><span style="font-weight: normal;">just
missing a chance to intercept the Taxi at a junction-they run on,
desperate now-through the maze that is </span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Soho-pedestrian
zone ends-give way signs and all the rest that make driving in the
Capital so unappealing. </span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvriRY1clb0bzUisRZkjnGd9Phu4HyuVVMBxhRNt1xoLmXCxIzJCU7PZFkYTxJJb4qUZd2wT_q_gWxd-lBBIhr33Yom8iX6soQ4-Puz8ZpTQCHQjcWaxol-GzJXeDux09utABl3TzBSQQ/s1600/S+SOHO%2521.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvriRY1clb0bzUisRZkjnGd9Phu4HyuVVMBxhRNt1xoLmXCxIzJCU7PZFkYTxJJb4qUZd2wT_q_gWxd-lBBIhr33Yom8iX6soQ4-Puz8ZpTQCHQjcWaxol-GzJXeDux09utABl3TzBSQQ/s320/S+SOHO%2521.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Finally, Sherlock bursts from a passageway to
collide with the Taxi, holding up a Police badge and shouting for the
Cabbie to open up. The man inside isn't as youthful as he appeared on
first glimpse; a Californian, Sherlock infers from the man's teeth
and tan. LA, Santa Monica-just arrived. How can he possibly know
that? Breathlessly, Sherlock answers Watson; the luggage tag. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Probably his first trip here judging by the route the Cabbie was
taking him. The American-indeed, Californian asks if they are the
Police. 'Yeah', says Sherlock, holding up the badge again, photo
conveniently obscured by his gloved hand. 'Everything alright?' The
baffled tourist says it is and DI Holmes welcomes him to London
before walking off, leaving Watson to close the door. </span></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Himself
still somewhat winded, Watson states that wasn't the murderer. Not
the murderer, no. Reaching for Sherlock's badge, John discovers it
belongs to DI Lestrade; Holmes pick-pockets him when he's being
annoying. He can keep that badge, he has plenty at home. The
attention of the real Police is being directed to the bogus cops by
the tourist, so the two make a run for it. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Back
in the safety of 221b, the two pause in the hallway. John thinks that
the most ridiculous thing he's ever done. 'And you invaded
Aghanistan' Sherlock points out, to laughter. The restaurant was a
long shot anyway. <i>So what were they doing there?. </i>Proving a
point. <i>What point?.</i> 'You'. Calling out to Mrs. Hudson,
Sherlock informs her Doctor Watson will take the room upstairs. <i>Says
who?. </i>Says the man at the door. A knock; Angelo, from the Tapas
place. Handing Watson his stick, he tells him Sherlock texted him. He
forgot his stick... </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">All
is not well in Baker Street; a distraught Mrs. Hudson arrives and
asks what Sherlock's done. Upstairs. Bursting into their lodgings,
the two tenants find it occupied; Lestrade sits in sherlock's chair,
uniformed Police are ransacking the place. Lestrade knew Holmes would
find the case. Holmes is livid; he can't break into his flat!. The
Detective Inspector bats that one away; he can't with-hold evidence.
And he didn't break in. So what does he call all <i>this,</i> then?.
Brightly, Lestrade answers; 'It's a drugs bust!.' Watson's face is a
picture; this guy-a junkie?, seriously, have you met him?. </span></span><br />
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<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Watson's
fairly sure they could search the flat all day and not find anything
recreational. Leaning close, Sherlock tells him he probably wants to
shut up now, to John's surprise, then tells Lestrade he's not his
sniffer dog. The DI tells him anderson is his sniffer dog; sure
enough, the densest forensic is there. Irascibly, Sherlock demands to
know what he's doing on a drugs bust. 'Oh, I volunteered' responds
stupid. They <i>all </i>volunteered, says Lestrade, none of them are
strictly speaking <i>on </i>the drugs squad, but they were all very
keen. Donovan emerges from the kitchen holding a plastic bag. 'Are
these human eyes?.' </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZLNrCAehxWFu4LISnLx18XWB0-r7ORj09ZstXI4RDsvUdgVxl1cmbbMDPDxD0-VkJqHXmHQwXAJA2QJIZW2CLXpo5NYM1tkdlLQ2uv3aaGNS_V6re6fluPNlUAljzHk6dWtHi_fYil6Y/s1600/vlcsnap-00027.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZLNrCAehxWFu4LISnLx18XWB0-r7ORj09ZstXI4RDsvUdgVxl1cmbbMDPDxD0-VkJqHXmHQwXAJA2QJIZW2CLXpo5NYM1tkdlLQ2uv3aaGNS_V6re6fluPNlUAljzHk6dWtHi_fYil6Y/s320/vlcsnap-00027.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vinette Robinson as Sgt Sally Donovan and Jonathan Aris as Anderson; Sherlock's dual headaches.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Angrily, Sherlock demands she put them back.
'They were in the microwave.' <i>It's an experiment. </i>Lestrade
directs everyone to keep looking-or Sherlock can start helping
properly. Sherlock claims this is childish-Lestrade that he's dealing
with one. He tells Sherlock this is their case (the Police), but he's
letting him in as long as he doesn't go off on his own. So he set up
a pretend drugs bust to bully him?. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sherlock
insists he is clean, he doesn't even smoke-he rolls back his sleeve
to show his nicotine patch. So does Lestrade; he has a matching one.
He wants to work toghether with Sherlock on this-then mentions he's
found who Rachel is, Wilson's only daughter. Why would she write the
name of her daughter?. Anderhole, or whatever his name is now pipes
up.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Returning
his attention to Lestrade, Sherlock tells him to bring Rachel in.
She's dead; died fourteen years ago at birth. It doesn't sound right
to Sherlock, which causes Anderthing to pipe up again. For her to
scratch the name with her nails would have taken effort and it would
hurt. Rationalising, Watson wonders of the killer makes them take the
poison by talking to them somehow, perhaps using the death of her
daughter to influence her. 'But that was ages ago, why would she
still be upset?.' Sherlock's complete lack of empathy stuns the
others and an awkward silence ensues, which he notices; 'Not good?.'
'Bit not good, yeah.' Says John. Intensely, Sherlock asks him if he
were dying, being murdered, in his very last seconds, what would he
say?. Watson's 'Please God, let me live.' wasn't the answer the
sleuth wanted. She was clearly trying to tell us something, but
what?. Mrs. Hudson has come upstairs; doesn't the doorbell work?,
Sherlock's taxi's here. He didn't order one and rudely shoos her
away. She asks what's going on and Watson tells her it's a bust.
Hilariously, the worried old dear says 'But they're just for my hip,
they're herbal soothers.' </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Hands
in the air, Sherlock shouts out for everyone to be quiet, for
Anderson to turn his idiot features away even; he can't think. Going
with it, Lestrade calls for silence, but Mrs. Hudson keeps on about
the taxi, prompting a furious Sherlock to wheel round and shout her
name in frustration, which sends the poor thing scurrying off
downstairs. Abruptly, Sherlock's mood changes, to resemble that of an
evangelist on a high; 'Oh, she was clever. She’s cleverer than you
lot dead! Do you see? Do you get it? She didn’t lose her phone,
she never lost it. She planted in on him. </span></span><br />
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<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">When she got out that
car, she knew she was going to her death - she left the phone to lead
us to her killer!'. When everyone looks blank, Sherlock berates them
for their stupidity; Rachel is not a name... he tells John to get the
e-mail address from the luggage ticket. He reads it; Jennie dot pink
at mephone dot org dot uk. Typing it in on his laptop, Sherlock
thinks aloud; he's been too slow. She didn't have a laptop, which
means she did her business by phone; her phone was a smartphone,
e-mail enabled and so on. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The user name is her e-mail address and,
altogether now, the password is... Rachel. Andergimp squawks 'So we
can read her e-mails, so what?.' He gets his just desserts with the
request not to speak, he lowers the IQ of the whole street. It's a
smartphone-they can track it's whereabouts with GPS. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">As
the computer searches for the GPS signal, Mrs. Hudson re-appears; the
taxi driver?. Dismissing her with an insulting reference to evening
soothers, Sherlock goes back to work as the cabbie comes upstairs
behind her, his face hidden in shadow. Seated at the laptop, Watson
is confused by the location results. <i> </i></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i></i></span></span><br />
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<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>It's here in 221b Baker
Street. </i>How can it be here?. The words Sherlock spoke earlier
come back to haunt him – 'Who do we trust-even though we don't know
them?.' The camera focuses on the badge hanging round the cabbie's
neck. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTxZtQJfFnZQVCK659YhuYyDQE3FvBQXgxIbpFhiZPp78fJK8bnG2Oq8bEdEdN04eX__QpIqlTKqFGHJYrPxRonU-VUk344FkWHASnrNSyUovKkzjMiJcWq5Q4soHoxzrpa9aCDZZiPJw/s1600/vlcsnap-00034.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTxZtQJfFnZQVCK659YhuYyDQE3FvBQXgxIbpFhiZPp78fJK8bnG2Oq8bEdEdN04eX__QpIqlTKqFGHJYrPxRonU-VUk344FkWHASnrNSyUovKkzjMiJcWq5Q4soHoxzrpa9aCDZZiPJw/s320/vlcsnap-00034.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">In his mind's eye, Sherlock sees the victims, all hailing...
Taxis. Unseen, the cabbie produces a startlingly pink phone and sends
a text. </span></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYKB895UPaIungvoeu848VZ7Cm8epi7HHdUbe4dQHca5WsQdc0VIh6iLx61wT1rnAgDLIIffu_fVM_8WEf1zFL51E7oHjWg4ARaKlJG_uEvZHHMhhyAyHKidIPrH-0aQtSEaRXMzltgxg/s1600/vlcsnap-00035.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYKB895UPaIungvoeu848VZ7Cm8epi7HHdUbe4dQHca5WsQdc0VIh6iLx61wT1rnAgDLIIffu_fVM_8WEf1zFL51E7oHjWg4ARaKlJG_uEvZHHMhhyAyHKidIPrH-0aQtSEaRXMzltgxg/s320/vlcsnap-00035.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1FMMo0eSMiHnKA5FHt-efPZpG_JBiDJ82cywAVGHnDZ-FWdZw6HayW84LtnzH1lkjJyNVz3Yv1NT9ypHwYK4fbAaRl4eBRQwG1w8NxcoK6bUtv1WwtSz46foLPtBixVc0ut1q9zw6zU8/s1600/vlcsnap-00038.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1FMMo0eSMiHnKA5FHt-efPZpG_JBiDJ82cywAVGHnDZ-FWdZw6HayW84LtnzH1lkjJyNVz3Yv1NT9ypHwYK4fbAaRl4eBRQwG1w8NxcoK6bUtv1WwtSz46foLPtBixVc0ut1q9zw6zU8/s320/vlcsnap-00038.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Holmes takes out his own phone; COME WITH ME. The cabbie
turns and goes downstairs. Sherlock's mood has changed so abruptly,
Watson asks what's wrong. Nothing, just going for some fresh
air-won't be long. And with that, Sherlock goes down the stairs. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWZoCIzQEveaRCd0cbcQ2WBmtX51Vy0j9z78T5s7RJJBMWi4liZ0gjJgz_OMhbBo0xPNLqy1ePvPkaueFbYWhK9pdxSuxlp9HtxvS3EkAjMrnpxORpbjaWOGy-3oftAOeYllLL6aAooYw/s1600/vlcsnap-00041.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWZoCIzQEveaRCd0cbcQ2WBmtX51Vy0j9z78T5s7RJJBMWi4liZ0gjJgz_OMhbBo0xPNLqy1ePvPkaueFbYWhK9pdxSuxlp9HtxvS3EkAjMrnpxORpbjaWOGy-3oftAOeYllLL6aAooYw/s320/vlcsnap-00041.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Outside, a funny little man; ordinary, nondescript. Flat cap and
glasses, late fifties. 'Taxi for Sherlock 'Olmes.' Sherlock answers
he didn't order a Taxi. 'Doesn't mean you don't need one.'</span></span></div>
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<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlk4EFRTGlK9SZ5lIA9rCXeaAb1BycUBI5j_rK1WF2zLcnzsdpPAJEZLYKyTD_pS2sWjNxn4AgPY2Bh78X2MabH4t1TVtfFdmvdtePAgoINJqnvvPKD7UrN15gPjgk9yUqktYvwXRm9AI/s1600/vlcsnap-00042.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlk4EFRTGlK9SZ5lIA9rCXeaAb1BycUBI5j_rK1WF2zLcnzsdpPAJEZLYKyTD_pS2sWjNxn4AgPY2Bh78X2MabH4t1TVtfFdmvdtePAgoINJqnvvPKD7UrN15gPjgk9yUqktYvwXRm9AI/s320/vlcsnap-00042.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjar66zFmJ-QqkT67kmyvUN_BTpvzQywvWWvySNygKYdxl8tYRuT3gPGVHNdDCiJJOruNclkUOOqLRGebxjFBd4drn0EZvdsi-dBnJIsu5RfMzA-SIZNeXrap2MC2DM5AFHIJnPJNvpzdQ/s1600/vlcsnap-00043.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjar66zFmJ-QqkT67kmyvUN_BTpvzQywvWWvySNygKYdxl8tYRuT3gPGVHNdDCiJJOruNclkUOOqLRGebxjFBd4drn0EZvdsi-dBnJIsu5RfMzA-SIZNeXrap2MC2DM5AFHIJnPJNvpzdQ/s320/vlcsnap-00043.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Phil Davis is the Cabbie.</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">So
this is the cabbie-the one that stopped outside Northumberland
Street. It wasn't the <i>passenger</i> that was so interested, but
the driver!. <i>'See; no-one ever thinks about the cabbie, it's like
you're invisible; just the back of a head. Proper advantage for a
serial killer.' </i>Is that a confession?. <i>'Oh yeah.' </i>There's
more; if Sherlock calls the Coppers, he won't run. He'll sit quiet
and let them take him down, he promises. But he won't call them. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4o9xsS6RVErZ0kA27R_DJrc2OghwRMJNqP8jXi7v5IOxwpyHg_7b5JNnGSUbXITkWtq3K6-vNAoq4djqQVJPKXQtbVS8Pp3zLUuyiTBiR7n7xm8Vo-laggIYJqv57OW5TsUAYeS6RwMI/s1600/vlcsnap-00044.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4o9xsS6RVErZ0kA27R_DJrc2OghwRMJNqP8jXi7v5IOxwpyHg_7b5JNnGSUbXITkWtq3K6-vNAoq4djqQVJPKXQtbVS8Pp3zLUuyiTBiR7n7xm8Vo-laggIYJqv57OW5TsUAYeS6RwMI/s320/vlcsnap-00044.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sherlock asks why. He didn't kill those four people; he spoke to
them, they killed themselves. And if he gets the Coppers now, he
promises Sherlock one thing; he will never tell him what he said to
them. As the odd little man goes around to the driver's side,
Sherlock says no-one else would die, he believes they call that a
result. <i>'And you won’t ever understand how those four people
died. Which result do you care about?.' </i>Slowly, sherlock bends
down to the passenger window. What does he have to do, to
understand?. Let himself be taken for a ride. So he can be killed?. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2fVfbWmyUZNWTr1x7NbknXvKPNaj-T6pm0fz8m5wHIGX9PCrMxPTuHjZ83jwLjZHjaVpQrC0AL995vXiHBMtqpUUCjrLS2kKW7rkJdaqlwvIS8FXeQfnLgpAC_TTJWUkTC7i9CvFqk4I/s1600/vlcsnap-00045.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2fVfbWmyUZNWTr1x7NbknXvKPNaj-T6pm0fz8m5wHIGX9PCrMxPTuHjZ83jwLjZHjaVpQrC0AL995vXiHBMtqpUUCjrLS2kKW7rkJdaqlwvIS8FXeQfnLgpAC_TTJWUkTC7i9CvFqk4I/s320/vlcsnap-00045.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Taxi Driver doesn't want to kill him; he's going to talk to him
and he'll kill <i>himself. </i>What do they say about curiosity and
the cat?; whatever, sherlock gets in and the Taxi drives away. On his
phone, Watson sees this from the window. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_bQ-D-LtmpK0sSvdY3lq0BUmw9xmQVQGIXWuzm4Gv2bosSR0jSZBDFzx6UTg_2WOP9B224YCKLltcvUltezbW4ePx-DgCJ_CoRiXXgJYSSke0J0b8LJvwdoEA8aI35GHg_p-sJQly_cQ/s1600/vlcsnap-00046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_bQ-D-LtmpK0sSvdY3lq0BUmw9xmQVQGIXWuzm4Gv2bosSR0jSZBDFzx6UTg_2WOP9B224YCKLltcvUltezbW4ePx-DgCJ_CoRiXXgJYSSke0J0b8LJvwdoEA8aI35GHg_p-sJQly_cQ/s320/vlcsnap-00046.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The pink phone is ringing
out. Galling as ever, Sgt Donovan walks up to Lestrade; she thinks
it's all a waste of time, he's a lunatic, murr-murrr-muh something.
(She's basically here to be a mosquito; no brains, buzzing around
irritating everyone). Lestrade realises the drugs bust thing has
played out, so calls it a night. </span></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9GbgZdiPfLyaVLAqHEgDRdJkrffp1tij6K56FlAWyJz_7wOMNjp8K05nCB6lkeBogb9kVncCfponxDSNW5t1ucu_QS9-6KeKbtGEumfz15XdwyyTRa-YeD3uuqgL6bO2kBMmE5VoNFMw/s1600/vlcsnap-00047.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9GbgZdiPfLyaVLAqHEgDRdJkrffp1tij6K56FlAWyJz_7wOMNjp8K05nCB6lkeBogb9kVncCfponxDSNW5t1ucu_QS9-6KeKbtGEumfz15XdwyyTRa-YeD3uuqgL6bO2kBMmE5VoNFMw/s320/vlcsnap-00047.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSbJ-2hnwcxiQntkKHZ_hOCy5Svyu5ACbYtT4vX0DjKsDtKAMa4GwwzTse3TMvqYcRujINCejbXOdBPTWixtc0FqpM16zrfyBTHMx1u-SxysNUO49fhl7gq9jbRJWbqbJrhpIuhQ4zmvo/s1600/V+CAB+RIDE.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSbJ-2hnwcxiQntkKHZ_hOCy5Svyu5ACbYtT4vX0DjKsDtKAMa4GwwzTse3TMvqYcRujINCejbXOdBPTWixtc0FqpM16zrfyBTHMx1u-SxysNUO49fhl7gq9jbRJWbqbJrhpIuhQ4zmvo/s320/V+CAB+RIDE.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">In
the back of the cab, Sherlocks asks how the Cabbie found him. Oh, he
recognised him; soon as he saw his interest in the cab the other
night. Sherlock 'Olmes. He was warned about him; he's been on his
website too-brilliant stuff, loved it. Intrigued, Sherlock asks who
warned him-not before he's noticed a sliver of dried shaving foam on
the man's neck; just someone who's noticed. </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqOCV6WBH_mu8Pi1ajy1c2_5L-bJds2J3_CGY_-zoQYrVQ0wM6zuW8PNynpCtAT0VWAWisEkYJxnvrp_rnmbHyb6cTFg3WvCurDw68FkN3x7_FTQ1WPxG0pBGMxlg1Pm9oH5uwiuBfZm4/s1600/vlcsnap-00048.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqOCV6WBH_mu8Pi1ajy1c2_5L-bJds2J3_CGY_-zoQYrVQ0wM6zuW8PNynpCtAT0VWAWisEkYJxnvrp_rnmbHyb6cTFg3WvCurDw68FkN3x7_FTQ1WPxG0pBGMxlg1Pm9oH5uwiuBfZm4/s320/vlcsnap-00048.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The cabbie's not giving
out names, so Holmes uses the time to examine the cab; there's a
photo of some kids stuck to the dash. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZPT86ON-W82wZEYjmyRyUfTTq8JaLHf6Z8jko2WB-zgeLwoPQFlPl1Q9kI_WMEJCwAuBWUmzsXrKMUBKMg8ml0JiOs-1wJ_ex4FVPdGrFJfcASXg3z85rhY5Y6F6KOfyac4ASHUrnkUQ/s1600/vlcsnap-00050.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZPT86ON-W82wZEYjmyRyUfTTq8JaLHf6Z8jko2WB-zgeLwoPQFlPl1Q9kI_WMEJCwAuBWUmzsXrKMUBKMg8ml0JiOs-1wJ_ex4FVPdGrFJfcASXg3z85rhY5Y6F6KOfyac4ASHUrnkUQ/s320/vlcsnap-00050.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">He tries again; who would
notice him?. 'You're too modest, Mister 'Olmes.' 'I'm really not.'
He's got himself a fan. That's all he's gonna know.... in this
lifetime. </span></span>
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<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Back
at 221b, Lestrade is asking why Sherlock left; John thinks the
policeman would know him better then himself. Not really; Lestrade's
known Sherlock five years and doesn't really know him. So why put up
with him?. Honestly, the Detective Inspector replies; 'Because I'm
desperate, that's why.' </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8VBzYdTcjy7Ze2lR4cWRoO5k2u2IyJ122ywegm3bu-V2MQUsdxESKM0BwE3lJUoG9AJNLHG-4nev3IlnVKDN0BWoOfMshrofmiL_Yh5_vKyv-wHEPhPgxpqOvxnOkEDkVrYNp3I_u6GY/s1600/vlcsnap-00051.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8VBzYdTcjy7Ze2lR4cWRoO5k2u2IyJ122ywegm3bu-V2MQUsdxESKM0BwE3lJUoG9AJNLHG-4nev3IlnVKDN0BWoOfMshrofmiL_Yh5_vKyv-wHEPhPgxpqOvxnOkEDkVrYNp3I_u6GY/s320/vlcsnap-00051.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Then, the honest answer;</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
cab rolls to a halt between two identical looking buildings (oh-oh),
this is Roland Kerr college. Holmes asks where they are, but the
Cabbie isn't fooled; Holmes knows every street in London as well as
any taxi driver and he knows it. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7SmAMQdTaSlE_ziWlvJF-Viok41-6XZqMaPsFkkhvjB19mLQxko5gKJseAqctJ2he1-GsArcuUqOg2hzKx3fB8WVXvbuhJQmuQ01-SsKCn-xonobLYGHwbxRIb4BDHfqnojn1lYe-l1Q/s1600/vlcsnap-00053.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7SmAMQdTaSlE_ziWlvJF-Viok41-6XZqMaPsFkkhvjB19mLQxko5gKJseAqctJ2he1-GsArcuUqOg2hzKx3fB8WVXvbuhJQmuQ01-SsKCn-xonobLYGHwbxRIb4BDHfqnojn1lYe-l1Q/s320/vlcsnap-00053.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">So why here?; it's open-cleaners are
in. One thing about being a cabbie - you always know a nice, quiet
spot for a murder. So, he just walks his victims in?. By way of
answer, the strange little man produces a gun.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrOuBXF4VdTm9Di9YD4d1YqDtSFFoqVAv023S7tPBSJRBuij7xVS5dhjPvLFdV2s8yh5AW-jzGz0TUUnLF4m-TQuVmypRc8nXzO2YWPGYeuWph7of4P6mTu-3m8ruCKzsXphrfipxUSnM/s1600/vlcsnap-00055.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrOuBXF4VdTm9Di9YD4d1YqDtSFFoqVAv023S7tPBSJRBuij7xVS5dhjPvLFdV2s8yh5AW-jzGz0TUUnLF4m-TQuVmypRc8nXzO2YWPGYeuWph7of4P6mTu-3m8ruCKzsXphrfipxUSnM/s320/vlcsnap-00055.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">When Holmes protests
you can't make people take their own lives at gunpoint, he explains
he doesn't; it's better than that. Anyway, he doesn't need the gun
with Holmes – he'll follow him anyway. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWmT3p6xfhG9kc63PqYxTU39RMtfCL7C10h4e8jksrpt-yVlghd4slSPqBrUs74znmonawIXNaWbhb42zdu5Wv-c8GAZppOo1Yw4BcMVQVmEpOl7foKjl7eBjpbL3zRWep-hjIprIPlzM/s1600/Y+PING.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWmT3p6xfhG9kc63PqYxTU39RMtfCL7C10h4e8jksrpt-yVlghd4slSPqBrUs74znmonawIXNaWbhb42zdu5Wv-c8GAZppOo1Yw4BcMVQVmEpOl7foKjl7eBjpbL3zRWep-hjIprIPlzM/s320/Y+PING.gif" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Back at 221b, Watson is just
reaching for the stick he doesn't need when a little trill from the
laptop announces an update for the phone; The college. Suddenly
realising the terrible danger his new friend is in, Watson rushes off
to find a cab. The irony there won't have escaped you, will it?. </span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8xZ53JzDDKEn9-wHqBhPfM7JDQgDdBRdTJ1h-Pi-l32hIa9mK5K6gNGwwQT-OZqP19y7uN1kx28KpPgmAnvQEXndRG-IAmMvvrPTeOjumdpVoIZAKz91lqnBTNDx5y5LCxRTKuxl8SYc/s1600/vlcsnap-00001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8xZ53JzDDKEn9-wHqBhPfM7JDQgDdBRdTJ1h-Pi-l32hIa9mK5K6gNGwwQT-OZqP19y7uN1kx28KpPgmAnvQEXndRG-IAmMvvrPTeOjumdpVoIZAKz91lqnBTNDx5y5LCxRTKuxl8SYc/s320/vlcsnap-00001.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Switching
on the overhead lights, the cabbie unveils a study room. He asks
Sherlock's opinion; he's the one that's going to die here. Amused at
this, Holmes responds 'No I'm not.' <i>That's what they all say.
</i>Pulling out a chair, the cabbie invites Holmes to talk. Sherlock
thinks it a bit risky, taking him under the noses of half a dozen
police-and Mrs. Hudson will remember him. '<i>Call that a risk?. Nah.
This is a risk.' </i>So saying, the cabbie sets down a bottle
containing a single, large pill. The murderer enjoys this bit; the
victim has no idea what's going on. But this one is about to. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7KAbpGywM-Wybf7LGtld1iH2buNMnhYaQTbbjYUi3N7mOleAmeB8rAvcN3gWn-bg6ClktorHa0MCCSXfv_fDgfBaAbfSuZVojzL5ipXRky8QNsJ8IBGhsb9qXalWyor63KNsXtH6r7gU/s1600/vlcsnap-00057.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7KAbpGywM-Wybf7LGtld1iH2buNMnhYaQTbbjYUi3N7mOleAmeB8rAvcN3gWn-bg6ClktorHa0MCCSXfv_fDgfBaAbfSuZVojzL5ipXRky8QNsJ8IBGhsb9qXalWyor63KNsXtH6r7gU/s320/vlcsnap-00057.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGkMALLG3w1hE-9Rfc2J3DogNmBcDut5bGnokmWpgFN79d7tntml74JHS8NrD1KsPEfD5SbR2-Te8p3d2C51KwO-p_c5w3Vr_KIVFXXuR7ez9ldS9NG0xP6ehgIRFyx7XNZU4pudcKWdM/s1600/vlcsnap-00058.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGkMALLG3w1hE-9Rfc2J3DogNmBcDut5bGnokmWpgFN79d7tntml74JHS8NrD1KsPEfD5SbR2-Te8p3d2C51KwO-p_c5w3Vr_KIVFXXuR7ez9ldS9NG0xP6ehgIRFyx7XNZU4pudcKWdM/s320/vlcsnap-00058.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">He sets
down another, identical bottle, containing another identical pill.
He's gonna <i>love</i> this...</span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i> </i></span></span> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b></b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZFyfETIgdjUUTuBYPZJtfjCC3Fr4dBT6ArKrJw2xOmD1mW4KSfguQ_2LQrCCduUyB3OVhqj_lKC-jXx57saz1ztDvcddU5Nn7Fuu548wW9g_W4CgRD_ednQ0JcK4g6TwQx3wxrx1TIxA/s1600/vlcsnap-00059.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZFyfETIgdjUUTuBYPZJtfjCC3Fr4dBT6ArKrJw2xOmD1mW4KSfguQ_2LQrCCduUyB3OVhqj_lKC-jXx57saz1ztDvcddU5Nn7Fuu548wW9g_W4CgRD_ednQ0JcK4g6TwQx3wxrx1TIxA/s320/vlcsnap-00059.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkYa3uS2iwFAgWQLmdVL7tiOqainsiZx85oDh5CiWupBDTmQVrWwUwk4VYyheoh0OTdnFRYSprZ33mmgCUyqPQm7ZVCT-QevQePf3JuZgrsoFttompqYPQ-VtD47UpUeKj_LH21dKjRt8/s1600/vlcsnap-00060.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkYa3uS2iwFAgWQLmdVL7tiOqainsiZx85oDh5CiWupBDTmQVrWwUwk4VYyheoh0OTdnFRYSprZ33mmgCUyqPQm7ZVCT-QevQePf3JuZgrsoFttompqYPQ-VtD47UpUeKj_LH21dKjRt8/s320/vlcsnap-00060.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></span></span></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sherlock
asks about the bottles. There's a good bottle and a bad one. Take the
pill from the good bottle; you live. Take the pill from the bad
bottle; you die. Both identical in every way and only he knows which
is which. It wouldn't be a game if Sherlock knew; he's the one who
chooses. There's nothing to go on, what's in it for him?, he asks.
The cabbie's kept the best bit back. Whatever pill Sherlock
chooses-he takes the pill from the other one... and then, together
'We take our medicine.' He won't cheat and Sherlock has the choice.
The cabbie will take whichever pill he doesn't...</span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl07qPnnQO7wKFRrynyKvi0P4JIfYIhyphenhyphenG6Wm5PMzz8YJgPsPhmZdzvCpS5y8gTFROW36_NE_Uw4U9WWnyqBA0H_WCjY0qxSfywAIjkojALnbO8wO2BZaznyxK0xduKVZIXiCn9pcl2tbs/s1600/vlcsnap-00061.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl07qPnnQO7wKFRrynyKvi0P4JIfYIhyphenhyphenG6Wm5PMzz8YJgPsPhmZdzvCpS5y8gTFROW36_NE_Uw4U9WWnyqBA0H_WCjY0qxSfywAIjkojALnbO8wO2BZaznyxK0xduKVZIXiCn9pcl2tbs/s320/vlcsnap-00061.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">He
advises Holmes to take his time, get himself together; he wants his
best game. 'It's not a game, it's chance' the detective fires back.
<i>'I’ve played four times. I’m alive. It’s not chance, Mr.
Holmes. It’s chess. It’s a game of chess, with one move, and
one survivor. And this-'</i> he slides a bottle over to Sherlock
<i>'</i>-<i>this is the move.' </i>Now did, he give Sherlock the good
pill or the bad one?. </span></span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">While
this is going on, Watson is trying to reach Lestrade by phone in the
back of a cab, the laptop open on his lap, the MEPHONE tracker
pinging away. He directs the cab as he goes. </span></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Back
in the college, the Cabbie asks if Holmes is ready to play. Play what
exactly?, it's a fifty-fifty chance. The Cabbie insists he's no
playing the numbers, but playing <i>him. </i>Did he give him the bad
pill?, is it bluff or double bluff?. It's still just chance, says
Holmes. Four people in a row?, that's not chance it's genius he
claims, he can see how people think, how they think <i>he </i>thinks,
can see it all like a map inside his head. Everyone's so stupid, even
Holmes-or maybe God just loves him?. Going to what he knows, Holmes
leans forward, hands clasped. 'Either way, you're wasted as a
Cabbie...' </span></span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Watson
alights from the cab and stands staring at the twin edifices of the
Roland Kerr college. Which building?. A fifty-fifty chance-he's
facing a fifty-fifty chance too! (What <i>are</i> the odds?.) </span></span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Sherlock
begins to use that remarkable faculty of his, to collate, analyse and
infer. This man risked his own life four times to kill four
strangers?. Already rattled, the Cabbie inists it's time to play. 'Oh
I am playing.' says Sherlock. Traces of shaving foam under left ear;
traces where it's happened before. No-one to tell him before he
leaves home?; he lives alone. But there's a photograph of children,
the mother cut out of the picture. </span><span style="font-weight: normal;">'</span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">I</span></i><i>f
she’d died, she’d still be there. The photograph is old, but the
frame is new. You think of your children, but you don’t get to see
them. Estranged father, she took the kids, but you still love them,
and it still hurts...'</i></span></span></div>
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<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivy5nC4GmIfVYCEon5PN37dfzpQLCD9jFISqw6NUMcdOIeg7Q7_8KKid8hPbRM4Tsvm_acJJO5oa0k5KFO0ODxXptFtSLl8greL9JR5Sm2YWXZmCF6tvfYBzzaSVFg7szZWhWNvLN0DVM/s1600/vlcsnap-00064.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivy5nC4GmIfVYCEon5PN37dfzpQLCD9jFISqw6NUMcdOIeg7Q7_8KKid8hPbRM4Tsvm_acJJO5oa0k5KFO0ODxXptFtSLl8greL9JR5Sm2YWXZmCF6tvfYBzzaSVFg7szZWhWNvLN0DVM/s320/vlcsnap-00064.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">But
there's more; as the Cabbie fights to keep a poker face, Holmes
states his clothes are freshly laundered, yet at least three years
old. He's keeping up an appearance, but not planning ahead. And here
he is on a kamikaze murder spree. Three years ago; that's when they
told him. <i> </i></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUHl8edmSkKp3x0_ETlPQwjjXG23MZFSZNU7V1jcB7PfmMBcjmM61d7Ex4psPkXOuvPGQ35t3dnlzOKNCqWc4wM4ujHG14ojFKam7QQt_MXo94bdEIJQLAZlW1QzFPTkl8E-pwGntzMv4/s1600/vlcsnap-00036.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUHl8edmSkKp3x0_ETlPQwjjXG23MZFSZNU7V1jcB7PfmMBcjmM61d7Ex4psPkXOuvPGQ35t3dnlzOKNCqWc4wM4ujHG14ojFKam7QQt_MXo94bdEIJQLAZlW1QzFPTkl8E-pwGntzMv4/s320/vlcsnap-00036.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Told me what?. '</i>That you're a dead man walking.' '<i>So
are you'-</i>snarls the taxi driver, before smiling and admitting
he's got an aneuryism. Every breath could be his last. And because of
that, he murdered four people?. <i>'I’ve </i>outlived<i> four
people. That’s the most fun you can have, with an aneurism.' </i></span></span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">No,
there's something else... he didn't kill four people because he was
bitter; bitterness is a paralytic. <i>Love</i>, now love is a much
more vicious motivator. Somehow, this about his children. This is
clearly getting to the Cabbie; the scrutiny, the examination.
Nodding, the cabbie admits Holmes is good. When he dies, they won't
get much, his kids. Not a lot of money in driving cabs (Times must
have changed; London Cabbies used to be notoriously well
compensated). 'Or serial killing' adds Holmes. He'd be surprised-the
Cabbie has a sponsor. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUOIyfO2qSQrieoQghMEYyoAx1JjyDTH_OCUHBb0sPrRiGGUHdNvMw1xAYEVY50OkwPe8d9Rrtnv4V702jKeeiymY8aFdEH8NEBmlYpi64bcbm561rzVT0uV9WqH-D5Bs5HMT9h1LUkgI/s1600/vlcsnap-00065.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUOIyfO2qSQrieoQghMEYyoAx1JjyDTH_OCUHBb0sPrRiGGUHdNvMw1xAYEVY50OkwPe8d9Rrtnv4V702jKeeiymY8aFdEH8NEBmlYpi64bcbm561rzVT0uV9WqH-D5Bs5HMT9h1LUkgI/s320/vlcsnap-00065.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">For every life he takes, money goes to his
kids. 'Who'd sponsor a serial killer?' <i>Who'd be a fan of Sherlock
Olmes?. </i><span style="text-decoration: none;">He's not the only one
to enjoy a good murder, there's others out there. Sherlock is just a
man, they are so much more... Intrigued, Sherlock wants to know more.
An organisation-what?. </span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">There's
a name, that no-one says</span></i><span style="text-decoration: none;">
– he's not saying it either. Time to choose. </span></span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">By
now, Watson is charging through the building, room to room, calling
Sherlock's name. </span></span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">What
if Sherlock doesn't choose either-what if he just walks out of
there?. Sighing, the Cabbie draws his gun. Sherlock can take
fifty-fifty – or a bullet to the head. Funny enough, no-one's ever
chosen Option B... until now. Sherlock chooses the gun. The Cabbie
invites him to reconsider, but he insists. The gun. With a cold
stare, the Cabbie pulls the trigger. With a click, a flame emerges
from the barrel. </span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"></span></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggR6fuyA-0ZZW-T0ZroLu7zOJOxIH9tSqVQk80SPfzsDmwXZNt9zHiB0-uLhHGsNRfnY0ZLoOlpebnMdjgvrM5Bvwp9Sf1hr_Ya9k7Y1L_w-IK78hK6Ex-1sPpHriuuE-RytfYmJz_2fE/s1600/vlcsnap-00066.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggR6fuyA-0ZZW-T0ZroLu7zOJOxIH9tSqVQk80SPfzsDmwXZNt9zHiB0-uLhHGsNRfnY0ZLoOlpebnMdjgvrM5Bvwp9Sf1hr_Ya9k7Y1L_w-IK78hK6Ex-1sPpHriuuE-RytfYmJz_2fE/s320/vlcsnap-00066.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">'I know a real gun when I see one.' </span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">None
of the others did. </span></i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Well,
this has been very interesting-Sherlock tells him he looks forward to
the court case, gets up from the table, reaches the door. Before he
goes, the Cabbie asks, did he figure it out?. 'Of course-child's
play.' </span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Well, which
one?. Just so I know if I could have beaten you. Come on-play the
game... </span></i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Closing the
door again, Holmes returns to the table, snatching up the bottle
nearest the Cabbie. The murderer finds this fascinating.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQgFPu2ptRi1LxY4D2ILC8ZAf1-IMtJtu-BVencUF-Ugeof0-rqItFWf2YTi7bTQG9r98LZ2mmklpAtfV7soUPodtNsoIepzcLltDWTaTOU9wl0fYyYK__yEugqU6FZ4hx5RiElJwMZgc/s1600/ZZ+RACE+AGAINST+TIME.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQgFPu2ptRi1LxY4D2ILC8ZAf1-IMtJtu-BVencUF-Ugeof0-rqItFWf2YTi7bTQG9r98LZ2mmklpAtfV7soUPodtNsoIepzcLltDWTaTOU9wl0fYyYK__yEugqU6FZ4hx5RiElJwMZgc/s320/ZZ+RACE+AGAINST+TIME.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Watson
is running now, as the Cabbie opens the remaining bottle and holds
the pill in his hand, examining it as if hoping to discover a truth
hidden within. </span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">'So what
d'you think-shall we?.' </span></i><span style="text-decoration: none;">A
desperate Watson sprints from door to door. </span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">'Can
you beat me?, are you clever enough, to bet your life?.' </span></i><span style="text-decoration: none;">Holmes
holds his bottle, too much the gambler, the addict to walk away.
Watson bursts into the room.... </span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">across
the way, in the wrong building. </span></i><span style="text-decoration: none;">His
scream of Sherlock! Goes unheard. </span></span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz5M4jybViLJUrjTjRNEPfBpSL6OgUzkurQlBTngGScb17GK2D7FwVu9TQLWjNBLXj7mguiMhMftD48ESPMLaMtoXQM3zEXp2IBpYDBmvfbISxz5vHL_ZEpf1bmFmIkGQjHyuSIgJCtBw/s1600/vlcsnap-00067.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz5M4jybViLJUrjTjRNEPfBpSL6OgUzkurQlBTngGScb17GK2D7FwVu9TQLWjNBLXj7mguiMhMftD48ESPMLaMtoXQM3zEXp2IBpYDBmvfbISxz5vHL_ZEpf1bmFmIkGQjHyuSIgJCtBw/s320/vlcsnap-00067.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsgkLD0NOOJw5ndh7b9U0yfM8iy0VXtyofrSlpxqJIFjCstpXWLuG-u9dgM9KfPCBspA6k_eAE6KvFqhVjuSg81Z8qT0me8y7JDquG-C_GBaN328EjTX4jKSHg8Sz4uNyVKjkg9DRx230/s1600/vlcsnap-00068.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsgkLD0NOOJw5ndh7b9U0yfM8iy0VXtyofrSlpxqJIFjCstpXWLuG-u9dgM9KfPCBspA6k_eAE6KvFqhVjuSg81Z8qT0me8y7JDquG-C_GBaN328EjTX4jKSHg8Sz4uNyVKjkg9DRx230/s320/vlcsnap-00068.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">'You
get bored, I know you do - a man like you, so clever. But what’s
the point in being clever if you can’t prove it.' </span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Holmes
opens the bottle, holds the pill up to the light as if a clue were to
be had. </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">'Still
the addict!. But this is what you’re really addicted to, isn’t
it?. You’ll do anything, anything at all - not to be bored.'
</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Holding
his own pill up to his mouth, the Cabbie watches, transfixed as
Holmes prepares to swallow his. </span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">You're
not bored now, are yer?.' </span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk1Hd0Mh2wUVXV0MNn8QztD4h3yUrQU_rQH7XP7JBVPrezCJSzOQBDVjy1uQ539bRJpcSRtjd3Xg-Ofe-4QOmB7FOec_3hbdShyWRhHC87XGMkeAIBHZRQ3TBoZ6y9RPT6YK1YwAtG1eg/s1600/ZZZZ+THE+SHOT+HUGE+FILE.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk1Hd0Mh2wUVXV0MNn8QztD4h3yUrQU_rQH7XP7JBVPrezCJSzOQBDVjy1uQ539bRJpcSRtjd3Xg-Ofe-4QOmB7FOec_3hbdShyWRhHC87XGMkeAIBHZRQ3TBoZ6y9RPT6YK1YwAtG1eg/s320/ZZZZ+THE+SHOT+HUGE+FILE.gif" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<br />
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">The
Cabbie starts to say something when the nine millimetre round
explodes through the window and into his chest. Even for a Military
man it's a good shot, by the time Holmes gets to the window there's
no sign of Watson. </span></span></span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Desperate,
Holmes leans over the mortally wounded killer. Was he right?, he must
know!. With no answer save agonised gasps for breath, he throws the
pill off the doomed man's face in disgust. 'Okay, tell me this; your
sponsor, who was it?.' He wants a name, but the Cabbie refuses, even
at death's door. He's dying, but there's still time to hurt him; the
name. Placing his shoe on the dying man's shoulder next to the wound,
Holmes again demands the name. Only a whimper of pain, of agony.
Again he demands it, puts more pressure on, unbearable pressure. The
name comes as a howl of pain; Moriarty!. Sherlock steps back as the
man dies. </span></span><br />
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXULS5RqV6lrTaldQ97vn8v3YULwSiH8HOYLi5Y8h6Fkad6gUuME5FhaeqAaozQbj0UiyB2-obHGFDzSdW1o3cQE_KfzVvCfta546QumBxb5-pWkWYzEN43cfpIHIr6HGEwrkQJaYuXu0/s1600/vlcsnap-00069.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXULS5RqV6lrTaldQ97vn8v3YULwSiH8HOYLi5Y8h6Fkad6gUuME5FhaeqAaozQbj0UiyB2-obHGFDzSdW1o3cQE_KfzVvCfta546QumBxb5-pWkWYzEN43cfpIHIr6HGEwrkQJaYuXu0/s320/vlcsnap-00069.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZdbBpag_yDYAOJ6KtUwcNni-OQnWW9qPnAMNpAqZZo3RUN5YRWdxvdGyOjtg4VZ_wGDIvMadenT8zlojiHJeBjQcgKaCFYZgGJUfFtlAazVtUZuKffeYNs4628AUgMsyYAZJisKddPtg/s1600/ZZZZZ+MORIARTY%2521.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZdbBpag_yDYAOJ6KtUwcNni-OQnWW9qPnAMNpAqZZo3RUN5YRWdxvdGyOjtg4VZ_wGDIvMadenT8zlojiHJeBjQcgKaCFYZgGJUfFtlAazVtUZuKffeYNs4628AUgMsyYAZJisKddPtg/s320/ZZZZZ+MORIARTY%2521.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Police
cars everywhere and an ambulance, in which sits Sherlock, a paramedic
draping a blanket around him. As Lestrade strolls up, Sherlock asks
why they keep putting this blanket on him. </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinLtRcNyIldfJ77bMCS4Sl9q96v_pbKIrc4gO4tYTILwnu6pVXPvT0_k_PAKHdZ6CCeqklKivP2CELkTiUf_1z1MKVNH-WhjEFvV69EXs-42xWU3gcRShaF6WFRkxcZJyTPpqwZCsYq_I/s1600/vlcsnap-00070.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinLtRcNyIldfJ77bMCS4Sl9q96v_pbKIrc4gO4tYTILwnu6pVXPvT0_k_PAKHdZ6CCeqklKivP2CELkTiUf_1z1MKVNH-WhjEFvV69EXs-42xWU3gcRShaF6WFRkxcZJyTPpqwZCsYq_I/s320/vlcsnap-00070.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">It's for shock. Sherlock
insists he's not in shock. Maliciously, Lestrade explains; 'Yeah, but
some of the guys want to take photographs.' The shooter cleared off
before the Police arrived, a guy like the Cabbie must have made
enemies... but they've got nothing to go on. Sherlock knows better
and Lestrade wants what he has;</span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisZjUSQVJEAFBA9QyXZInLjO5vfLvjsCgZLB1cooA530r39rFxTDwi8pYW4dgxCQ7q5uPzuHdOM27VC_C8JDYjCkavlqxjSFkwgxHT0DqwPf64nqu4sKhZIgdR05q0fG760LzVdWheLMo/s1600/vlcsnap-00071.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisZjUSQVJEAFBA9QyXZInLjO5vfLvjsCgZLB1cooA530r39rFxTDwi8pYW4dgxCQ7q5uPzuHdOM27VC_C8JDYjCkavlqxjSFkwgxHT0DqwPf64nqu4sKhZIgdR05q0fG760LzVdWheLMo/s320/vlcsnap-00071.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">'The
bullet they just dug out the wall was from a hand gun. A kill shot
over that distance from that kind of weapon - that’s a crack shot
you’re looking for. But not just a marksmen, a fighter - his hand
couldn’t have shaken at all, so clearly he’s acclimatised to
violence. He didn’t fire ‘til I was in immediate danger, though.
So, strong moral principle. You’re looking for a man probably with
a history of military service and nerves of steel-' Realising where
this is heading, he breaks off, looking over at Watson, standing
there innocently, hands clasped behind his back. </span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Elo2V2lUep5cF_OYLnzssNDyxm2o0R9VGLpU0RBAVCEAn7BWU8Dqp-z8sTqQG_gkgsScU7NxvMKtlynfbwPnUV_D9JIqgeTalLGbzUBzAZguCbcv8ojtAfF-ZF7EQ_g-rG-ARQ_9V4I/s1600/vlcsnap-00072.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Elo2V2lUep5cF_OYLnzssNDyxm2o0R9VGLpU0RBAVCEAn7BWU8Dqp-z8sTqQG_gkgsScU7NxvMKtlynfbwPnUV_D9JIqgeTalLGbzUBzAZguCbcv8ojtAfF-ZF7EQ_g-rG-ARQ_9V4I/s320/vlcsnap-00072.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Actually ignore me,
says Holmes. What?. Ignore all of it; it's just the... shock.
</span></span></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Lestrade
still has some questions for him and, amusingly, Sherlock insists
he's in shock; look, he's got a blanket. And-he's just caught
Lestrade a serial killer. More or less. Reluctantly, Lestrade agrees
to pull him in tomorrow for a chat. </span></span></span></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Going
under the Police tape, Holmes chucks his blanket into a patrol car.
Watson tells him Donovan explained it all; the two pills bit.
Terrible business. </span></span></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Sincerely,
with a hint of gratitude, Sherlock says 'Good shot.' It must have
been, bluffs Watson. Not fooled for a moment, Holmes tells him he
needs to get the powder burns off his fingers; best to avoid a court
case. Holmes asks if he's alright; of course he is. Well, you have
just killed a man... falling into the trap, Watson replies 'Yes...
that's true. But he wasn't a very nice man. And frankly, an awful
cabbie...' To laughter, Sherlock agrees; he should have seen the
route he took to get here. </span></span></span></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">As
the two walk away giggling, John tells Sherlock he was going to take
that damn pill, course he wasn't; just biding his time, he claims.
Knew Watson would show up. John's not having any of it; this is how
Sherlock gets his kicks, he says-risking his life to prove he's
clever. 'Why would I do that?'. 'Cos you're an idiot.' Smiling at his
new friend, Sherlock suggests dinner. There's a good Chinese at the
end of Baker Street. He starts to explain how to spot a good Chinese
when John spots Umbrella Man emerging from his car and points him
out to Sherlock. </span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">The pretty girl is next to her boss, still texting
away. Umbrella speaks; </span></span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">'So!
Another case cracked. How very public spirited of you. Though
that’s never really ever your motivation, is it?' </span></span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Sherlock
asks what he's doing here and the man claims it's out of concern for
him. Holmes responds to this acidly. 'Yes, I've been hearing about
your concern...' </span></span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">'Always
so aggressive. Does it never occur to you that you and I belong on
the same side?.'</span></span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
Oddly enough, no is Sherlock's reply. </span></span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">'We
have more in common than you like to believe. This petty feud
between us - it’s simply childish. People will suffer. And you
know how it always upset Mummy.' </span></span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">If
Watson was absorbed before, he's fascinated now. Mummy?. Intently,
Sherlock states 'It wasn't me who upset her, Mycroft.' Watson wants
to know who Mummy is. Sherlock tells him; their Mother. This is
Mycroft Holmes, his brother!. </span></span></span></span></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGPdDn2y88REmK31jQv0sr_WiF_J05cyZ3fJ0XQjwVl7RvGLr6sxXKPbJgJ1I577XmUgsPZf3s9YyQejrgWDLgHJaPAYDPqhgI8Uy3Bxo0-64TEo03Pf4GSairC_aVrbFonSy3d_7VjhU/s1600/vlcsnap-00078.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGPdDn2y88REmK31jQv0sr_WiF_J05cyZ3fJ0XQjwVl7RvGLr6sxXKPbJgJ1I577XmUgsPZf3s9YyQejrgWDLgHJaPAYDPqhgI8Uy3Bxo0-64TEo03Pf4GSairC_aVrbFonSy3d_7VjhU/s320/vlcsnap-00078.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Sherlock
can't resist a familial dig; is Mycroft putting on weight again?.
</span></span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">'Losing
it, in fact...' </span></span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">So,
he's not a criminal mastermind?. </span></span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">'For
goodness sake!; I occupy a minor position in the British Government.'
</span></span></i></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Looking
after Sherlock, Watson absent-mindedly responds 'Yeah... no, God,
no.' Turning to the pretty girl, Watson says hello. When she looks at
him blankly, he reminds her they met earlier and she seems surprised
by this. At that, he goes off to join Sherlock who suggests Dim-Sum
and mentions his wound. Left shoulder?. That was a guess, says John.
Sherlock tells him he never guesses. Yes, you do, insists John,
wondering why Sherlock is beaming. Moriarty... 'What's Moriarty?.'
Sherlock has absolutely no idea. </span></span>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOfCtBmvL_IeGQZmsvu8QiigGDAPSR7y6L1SocWS5DYcYaCpF3OMQkDMt8aDLoQ_8xasrPcoG480bCuEfzp-b3b3aOAlKBO_Q77_-PZps1e-rNW4LfS3VSTbJuOYkd1K-dyQyYY2qpgzY/s1600/vlcsnap-00002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOfCtBmvL_IeGQZmsvu8QiigGDAPSR7y6L1SocWS5DYcYaCpF3OMQkDMt8aDLoQ_8xasrPcoG480bCuEfzp-b3b3aOAlKBO_Q77_-PZps1e-rNW4LfS3VSTbJuOYkd1K-dyQyYY2qpgzY/s320/vlcsnap-00002.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";">Mark Gatiss is Mycroft Holmes</span></span><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">, the 'Umbrella Man'</span></span></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Watching
them leave, the girl suggests to Mycroft that they go. She calls him
'Sir.'</span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">
'Interesting, that soldier fellow. Could be the making of my
brother. Or make him worse than ever. Either way, we’d better
upgrade their surveillance status. Grade 3 active.' </span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Looking
up from her texting, she asks whose status?.</span></span><i><span style="text-decoration: none;">
'Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson...' </span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Smiling,
the two in question walk towards the camera together. A new
partnership is born...</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">And
that is the end of 'A study in Pink'. So, the show that took me seven
years to watch... created by Steven Moffat and <i>League of Gentlemen
</i>member and writer Mark Gatiss, <i>Sherlock </i>is, as the
preceding text shows, a modern re-working of Arthur Conan Doyle's
original premise. The characters of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John
Watson have been transplanted fairly effortlessly-Holmes is pretty
much as the original; aloof, vain, brilliant. Also-as there's always
a war in Afghanistan (Stupidity the one commodity we don't seem to
lack) Watson's war was one with machine guns and rocket launchers
rather than muskets and horses. He blogs instead of writes, Holmes
has patches instead of the real thing (Coke and pipes). The
supporting characters-Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson are given make-overs to
suit the modern day. It all works effortlessly-which means there was
huge expenditure of effort to create the effect. 221B is a tad
disappointing-221b has been portrayed many different ways in various
productions and all have bits I liked and bits that let the rest
down. I've yet to see a 'perfect' 221b yet-though some came close.
Here, it all looks bland, dull and drowsy. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";">The cast of Sherlock all shine; although Moriarty (Andrew Scott, who went on to play 'C' in the somehow-disappointing Bond film <i>SPECTRE</i>) hasn't shwoed up yet, Cumberbatch and co. carry the opener brilliantly; Martin Freeman (<i>The Office, Fargo</i>) is the perfect comic foil for Holmes, sturdy, loyal, intelligent and above all, <i>human</i>, Freeman's Watson gives the production the normality to balance Cumberbatch's Aspergic Bipolarism and the genius that allows us to forgive it. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";">Una Stubbs (A lifelong family friend of the Cumberbatch family) is superbly cast; she reminds me of my own, Dear, late Auntie Jean, albeit a dotty version. Stubbs is a delight, in short. Phil Davis (<i>Quadrophenia, Scum</i>) would go on to play Inspector Gilbert in <i>Mr. Holmes</i> (2015), but this icon of British youth culture is genuinely surprising as Jeff, the murderous and doomed Cabbie-not least because I was shocked at how much he'd changed since <i>Quodrophenia</i>. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYFBCYUJtyWdlRbtu17nMrhG1rxJBaLdQmY1X-J3Q-yGKJru-s72W6NUqS9Amgk44WKMHryn9AICc-0mg4KULNJep-Schu7SRVu2uZvRMa3MMF9eZliEbuThicjvswo9fLrQmduHICm1k/s1600/ae4e99557e9f98d97669c33d8d56f13c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYFBCYUJtyWdlRbtu17nMrhG1rxJBaLdQmY1X-J3Q-yGKJru-s72W6NUqS9Amgk44WKMHryn9AICc-0mg4KULNJep-Schu7SRVu2uZvRMa3MMF9eZliEbuThicjvswo9fLrQmduHICm1k/s320/ae4e99557e9f98d97669c33d8d56f13c.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Phil Davis, British icon.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";">Davis plays the odd little man to a T and the producers were wise to secure his services; a lesser actor might have seemed unequal to the protagonist. Rupert Graves plays D.I. Lestrade with dignity-hard to achieve given that the role essentially calls for him to be decent, but dim. Luckily, instead of plumping for the traditional 'Bumbling idiot who somehow made Inspector', the role allows him to be a person of average intellect who happens to be out of his depth with certain cases. In the same year as <i>Sherlock </i>was filmed, Graves appeared in the fantastic <i>Made in Dagenham</i>, which alone should have secured his fame, but he started his career with the wonderful <i>A room with a View </i>(1985) so he fits in well here. Mark Gatiss gets in on the action as Mycroft Holmes, perhaps not the strongest casting in the production, but you go with it as he is clearly a fellow fan and something of a genius in his own right; watch Series One of <i>The League of Gentlemen </i>if you doubt this. Actually, watch it anyway; it's ground-breaking, mad, hilarious and utterly transfixing. Lisa Mcallister is Mycroft's stunning assistant ANTHEA. Apparently a cameo, but I'd never heard of her until I Google'd the name. </span></span><br />
<br />
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</div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
plot of <i>A Study in Pink </i>carries a ghost of inspiration
throughout; the original haunts it as echoes in the quieter moments.
Moffat and Gatiss bring us essentially a completely new story here
and it works a treat. The whole thing is enormous fun, which allows
us to overlook the silliness. Surely a man backed by a Master
Criminal could have just asked for a <i>real </i>pistol?. Surely a DI
this much in schtick over a case wouldn't let a 'Consulting
Detective' lead him round be the nose so publicly?; wouldn't Lestrade
have just brought him in through quieter channels?. What are the odds
the Cabbie would survive FOUR fifty-fifty deadly games?. The odds one
or more of the victims wouldn't have just gone for him, try to get
the gun from him and then discover the gun was a cigarette lighter,
slap him around a bit then storm off?. Either way, these niggling
doubts soon drop away because of the aforementioned fun. It is, quite
simply a winning formula; two good friends, mis-matched in most
respects, but they get to solve mysteries together. I'm up to Series
Four now in my desperate and self-consciously embarrassed effort to
catch up and I can see the cracks from somewhere in Series 3.
Happily, Series 1 romps along, unrestrained, exuberant and original.
<i>A Study in Pink </i>was originally filmed as an hour-long pilot,
but the BBC decided on a three-part series instead and so the show
had to be re-shot. A different director and cinematographer were
used, the original footage was shot on inferior cameras so couldn't
be re-used. I've yet to see this Pilot, but plan to at some point
soon. Don't expect a review any time soon, though-as ever, <i>tempus
fugit... </i></span></span>
</div>
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<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Anyone
know the Latin for 'Trivia?'... no?, oh well...</span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">From
Lestrade's mention of the Lauriston Gardens suicide, the plot of A
Study in Scarlet is referenced heavily; appropriately, the first
Sherlock Holmes mystery is the first 'Sherlock' production to be
aired. </span></span>
</div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Interestingly,
the original script for the episode lists Mycroft's character only as
'M'. This is either because his character was at that stage a
closely-guarded secret, possibly intended to cause bribe-able crew
members to confuse 'M' with 'Moriarty' and confound any press
leaks... or a nod and a wink at the 'M' character from James Bond.
I'm going with the former, myself. </span></span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
'If convenient' text and it's successor are, of course direct
references to the telegram Watson is sent in <i>The Adventure of the
Creeping Man. </i></span></span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">The
Tapas bar Sherlock and Watson visit 'in Northumberland street' is at
</span></span>46 Broadwick Street, although it's changed hands since
filming. </span></span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
the victim's pink mobile rings in the cab, we learn Watson's mobile
number; 0751 17890531. Please don't bother calling it, it's actually
Benedict Cumberbatch's number. </span></span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Roland
Kerr college was actually the University of Cardiff's School of
Chemistry; a single facade of which was duplicated using CGI effects
to make two identical buildings for the programme. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">For
those of you wondering about the identity of Mycrofts pretty,
Blackberry-obsessed assistant?. Her name is Andrea. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">It
may seem odd that Watson's wound is to the shoulder; why then, would
he walk with a stick and a limp?. Arthur Conan Doyle's continuity was
errant at times; the original Watson was first said to be suffering
with a shoulder wound from a Jezail musket, later the wound has
somehow traveled to his leg. The writers of <i>Sherlock </i><span style="font-style: normal;">clearly
included this as another reference.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Angelo,
the Tapas Restaurant owner was saved from a murder charge by Holmes,
who proved he was across town housebreaking. This is taken from
<i>Dressed to Kill, </i><span style="font-style: normal;">the 1946
Basil Rathbone/Nigel Bruce film.</span></span></span><br />
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">For
many years, 221b Baker Street was a branch of the Abbey National
Building Society (Now Santander, for those that care) The Sherlock
Holmes Museum petitioned the Post Office for the rights to the
address, which were indeed subsequently granted. 221B in Sherlock,
however, is located at 187 North Gower Street. Speedy's cafe is
indeed real and I am advised rather decent. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
address Holmes uses to try to trap the killer, 22 Northumberland
Street - was once the Northumberland Hotel, which featured in 'The
Hound of the Baskervilles' when Sir Henry Baskerville came to stay in
London at the start of the story. The Sherlock Holmes Pub is also
located on Northumberland Street.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">There
are a number of references to Sherlock Holmes trivia throughout the
episode. For example, Mrs. Hudson refers to Mrs. Turner, the landlady
next door. In <i>A Scandal in Bohemia</i> the landlady was named
"Mrs. Turner."<br /><br />In one of the opening scenes, James
Phillimore goes home to get his umbrella and becomes a victim of the
Cabbie. In one of the original stories, <i>The Problem of Thor
Bridge, </i>Dr. Watson mentions in passing a James Phillimore who
once went home to get his umbrella and was never seen again. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Holmes's
shout of “The game, Mrs. Hudson, is on!” is a nod to the
original-far superior “The game is afoot” from <i>The adventure
of the Abbey Grange.</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
cabbie has been diagnosed with a brain aneurysm. The murderer in <i>A
Study in Scarlet </i><span style="font-style: normal;">is suffering
with a</span>ortic aneurysm. </span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">So,
we come crashing to the end of <i>A Study in Pink. </i><span style="font-style: normal;">All
that remains is to shout up some tea and biscuits from Mrs. Hudson
and award it our customary pipes... </span></span></span>
</div>
Volcano Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14372941500458681755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555240865021461020.post-14274044667841932692017-03-18T06:48:00.000-07:002017-03-18T06:48:10.467-07:00Patricia Cornwell; 'Ripper-The Secret Life of Walter Sickert'; investigative genius or deluded fantasy?.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-style: normal;"></span></span></span><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;">The
Daily Mirror, one of Britain's leading tabloids reported this week on
Patricia Cornwell's new book on Jack the Ripper-</span></span><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><i>'Ripper:
The Secret Life of Walter Sickert.'</i></span></span> <span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;">Although
the left-leaning red-top is usually my go-to newspaper, Tom Bryant's
article had me chomping at the bit in more ways than one.
Ripper-ologists among you will doubtless be aware of her execrable
previous foray into the field and, as I have no intention of going
through </span></span><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><i>that
</i></span></span><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-style: normal;">again,
I shall focus on her last offering. </span></span></span><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><i>'Portrait
of a Killer – Jack the Ripper; </i></span></span><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><i>C</i></span></span><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><i>ase
</i></span></span><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><i>C</i></span></span><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><i>losed'</i></span></span><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-style: normal;">
emerged in 2002 as a result of what can only be described as some
kind of episode, the kind of event that usually results in long
periods of hospitalisation and dining with plastic utensils. </span></span></span><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-style: normal;">First,
though, let's g</span></span></span><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-style: normal;">e</span></span></span><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-style: normal;">t
the dissecting knife out on the </span></span></span><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><i>Mirror</i></span></span><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-style: normal;">
piece;</span></span></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI5RFjrb29_-sOFUEqlb5Mz5ihMne8DvYpDJ9wK9MBPC80G8KTHXMCiXCq1_QJWhF6RUiG9RzMkcyvpQbD0E1kv3FHVEIeZOhjKc6__P7_SmewuchWbbAECf3MX2ooNVD3D3ZMbdwgLjA/s1600/GC9TTC96.1-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI5RFjrb29_-sOFUEqlb5Mz5ihMne8DvYpDJ9wK9MBPC80G8KTHXMCiXCq1_QJWhF6RUiG9RzMkcyvpQbD0E1kv3FHVEIeZOhjKc6__P7_SmewuchWbbAECf3MX2ooNVD3D3ZMbdwgLjA/s320/GC9TTC96.1-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Walter Sickert; suspected of being Jack the Ripper by no-one, but Patricia Cornwell.</span></span></span><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-style: normal;"></span></span></span><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-style: normal;"></span></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;">From the Mirror;
<i>Patricia, 60, says: “You can’t raise the Titanic for free. I
spent about $7million [£5.7million] overall in my investigation,
including employing some of the best and brightest experts in the
world.” </i><i>“A lot of people couldn’t have done what I have
because they wouldn’t have the money. I am trying to do the right
thing. If someone proves me wrong, bring it.”</i></span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;">Fair
enough. Firstly, it wasn't 'Case Closed' then, was it?; if so, why
the follow-up?. I can understand her fascination with the Ripper,
better than most, but <i>Seven MILLION dollars?</i>, for this?. </span></span>
</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOKnfiYz2JkAwBvQxUTa_GE1GSVcZ9fOeFhAVyZf-Y11FlDf70tkkr0UDVLhJeiDCS2daAHxaeyCyHmnEIEi-lBzXQGhVyw1XpJ0K7cYOyF-oNZdcgLR6CtAj-B6h-EBgeneDQ42GUEbM/s1600/dddd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOKnfiYz2JkAwBvQxUTa_GE1GSVcZ9fOeFhAVyZf-Y11FlDf70tkkr0UDVLhJeiDCS2daAHxaeyCyHmnEIEi-lBzXQGhVyw1XpJ0K7cYOyF-oNZdcgLR6CtAj-B6h-EBgeneDQ42GUEbM/s1600/dddd.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Patricia Cornwell's new foray into the World of speculative defamation.</span></span></span><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-style: normal;"></span></span></span><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-style: normal;"></span></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><i>Patricia says:
“You can never convict anyone of a crime based on a painting. But
Sickert’s paintings are chilling in their resemblance to the photos
of the victims.” </i><span style="font-style: normal;">Well,</span><i>
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">I made several graphics of Jack
the Ripper myself; presumably the only thing putting me in the clear
is my date of birth then. Plus that, these murders were widely
covered by the popular press which made a selling point of lurid
front-page illustrations. Hardly a leap to say an artist might have
taken some inspiration. Let's hear from the Master detective herself;
</span><i>"I had his paintings hanging in my library in
Greenwich, Connecticut, and every time I walked past them, it became
too much. I donated about 100 of his paintings and drawings to
Harvard and Yale.” </i><span style="font-style: normal;">Lucky she
didn't invest in </span>Edward Munch <span style="font-style: normal;">then.
</span></span></span>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-style: normal;">M</span><span style="font-style: normal;">ore
evidence is offered; </span><i>Both Sickert and the Ripper’s
letters had strange doodles and characters among the text. </i><span style="font-style: normal;">As
the 'Ripper' letters were almost certainly hoaxes, or, as many
experts believe, outright fabrication by desperate Pressmen, this can
be safely discounted. Even worse-and more alarming, is this; </span><i>Patricia
believes Sickert is still being protected by shadowy figures even
today. “I flew to London after Cornwall and immigration officers
said we entered the country illegally as we never cleared Customs in
Cornwall.” “I said we did as there was a man in military uniform
who looked at our passports. They didn’t have anyone that fitting
that description.” </i><span style="font-style: normal;">Issues,
love. Help is available-you just have to embrace it. For starters,
the thought that Cornwall is somehow a hotbed of conspiracy is just
hilarious by itself-trust me, I've been there. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">(</span><span style="font-style: normal;">It's
simply breathtaking, by the way-nary a Shadowy Agent or Wicker Man in
sight.</span><span style="font-style: normal;">)</span><span style="font-style: normal;">
Not sure if I was a nefarious agent I'd draw attention to myself
wearing 'Military Uniform' either-could it be Patricia can't tell the
difference between this...</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;">...and this?. </span></span>
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<span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;">Perhaps it was our
old friend, Sir. Charles Warren-himself implicated by his bizarre
decision to have the Goulston Street Graffito removed...</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnyf9amywkRrHUjBDWrQg0POpFWA_Pz51zSLwvIB74eWRp71T-tS_bMXnAsW32pPvZaZGQkbX61x77n4R-t99boAwvUtwHO6D1EOCfULShzl6BshAIZlGtyuxCdT1sfTFsGpIl4KJ-AX4/s1600/CharlesWarren.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnyf9amywkRrHUjBDWrQg0POpFWA_Pz51zSLwvIB74eWRp71T-tS_bMXnAsW32pPvZaZGQkbX61x77n4R-t99boAwvUtwHO6D1EOCfULShzl6BshAIZlGtyuxCdT1sfTFsGpIl4KJ-AX4/s320/CharlesWarren.jpg" width="231" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;">There's more-if you
can stand any more-again from the <i>Mirror </i><span style="font-style: normal;">piece
(One can only image what Tom Bryant-an excellent Journalist with a
reputation for accuracy made of all this); </span><i>'</i><i>Patricia’s
analysis matched paper used by Sickert to some of the letters the
Ripper sent to the police. Three Sickert letters and two Ripper ones
came from a paper run of just 24 sheets.</i><i>' </i><span style="font-style: normal;">This
is simply wrong; Gurney Ivory Laid-the paper in question was,
according to Cornwell's </span><i>own, earlier book, </i><span style="font-style: normal;">divided
into quires of twenty-four sheets</span><span style="font-style: normal;">
</span><span style="font-style: normal;">and not from a </span><i>run
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">of twenty-four. Any paper
manufacturer making runs of twenty-four sheets wouldn't be in
business beyond the week, especially in the hey-day of letter
writing. Remember, this was before e-mail was even a fevered dream;
</span><i>everyone </i><span style="font-style: normal;">capable of
writing then did so, frequently. The chances of two pieces of paper
from the same manufacturer weren't astronomical, but statistically
irrelevent. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">And Sickert used
different paper at different times anyway. According to Cornwell's
own, earlier book, </span><span style="font-style: normal;">which then
(Page 223) goes on to </span><i>list </i><span style="font-style: normal;">discrepancies
in the paper sizes concerned!. If you want conflicting opinions, read
these two books back to back...</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-style: normal;">In
the new book, she claims Sickert was in London at the time of the
murders, despite eyewitness accounts from contemporaries in the Art
World to the contrary that place him firmly in Paris during the
period. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Cornwell claims to
have found dated Sickert sketches placing him London at the time-and
one can only hope these are in the new book. Even if this is true,
he's one of six million, seven hundred thousand suspects. (Other
sources than mine place London's actual population nearer to ten
million, or even above that-there was simply no reliable figure
available due to the transient nature of the metropolis at the time.)
</span><span style="font-style: normal;">Cornwell also claims Sickert
sired an illegitimate son who confirmed his Father was, indeed the
Ripper. As this son allegedly sold Sickert's papers at auction, it
seems there might be something to this, though again the onus is on
her to prove it. Given her track record here, I'm not holding my
breath.</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-style: normal;">C</span><span style="font-style: normal;">ornwell
was in Corn</span><i>wall </i><span style="font-style: normal;">for
one reason, it seems; the Lizard Inn (Since renamed The Top House
Inn). The Mirror again; </span><i>'</i><i>Sickert had links to the
area and the hotel was frequented in the Ripper era by artists,
writers and even MPs.</i><i>' </i><span style="font-style: normal;">Ms
Cornwell bought the old guest-book from the 1880s, which had been
vandalised-at some point in the hundred and twenty nine years between
then and now, who knows?, for seven million she might have the answer
there, she certainly believes the doodles to be Sickert's, although
whether he ever stayed there is open to question. Not by Ms Cornwell,
however; </span><i>“I couldn’t believe it. I saw this guy’s
hands all over this book. I gave the guesthouse owner £10,000 for
the book. I thought she was going to have a heart attack.” </i>"Then
when it turned out to be so good, I gave her another £10,000. It was
an amazing find. It’s now in the New York public library.” Basil
Fawlty must be spitting rivets. If only she'd gone to Torquay!. </span></span>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWjOZxRgm8nP4-51YudQYYyLjTe9M0fk4umll9um1_4ejwHsQXpFpOAbIgJtXKnmacQHbVhcMhgRF1QcmGaMsoDDUfocjRstkgXkjlEEdeB02FfdP18ei8atNfmAtfVp6JpS7-8bmcrz4/s1600/portrait-of-a-killer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWjOZxRgm8nP4-51YudQYYyLjTe9M0fk4umll9um1_4ejwHsQXpFpOAbIgJtXKnmacQHbVhcMhgRF1QcmGaMsoDDUfocjRstkgXkjlEEdeB02FfdP18ei8atNfmAtfVp6JpS7-8bmcrz4/s320/portrait-of-a-killer.jpg" width="207" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Quite simply, the worst book I have ever had the misfortune to buy.</span></span></span><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-style: normal;"></span></span></span><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-style: normal;"></span></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;">Lets keep a
promise, shall we?; I promised-through gritted teeth-a look at
Cornwell's prior excursion into libelling the dead (If, indeed, you
</span></span><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><i>can
</i></span></span><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-style: normal;">libel
a corpse). In her </span></span></span><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><i>'Portrait
of a Killer-Jack the Ripper; Case Closed – </i></span></span><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-style: normal;">simply
the worst book ever to emerge on the subject. Proof?; try these
reviews;
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6538.Portrait_of_a_Killer">https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6538.Portrait_of_a_Killer</a>
. Trust me, it's close to unreadable. A popular and talented Author,
Cornwell gets out of her depth almost at once by failing to stick to
the time-honoured detective maxim; make the theories fit the facts,
not the other way around. You simply cannot begin any investigation
with a prejudice against a single suspect; Cornwell goes for the
throat right off the bat by insinuating the Artist Walter Sickert
was, indeed Jack the Ripper. The opening chapter sets scene, but also
manages to include a statement that as he kept no diaries,
pin-pointing his whereabouts </span></span></span><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><i>'During
any given day, week, month, or even year.' </i></span></span><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-style: normal;">She
then tells us he was born with a penile deficiency and may have had
to squat to urinate after painful surgery that probably rendered him
impotent, incapable of penetration or even erection. This is,
remember, the same woman who is now claiming Sickert Fathered an
illegitimate child. </span></span></span>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-style: normal;">I</span><span style="font-style: normal;">n
</span><i>Portrait, </i><span style="font-style: normal;">the Author
tells us the prostitute Martha Tabram was murdered by a British
Soldier-this is well established as two Coldstream Guardsmen are the
main suspects, Tabram's injuries consistent with a bayonet-soldiers
wore them on their belts as part of walking out dress. Then she drops
this beauty on us; 'Sickert was familiar with uniforms' apparently
collecting Belgian and French examples later in life. Needless to
say, anyone capable of mistaking Border Control uniforms for Military
ones will have no problem mixing up Guards uniforms with </span><i>Cuirassier
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">dress. </span></span></span>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Stumbling
on through the ramblings brings us, mercifully, to the photo section.
Here, too Ms Cornwell's rapier-like intellect is applied. A sketch by
Sickert titled </span><i>Venetian Studies</i><span style="font-style: normal;">,
a double-image of a woman lying on her back with what could be taken
for ligature or knife wounds is included as it 'Brings to mind the
Murdered Mary Ann Nicols' as her eyes were open too. In what has to
be Sickerts sick</span><i>est </i><span style="font-style: normal;">work,
</span><i>Putana a Cara </i><span style="font-style: normal;">(Roughly,
</span><i>'Prostitute and Lover'</i><span style="font-style: normal;">)
a woman sits with her face disfigured in some way, some might say by
shadow, but the effect is hideous, ghastly. Sickert-never one of the
greats in my untutored opinion, produces what looks to a person from
the Hollywood Slasher generation a living nightmare. This is
unpleasant to say the least, but proof?. Hardly. Not even remotely.
Violent sketches by Sickert abound; one is reproduced showing a man
killing his father in a fight-this is then compared to the Mary Kelly
murder 'Especially with its wooden bed frame.' Well, there you have
it; anyone inheriting an old wooden bed be warned...</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-style: normal;">We
then see a sketch from Sickert's Camden Town murder series in which a
man sits on another bed; Cornwell adds ominously a Prostitute was
murdered about a mile from Sickert's house in 1907. Two people were
murdered virtually outside my front door in the last ten years-and a
girl was decapitated by shrapnel when a German bomb landed across the
road. As of today I remain free of suspicion. The thought a serial
killer could remain undetected from the 1880's to 1907 and beyond is
not a well-considered one, especially given the advances in Police
forensic work during the intervening decades. Happily, Cornwell goes
on to clear up one of the most galling and oft-quoted ripper
myths-that Sir. William Gull wasn't and couldn't have been the
Ripper. Seventy-One year old stoke patients aren't usually noted for
their capacity for violent and bloody murders. And then she goes off
on a tirade about rage involving shooting 'Bitches' in the mouth and
throwing acid on bodies, before leaving us reeling from Chapter Ten
with the suggestion that Sickert may have felt 'Ripp'd' from his
Mother's womb. I need some coffee and some aspirin. Badly.</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-style: normal;">It
just goes on and on. I actually have a migraine from this and so,
without any pretence at reluctance, I'll leave you wondering whether
the remaining eighteen chapters are worth the price of the book. It
is rubbish, pure and simple. I'm sure Patricia Cornwell is a
fantastic writer-her sales alone tell me this. I just wish she'd
stick to areas of competence and not fly off into the realms of
fantasy on a deranged whim.</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-style: normal;">For the original<i> Mirror</i> article go here;</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-style: normal;"></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.msn.com/en-gb/news/uknews/has-the-jack-the-ripper-mystery-finally-been-solved/ar-AAo7C9d?li=BBoPOOl&ocid=MSN_UK_NL_M_NO_14MarOM2-PID84504" target="_blank"><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> </span></span></span></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" target="_blank">https://www.msn.com/en-gb/news/uknews/has-the-jack-the-ripper-mystery-finally-been-solved/ar-AAo7C9d?li=BBoPOOl&ocid=MSN_UK_NL_M_NO_14MarOM2-PID84504</a>
<br />
</div>
Volcano Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14372941500458681755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555240865021461020.post-12138915146413896502017-03-17T07:56:00.001-07:002017-03-17T07:56:24.317-07:00A fine quotation is a diamond in the hand of a man of wit and a pebble in the hand of a fool - Joseph Roux<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Volcano Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14372941500458681755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555240865021461020.post-5498585675699506042017-03-07T07:46:00.001-08:002017-03-07T07:46:06.104-08:00Sherlock Holmes and Jack the Ripper-the new Sherlock Holmes novel...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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'Sherlock Holmes and the Whitechapel Murders, an account of the matter by John Watson, M.D.' is published on the fifteenth of this month (March 2017 for those reading this in 2023). Order YOUR copy here;<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Sherlock-Holmes-Whitechapel-Murders-account/dp/1787050599/ref=sr_1_cc_4?s=aps&ie=UTF8&qid=1484502866&sr=1-4-catcorr&keywords=SHERLOCK+HOLMES+AND+THE+WHITECHAPEL+MURDERS">https://www.amazon.co.uk/Sherlock-Holmes-Whitechapel-Murders-account/dp/1787050599/ref=sr_1_cc_4?s=aps&ie=UTF8&qid=1484502866&sr=1-4-catcorr&keywords=SHERLOCK+HOLMES+AND+THE+WHITECHAPEL+MURDERS</a><br />
<br />
Or direct from the publisher;<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mxpublishing.co.uk/product/9781787050594/Sherlock+Holmes+and+The+Whitechapel+Murders+-+An+account+of+the+matter+by+John+Watson+M.D.">http://www.mxpublishing.co.uk/product/9781787050594/Sherlock+Holmes+and+The+Whitechapel+Murders+-+An+account+of+the+matter+by+John+Watson+M.D.</a></div>
Volcano Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14372941500458681755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555240865021461020.post-45187598734329508782017-02-28T15:40:00.000-08:002017-02-28T15:40:04.841-08:00Sherlock Holmes and the Whitechapel Murders; a brief visit to the Kinematograph...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Volcano Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14372941500458681755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555240865021461020.post-10735154587308501072017-02-17T10:32:00.002-08:002017-02-17T10:32:30.728-08:00The Hound of the Baskervilles (1959) The Hammer Holmes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">18<sup>th</sup>
Century Dartmoor; the cruel and notorious Sir. Hugo Baskerville is
holding a party for his aristocratic friends at Baskerville Hall.
Much as with aristos today, Sir. Hugo is a complete shit and gets his
jollies torturing servants and raping their daughters. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(Badly) colorized Lobby card depicting the scene.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When one such
girl escapes him, he hunts her with horse and hounds, to an ancient
and time-forgotten ruin-then murders her with a Moorish-style dagger. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This brings forth a spectral hound who attacks and devours him. From
that time on, any Baskerville to tread the Moors at night will be
killed by the Hound. So goes the legend of The Baskervilles, set down
on ancient parchment. Doctor Richard Mortimer has travelled up to
Baker Street to read the legend to a disinterested and distracted
Holmes. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peter Cushing is Sherlock Holmes</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He tells Holmes and, naturally, Watson of the recent
unexplained death of Sir. Charles Baskerville. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8jO-KSgoj0aVyibhqVt_4mlehKLpYOjgcaH23MGtqs3miursvCb3WyvHWAFuzX7iAUtvrcBLxHIYwomUrOj86XF0VCaat5wwUunm1VfVVYEZAAiI26fIagpATT9MwmoOxEp5XawvTV3o/s1600/ANDRE+MORELL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8jO-KSgoj0aVyibhqVt_4mlehKLpYOjgcaH23MGtqs3miursvCb3WyvHWAFuzX7iAUtvrcBLxHIYwomUrOj86XF0VCaat5wwUunm1VfVVYEZAAiI26fIagpATT9MwmoOxEp5XawvTV3o/s320/ANDRE+MORELL.jpg" width="257" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Andre Morell plays Watson</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When the Doctor
leaves, however, Holmes springs into life; the death has some
elements of interest to him-the dead man died from fear, running for
his life until his very heart burst. Holmes and his companion travel
to meet Sir. Henry Baskerville, the last in line for the title at his
hotel. A missing boot causes confusion as Sir. Henry confuses the two
with Hotel Management, but soon realises his mistake. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo0c-0x6FtGDdYvaQFo06IpO13gDQ7sCnGKpfouSM-Z-iKFDmo6RoASMwp2KbnWtp0Z9EVWQT7Na-nrfuGrcmAnHPDtT04KIW9YQ-0I7bHr53DiyftN8v68YjPg6M-6uIhZOYzkI1LU9k/s1600/pIdd8mhJZvJcsuzAZWXxLIzo8Zn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo0c-0x6FtGDdYvaQFo06IpO13gDQ7sCnGKpfouSM-Z-iKFDmo6RoASMwp2KbnWtp0Z9EVWQT7Na-nrfuGrcmAnHPDtT04KIW9YQ-0I7bHr53DiyftN8v68YjPg6M-6uIhZOYzkI1LU9k/s320/pIdd8mhJZvJcsuzAZWXxLIzo8Zn.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;">Christopher Lee plays Sir. Henry Baskerville</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A deadly
tarantula appears, nearly killing the new owner of Baskerville
Hall-but Holmes manages to knock it clear and kill it with his stick.
Claiming to have business keeping him in London, he assigns Watson in
the role of bodyguard, to travel down to Devon with Sir. Henry and
Dr. Mortimer. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Travelling
down, the party learns of the escape of Selden, an infamous murderer
and lunatic, from nearby Dartmoor prison. Later, Barrymore, the
Baskerville Butler shows his new master the portrait of Sir. Hugo,
who brought the curse upon the family. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The adjacent painting is lost,
stolen a while back. Sir. Henry proposes a toast, to his refusal to
accept the legend of the Hound-at which Mrs. Barrymore drops her
glass and goes from the room. Watson then questions Barrymore as to
his actions on finding Sir. Charles' body. The butler reveals he
heard the Hound howling that awful night-a sound he never wishes to
hear again. That night, from his bedroom, Watson hears a hound
baying, and sees a pinpoint of light far out on the moor.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
next day an eccentric old clergyman wheels his tricycle up to
Baskerville Hall and introduces himself to Sir. Henry as Bishop
Frankland, a keen entomologist. Making small talk, the whimsical old
duffer accepts some of his host's sherry and asks for some old
clothes for the village jumble.* Sir. Henry is, it seems settling in
nicely to his new role-even being invited to judge the Mother and
Baby contest. Meanwhile, Watson has gone down to the Grimpen Post
Office to collect a telegram from Holmes; on no account is he to
allow Sir. Henry onto the moor alone at night!. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Walking back, Watson
almost triggers a savage iron trap, saved from doing so by the man
who laid it. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Angrily, Watson berates the man for his cruelty... can't
he use a gun?. In mute response, the man shows his webbed and
deformed hand. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This is Stapleton, who grubs a living as a farmer. He
gives the lost Doctor directions back to the Hall, with advice not to
step from the path; this is the Great Grimpen Mire, which can swallow
a man whole. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">*A
curiously British event where old clothes, bric-a-brac etc are sold
to raise funds, usually for the local church or suchlike. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih_95AmmO-VmmVUDmEDBfqIS8U9_w2yEgh2DZXfbUXa7T7mm2VZHNlMmpnQlIvOgbZzW86hp7Uh2jTVLoM8odYlAi-_nzh0DnmIkkJv5rthMFbPY_HfF-UJhFtEuTbz-J4JdhRdXYfjyY/s1600/vlcsnap-00004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih_95AmmO-VmmVUDmEDBfqIS8U9_w2yEgh2DZXfbUXa7T7mm2VZHNlMmpnQlIvOgbZzW86hp7Uh2jTVLoM8odYlAi-_nzh0DnmIkkJv5rthMFbPY_HfF-UJhFtEuTbz-J4JdhRdXYfjyY/s320/vlcsnap-00004.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Whistling
merrily along, Watson spies a peasant girl and asks her the way, but,
taking him for Sir. Henry, she takes flight and he gives chase,
thinking her in danger from the mire. As Watsons do, this one ends up
in it, only the timely appearance of Stapleton and the girl saving
him. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The girl, it transpires is Cecile, Stapleton's daughter. Giving
the muddy* Watson a lift back on their cart, Stapleton goes in with
him and Sir. Henry rides up to meet the girl; she runs off and he
follows the family tradition of chasing pretty girls on horseback.
The girl fights him, but being a decent fellow he demands to know why
she ran. Her Father would have seen them, she says-and then kisses
him abruptly. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Stapleton emerges and invites Sir. Henry to drop by
Home Farm when he's in the area before leaving with Cecile.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">*Either
he has self-cleaning clothes or half the mud simply vanishes between
shots.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Drawn
by the sound of a woman sobbing (there's only one in the house, it
shouldn't need Sherlock Holmes to solve), Sir. Henry and Watson
investigate, finding a single candle burning by a window in the very
room Sir. Hugo kept the girl prisoner centuries before, now a storage
attic. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Spotting a light out on the moor, Sir. Henry calls Watson over
to shine the light at the window; the mysterious light signals back
in response!. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Revolver in hand Watson accompanies Sir. Henry in a
wild dash far out onto the moor, where they find a lantern burning,
abandoned. Selden the escaped murderer is watching, however and is
spotted, the two men giving chase. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8qctBObSAfbYf52LbP95xSzc1Z9VwNa6IDL0PjmlG-FyCZi7GZ0_J9RmAqUFt2KeMPQaGV5rFxabkLbQaTz58v5wSwXb-z-fRwM-bIdM9rCaOoENaYxlywf24QpK9bOLBLfZ6MSJVwik/s1600/vlcsnap-00012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8qctBObSAfbYf52LbP95xSzc1Z9VwNa6IDL0PjmlG-FyCZi7GZ0_J9RmAqUFt2KeMPQaGV5rFxabkLbQaTz58v5wSwXb-z-fRwM-bIdM9rCaOoENaYxlywf24QpK9bOLBLfZ6MSJVwik/s320/vlcsnap-00012.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidvZcTOpXIzE34YpuPr_JROPB_0uy2osl8AouC8HTh_pxNPSBbDjeXL1-A8s8XBKXHovPf35g6_TvVWXrOHVd_5FTlRUaJaAXS3LGhN3uO68RkI3hAUmbYE0mIOIzUnFqsTLDJauCWCqQ/s1600/N+SEARCHING+FOR+SELDEN.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidvZcTOpXIzE34YpuPr_JROPB_0uy2osl8AouC8HTh_pxNPSBbDjeXL1-A8s8XBKXHovPf35g6_TvVWXrOHVd_5FTlRUaJaAXS3LGhN3uO68RkI3hAUmbYE0mIOIzUnFqsTLDJauCWCqQ/s320/N+SEARCHING+FOR+SELDEN.gif" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He gets away and then a ghastly
howl sounds over the moors, at which Baskerville is seized with heart
pains. </span></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioJiuvZnXeFes1Qw6JnzILdRHfg3oNfpIGix4hXYxcB2oOgPCnQ3giCaStJgqdFpUklNUPhyGHslEskCg2wYbsb6rg9a5DW28g7iIycLRTutOGgQjRwCPktI2ogztTEr7_XsS59wknoN4/s1600/vlcsnap-00013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioJiuvZnXeFes1Qw6JnzILdRHfg3oNfpIGix4hXYxcB2oOgPCnQ3giCaStJgqdFpUklNUPhyGHslEskCg2wYbsb6rg9a5DW28g7iIycLRTutOGgQjRwCPktI2ogztTEr7_XsS59wknoN4/s320/vlcsnap-00013.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Watson gives him some brandy and helps him back to Baskerville
Hall, but not before he spots a solitary figure standing on a rocky outcrop.</span></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiloDh93c3jBji6MrDASuN_yK8fHj5OPhYS-DyH1B19IInz2_WsTDzgMKWKiPduff4TE4KyIIO7OHTzylKSqezZVUnZGTHPjbrQ3GkP_krbTr2EM2YLGXjYZSOfttMC6xOHCZDWaZKuCFg/s1600/vlcsnap-00014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiloDh93c3jBji6MrDASuN_yK8fHj5OPhYS-DyH1B19IInz2_WsTDzgMKWKiPduff4TE4KyIIO7OHTzylKSqezZVUnZGTHPjbrQ3GkP_krbTr2EM2YLGXjYZSOfttMC6xOHCZDWaZKuCFg/s320/vlcsnap-00014.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Watson sends for doctor Mortimer, agreeing it is a hereditary
condition, though nowhere near as advanced as Sir. Charles'. charging
him with looking after the stricken Lord until he returns from the
moor. </span></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPPvSPfm_iN42tGmxpcgpdacCyKy_JJkQi9BhEgWCekaE0fPJ7cDBehw8BzXJ86JhHd3n2Dbvdd-utzE6S9hBeQ_SIzPGIoW5Q8Hb1hkX0LgpVs9FEaRkzrQmNgecrbvTs976ZF9Aj0x0/s1600/vlcsnap-00016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPPvSPfm_iN42tGmxpcgpdacCyKy_JJkQi9BhEgWCekaE0fPJ7cDBehw8BzXJ86JhHd3n2Dbvdd-utzE6S9hBeQ_SIzPGIoW5Q8Hb1hkX0LgpVs9FEaRkzrQmNgecrbvTs976ZF9Aj0x0/s320/vlcsnap-00016.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sallying
forth once more, Watson finds the ancient ruin where Sir. Hugo
murdered the girl. In it, he is startled to find Holmes, who reveals
he's been there almost as long as Watson, having come down on the
very next train. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd4Xo3vlvLgUddRleFbpTMb6t_dtSbJffvh7WJD52FdLr3esPL5pY4Mu8HBBJVOO6dI6eeVWo-m96lgNn9wc-EnwFdNCH5xzfQX6icoOJoYTcUvoLRJhK9oMxfTRH5HFwobB1n-A7T60s/s1600/vlcsnap-00019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd4Xo3vlvLgUddRleFbpTMb6t_dtSbJffvh7WJD52FdLr3esPL5pY4Mu8HBBJVOO6dI6eeVWo-m96lgNn9wc-EnwFdNCH5xzfQX6icoOJoYTcUvoLRJhK9oMxfTRH5HFwobB1n-A7T60s/s320/vlcsnap-00019.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The telegram he sent was a contrivance, to assist
the ruse; secrecy is vital. Holmes had found Selden, who told him of
what he'd seen himself since hiding on the moor. And what was that?;
that there is more evil here than Holmes has ever encountered. Right
on cue; the hound, that spectral howl sending chills through the very
night. Rushing to a Tor*, Holmes uses his binoculars to find
Mortimer's carriage has gone from Baskerville Hall. A growl and a
scream; someone is being mauled, terribly!. Dashing to the spot, the
two find a body, lying prone at the edge of the Mire. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0KgJZUto2rmAm9mQWebA_4yUGoUg77NLQTC-kIOJmIQC65sxO9hxRgzMV5BRFpxa2yJycscO2XXpvOFcxMbtPhvW61NLVMMw3QnnGwQkWWkxQYuVYRSIMSebR2idP0-_p9zQ1RKKHJu0/s1600/vlcsnap-00021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0KgJZUto2rmAm9mQWebA_4yUGoUg77NLQTC-kIOJmIQC65sxO9hxRgzMV5BRFpxa2yJycscO2XXpvOFcxMbtPhvW61NLVMMw3QnnGwQkWWkxQYuVYRSIMSebR2idP0-_p9zQ1RKKHJu0/s320/vlcsnap-00021.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The clothes
leave no doubt, that this is Sir. Henry Baskerville, the body itself
inaccessible without ladders and rope. Returning to the Hall, Holmes
orders Barrymore to fetch these-and to clean his muddy boots (For
some reason, clean footwear is essential in a crisis...). </span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">*A
rocky outcrop unique to the moors of South-West England. </span></span>
</div>
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</div>
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</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As
they go up to Watson's room, John freezes; the room at the end of the
passage is again lit from within; Watson arms himself and they enter.
A shadow of a man, bent over reading by candlelight-it's
Baskerville!; Sir. Henry is reading the ancient legend. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwHqcPHYcvZt54Ahvu5qUvFh9-8bJVc2v2xjaf1QDfx_g37IHDk_Y7Mw-8ney5CPdWQJP3BMsgj-CAomhmvT9zplm7Hxhs45nv8-G4Yr_CRuLyn-36RSIyLAVIk5k2gnBbocui2nqslPc/s1600/vlcsnap-00023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwHqcPHYcvZt54Ahvu5qUvFh9-8bJVc2v2xjaf1QDfx_g37IHDk_Y7Mw-8ney5CPdWQJP3BMsgj-CAomhmvT9zplm7Hxhs45nv8-G4Yr_CRuLyn-36RSIyLAVIk5k2gnBbocui2nqslPc/s320/vlcsnap-00023.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Holmes is
delighted to see his host alive. Around a convivial fire, the small
group is soon engaged in the serious work of smoking and taking
brandy, Holmes lighting his pipe from a burning ember in some
style... stylishly burning the side of his pipe. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd6HBm5ebmnhfMecB8_h1PdflsdzkyaI8Ki2tDN8DWVATIjYl1tOjXB-wfUemTECJ5lf5rXUb2vb0ykAr9Mz88puyC8kL9lShBWlqC569Orv7ZlQg6s7FNktc658HOdYPbctb0uPbxrbQ/s1600/vlcsnap-00024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd6HBm5ebmnhfMecB8_h1PdflsdzkyaI8Ki2tDN8DWVATIjYl1tOjXB-wfUemTECJ5lf5rXUb2vb0ykAr9Mz88puyC8kL9lShBWlqC569Orv7ZlQg6s7FNktc658HOdYPbctb0uPbxrbQ/s320/vlcsnap-00024.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Holmes speculates the
corpse on the Moor to be Selden; a vicious killer, yet undeserving of
such cruel fate. (Actually, he killed prostitutes; desperate women
struggling to feed their families or habits-my sympathy lies with
them.) But how did he come to be wearing Sir. Henry's clothes?. Sir.
Henry reveals the erason Dr. Mortimer departed-a stupid row they had
concerning the curse and the death of his uncle Sir. Charles. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6HL0sWnhWsivE1zkuv-In9pzi8IXtKTJ9-GgB9NuOYkNFiILz5Dv6zX_dw9k6-R39XWSao4zFb7ecjhUdnwRFpf9mGpayGMt72FN9faTzmH9ydEa8x2z3LfxOO9PbASfKv5qld_RWmvU/s1600/vlcsnap-00027.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6HL0sWnhWsivE1zkuv-In9pzi8IXtKTJ9-GgB9NuOYkNFiILz5Dv6zX_dw9k6-R39XWSao4zFb7ecjhUdnwRFpf9mGpayGMt72FN9faTzmH9ydEa8x2z3LfxOO9PbASfKv5qld_RWmvU/s320/vlcsnap-00027.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Barrymore appears and Holmes defers his request for equipment until
morning, pointedly asking the butler about the empty room and asking
him to extinguish the 'pointless' light within. Barrymore's face says
more than words could. On the stairs for bed, Holmes examines the
Hugo Baskerville portrait and asks after the missing one; when told
of the theft he remarks that it <i>had</i> to disappear... it had
to...</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVT9LgkUxlfdZmZjmd2FHKJjkhZR3omt7ATD39zeZQ7OkKJr_opaBifBzhob5DRu218gwMMBjj7tRphoUw6uSw9nxLgTbGnM8NhZjdvoDRGOjHusOzKSsLjQXUVR4wPaJdcpp7tbrzbqQ/s1600/vlcsnap-00028.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVT9LgkUxlfdZmZjmd2FHKJjkhZR3omt7ATD39zeZQ7OkKJr_opaBifBzhob5DRu218gwMMBjj7tRphoUw6uSw9nxLgTbGnM8NhZjdvoDRGOjHusOzKSsLjQXUVR4wPaJdcpp7tbrzbqQ/s320/vlcsnap-00028.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Next
morning bright and early finds the sleuth and his colleague leading a
party at the edge of the Grimpen mire, to find the corpse of Selden
gone. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbHtbySjRmzT6HIufu621xaiBQQPHQJYYSoFYJ-gjwv__QsrGeMK2iW_MYZXLvHYoyyR7cmfhRLnvmD1BojXObuatsbW1fabFsbDXDhGcpkD1tAxGxqien5bGfjMG08p7URD27xwKlGU0/s1600/vlcsnap-00034.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbHtbySjRmzT6HIufu621xaiBQQPHQJYYSoFYJ-gjwv__QsrGeMK2iW_MYZXLvHYoyyR7cmfhRLnvmD1BojXObuatsbW1fabFsbDXDhGcpkD1tAxGxqien5bGfjMG08p7URD27xwKlGU0/s320/vlcsnap-00034.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzjUG9ICYwZ3-23Oihtw3-a6cdIH4SY3hMQ5tT8gcwrxWeM4Fxw34oawFTX4-9NqSe7Pi8rD2uwiCO_8YMX3NgFveVNqQYeNqiopEKeMO_KZnGVVYFhblRBGkwLV_QBnUCHUhH4-4V8aU/s1600/the-hound-of-the-baskervilles-1959-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzjUG9ICYwZ3-23Oihtw3-a6cdIH4SY3hMQ5tT8gcwrxWeM4Fxw34oawFTX4-9NqSe7Pi8rD2uwiCO_8YMX3NgFveVNqQYeNqiopEKeMO_KZnGVVYFhblRBGkwLV_QBnUCHUhH4-4V8aU/s320/the-hound-of-the-baskervilles-1959-6.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Going to the ancient ruins, they find blood-and Sir. Hugo's
dagger, then Barrymore finds Selden, horribly mutilated in a
sacrificial rite of some depraved kind. Returning, Holmes sends for
Mrs. Barrymore and questions her and her husband, revealing he knows
her to be originally Miss. Selden. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy7CnenFQMOAqn5-t86CZRaT2wv-2QuoKXgl1DaOR7z138lb8OCDiQvI-dNYru6hfSQ7l9DXL8d7D7PdhD-CwUpB9kZmbszVKq1wWxDU_d5vUK9TXmJ93P6FrL0bVdu9rSvrnEECtsEoQ/s1600/vlcsnap-00035.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy7CnenFQMOAqn5-t86CZRaT2wv-2QuoKXgl1DaOR7z138lb8OCDiQvI-dNYru6hfSQ7l9DXL8d7D7PdhD-CwUpB9kZmbszVKq1wWxDU_d5vUK9TXmJ93P6FrL0bVdu9rSvrnEECtsEoQ/s320/vlcsnap-00035.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Breaking down, she admits Selden
was her brother; she could not see him suffer despite his crimes and
gave him the clothes Sir. Henry donated for the Jumble. Some-one-or
some-<i>thing</i> mistook him for Sir. Henry. In gentle tones, Holmes
concludes by assuring her that Selden had stated he would'nt have
been taken alive in any case. Alone, he informs Watson he has settled
matters with the local police; no further action will be taken
against the Barrymores.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjla6XqssaTn5kOFPbsi9n2caA22C3R5ViZlEWUQBU8MlwqJIazahKp2q8oAzBWdJ8Q2XgaQJFo6Xt6ZU7QC5nGLxKkrNhphosC_aG3r3icOGcz5SdcjjB55AnUsvyc6On1yrXohB3K02A/s1600/vlcsnap-00038.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjla6XqssaTn5kOFPbsi9n2caA22C3R5ViZlEWUQBU8MlwqJIazahKp2q8oAzBWdJ8Q2XgaQJFo6Xt6ZU7QC5nGLxKkrNhphosC_aG3r3icOGcz5SdcjjB55AnUsvyc6On1yrXohB3K02A/s320/vlcsnap-00038.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Going
to Bishop Frankland's house, Holmes is mistaken for a telescope
repair-man, the bumbling old fool allowing him to repair the
instrument with graphite grease. Carelessly, the old man swings the
telescope through a pane of the open window. After a while, holmes
convinces the eccentric he isn't a repair-man and introduces himself.
The Bishop is pleased to meet the Country's greatest detective-Holmes
to meet the Country's greatest entomologist, a leading expert on
spiders-tarantulas especially. Holmes tells him he found one, from
Frankland's collection; the Bishop reluctantly admits this after some
prevarication and the detective questions him on his visitors on the
day it went missing, some five days previous. These were; an old
lady, Dr. Mortimer, the Stapletons for tea and a workman come about
the woodworm in the belfry. Leaving the old duffer to ramble on,
Holmes has gone long before he stops.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Going
to the Stapleton farmhouse, Sir. Henry's knock goes unanswered, so he
enters to find Cecile alone. She offers him a tankard of cider, which
he accepts and after he accepts her invitation to dinner she tells
him of her life in far-away Spain. She misses the country dearly. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_7Q1aaEjvTjakGaxdB_Er7MjM6Yf04MGSD6nG_IkhdLLgcp7yFV_ebkSDi8bdZI_1hBnSFCxpTCf3AfLXeezz0GcPqvSxzOFPk176MP93FXyFyDKAlgf-abqSA106C7HzTUUnutqc3BI/s1600/the-hound-of-the-baskervilles-1959-67.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_7Q1aaEjvTjakGaxdB_Er7MjM6Yf04MGSD6nG_IkhdLLgcp7yFV_ebkSDi8bdZI_1hBnSFCxpTCf3AfLXeezz0GcPqvSxzOFPk176MP93FXyFyDKAlgf-abqSA106C7HzTUUnutqc3BI/s320/the-hound-of-the-baskervilles-1959-67.jpg" width="260" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marla Landi plays Cecile Stapleton</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Her
Mother was a fine Spaniard, who would live and die there. They came
to farm, but the land was cruel and the crop meagre, their savings
gone. She dreams of returning, but her Father is too proud. No-one
wants to know poor people. He does. Earnestly, he goes to her and
asks why she ran from him, why she kissed him... she doesn't know. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrr09guoAqLc9rc_3Pwdu3VeCA4kTXjKLGaJivC_PAMSryJfyAKXVijIzEJsvCeHTIrFi6Vk5mI3rsZo-IMPuE9zPEsUtinzbCCbLe0pGdow33by-Q8p6ogFt5-vJt-g8zBA5AwkgL01U/s1600/vlcsnap-00051.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrr09guoAqLc9rc_3Pwdu3VeCA4kTXjKLGaJivC_PAMSryJfyAKXVijIzEJsvCeHTIrFi6Vk5mI3rsZo-IMPuE9zPEsUtinzbCCbLe0pGdow33by-Q8p6ogFt5-vJt-g8zBA5AwkgL01U/s320/vlcsnap-00051.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Taking her, he kisses her passionately, but Stapleton is standing
there and demands a drink of cider from his daughter. He repeats the
invitation, which Sir. Henry is pleased to accept. Stapleton toasts
his health.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Uor2JBS4z-mtixHGp0m6kB1iksVdoxjqSN2JOl12ju17tmlX_xezjuP9bSpcJnTx3qnFd91hLJNvUG-dteGDa0rIQZmaPohB8y_jJDGyqHtscUF0dmf-YFlPZ6jo3kQdmiUh6RoB6_8/s1600/vlcsnap-00052.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Uor2JBS4z-mtixHGp0m6kB1iksVdoxjqSN2JOl12ju17tmlX_xezjuP9bSpcJnTx3qnFd91hLJNvUG-dteGDa0rIQZmaPohB8y_jJDGyqHtscUF0dmf-YFlPZ6jo3kQdmiUh6RoB6_8/s320/vlcsnap-00052.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Holmes
and Watson travel by carriage; discussing the tarantula attack-how
can Holmes be sure the tarantula wasn't simply a stowaway in Sir.
Henry's luggage from South Africa?.<i> 'Elementary, my Dear Watson,
there are no Tarantulas in South Africa.'</i> (There are) Whoever
placed it knew Sir. Henry suffered with a weak heart, indicating a
local. There is, after all, an excellent train service from London.
Watson suspects Dr. Mortimer-he alone knew of Sir. Henry's arrival in
London. Holmes dismisses this; the London Times would surely have
published details of his stay. Then what of the legend of the Hound
of Horror?. Holmes is seized with inspiration, taking up the map of
Dartmoor, he examines it with his glass. Selden swre the howls came
from the depths of the earth...</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Dr.
Mortimer greets the pair on their arrival, feeling it about time
Holmes arrived. He came to the Hall to look over the Estate. He finds
Sir. Henry impossible, Holmes turning the conversation to his quarrel
and abandonment of Sir. Henry-he only mentioned the legend. Seizing
on this, Holmes comments on his obsession with the legend, on the
fact that he, Dr. Mortimer discovered it. The Doctor flares up,
Holmes too briefly, but calms himself to turn matters to the old tin
mine marked on the map. Cleverly, he assesses Mortimer's knowledge
and familiarity of the place; is he current with it?. He says not.
Holmes asks him to accompany him there, as an archaeologist. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqlKLPod3M0aHDbsJngZZ9RKRMhXs0FyhsNiNgujWRKQB0VFIW5wXRwT_nlffMaIpvnGw6tZsoQniUywta40mk60mUUEqSMiWxWRVsq6vW8kcySHk-2-qist4gKC0t0uWkrcB2nVA-q4o/s1600/O+LIKE+THIS%2521.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqlKLPod3M0aHDbsJngZZ9RKRMhXs0FyhsNiNgujWRKQB0VFIW5wXRwT_nlffMaIpvnGw6tZsoQniUywta40mk60mUUEqSMiWxWRVsq6vW8kcySHk-2-qist4gKC0t0uWkrcB2nVA-q4o/s320/O+LIKE+THIS%2521.gif" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Suddenly, he turns, throwing the Moorish dagger into the top of a
side-table on which Mortimer is perched. Slyly, the Doctor asks where
he got it; Holmes asks its age. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mortimer thinks 1700-Holmes 1740, to
be exact. And the age of the blood?; he couldn't say. Holmes says
under ten hours old. Mortimer pretends he is unaware of the grim
provenance of the dagger...</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Together
with Stapleton and Mortimer, Holmes descends the planking of the old
tin mine, lanterns in hand the group traverses a narrow passage, held
up by rotting and decaying props. Nervous, Mortimer advises against
going further. Holmes pushes past a mine cart, which is dangerously
un-chocked on a slope. The other two remain, ostensibly to chock it
as Holmes goes on alone to make a discovery. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He calls out he's found
what he was after when a ghastly howl echoes through the tunnels of
the mine, turning back Holmes sees the mine cart crashing down into a
prop, the entire roof collapsing in an avalanche of dirt, rock and
falling woodwork. Sherlock Holmes is surely dead!. (Go with it...)</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
small group returns to the horse-cart to find Holmes propped up in
it, his leg injured by the fall. He found an air-shaft and escaped!.
Irritably, he demands to return to Baskerville Hall, as he is both
cold and hungry. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">At
the Hall, Holmes rails against Watson's attempts to care for him,
arguing the 'old beef bone' he found in the mine to be a relatively
<i>new </i><span style="font-style: normal;">one, which is a vital
point. He asks for tobacco, but his things have been interfered
with-and the Moorish dagger has been removed, the drawer in which it
was kept broken into. Sir. Henry enters and, rudely Holmes rebuffs
his invite to accompany him to the Stapleton place for dinner,
insulting the Lord for consorting with 'peasants'. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Angered, yet still
a gentleman, Sir. Henry rises to admonish and remind Holmes he
remains a guest in his house. Alone, Watson's attempt to remonstrate
with Holmes is barked down;</span><i> 'You know my methods; </i><i>couldn't
you see I was being purposefully rude?.' </i><span style="font-style: normal;">The
dagger's theft can only mean one thing; Sir. Henry is to die
tonight!.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Walking
alone with Cecile across the moor, she leads him to the ruins, but
not before they kiss again. Meanwhile, Holmes is limping along the
passage to the stairs with Watson, who is aware the portrait of Sir.
Hugo told Holmes' keen mind something he could not perceive. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-NANkZ6seWrtXwLY2HOjQEq2F5FFvc0ssW8ZvoWXEzG5q713WTk3K1tQ0NPTgUgE2M0CB9FcjT1FLw6rD7IC4w4OSwwLDcFbrcwIFOZrbrm4Mipn6cz_KBBWu7dN05Oc2lxc1H17a2HM/s1600/vlcsnap-00077.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-NANkZ6seWrtXwLY2HOjQEq2F5FFvc0ssW8ZvoWXEzG5q713WTk3K1tQ0NPTgUgE2M0CB9FcjT1FLw6rD7IC4w4OSwwLDcFbrcwIFOZrbrm4Mipn6cz_KBBWu7dN05Oc2lxc1H17a2HM/s320/vlcsnap-00077.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">It was
the hands; Sir. Hugo's right hand is gloved, hiding something; of
course!-he had a webbed hand. </span><i>Stapleton!. </i><span style="font-style: normal;">Indeed,
Stapleton is a Baskerville!. As they speak, Stapleton is at the
ruins, preparing to unleash the Hound, going to the ruins with
lantern and a package wrapped up beneath his arm. </span></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Holmes
and Watson rush along as quickly as Sherlock's wound will allow,
Watson thinks they are headed to the Stapleton place, but Holmes
insists they head to the ruins, arriving there just before Sir. Henry
and Cecile, who are taking their time on the hill leading up to the
ancient remains. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0J3AxRJwSuPxFkcryf2c4J1Pmx5Ggp3rbD9kittxvoAOcQ4dg1iEXsEKx96q5d3fuMrnuRcoU74FXa6Lgi86sYG0AqbZ_ANZ_kyYo8SFOYiJ2lLsXqCg5KjRxvQvpLD-FiZJyK5TFbds/s1600/vlcsnap-00081.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0J3AxRJwSuPxFkcryf2c4J1Pmx5Ggp3rbD9kittxvoAOcQ4dg1iEXsEKx96q5d3fuMrnuRcoU74FXa6Lgi86sYG0AqbZ_ANZ_kyYo8SFOYiJ2lLsXqCg5KjRxvQvpLD-FiZJyK5TFbds/s320/vlcsnap-00081.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Spotting a sepulchral light from within a crypt,
Holmes cautions Watson and they draw their revolvers to steal
forwards quietly to conceal themselves in an adjoining vault just as
Cecile leads the unwitting Sir. Henry down into the ruins. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7pR3I7UA3z6KDfc6T8C6PeMh6xgvmc3AKKM9re09_EtZn3k3oVEj9WheCARmke3u2QnXvuGIw4_3QkGnQ1M1_6unZfrMUOAYxytPGy9QkmYdDBwPNt3ACacDzU5CjeGJs8caR9ZkHWGM/s1600/vlcsnap-00085.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7pR3I7UA3z6KDfc6T8C6PeMh6xgvmc3AKKM9re09_EtZn3k3oVEj9WheCARmke3u2QnXvuGIw4_3QkGnQ1M1_6unZfrMUOAYxytPGy9QkmYdDBwPNt3ACacDzU5CjeGJs8caR9ZkHWGM/s320/vlcsnap-00085.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He wishes
to kiss her, but she draws away, before turning and slapping him
savagely. Spitting venom, she informs the confused Baskerville he
won't be the first to die here because of a girl. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEWUe4Sxhgz-BSlDG63hx1TYQBmPfuOpKmUQiqbArP73b2_Z4jY0pMbdDGHoEbk-VLShiyjwVtjuIjDlhzCFwCr3MDNCG2-Frc6V1kUgKQ1VJkgYsSh99t2zFzpOFNE37_TAbSYWlaAKM/s1600/vlcsnap-00087.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEWUe4Sxhgz-BSlDG63hx1TYQBmPfuOpKmUQiqbArP73b2_Z4jY0pMbdDGHoEbk-VLShiyjwVtjuIjDlhzCFwCr3MDNCG2-Frc6V1kUgKQ1VJkgYsSh99t2zFzpOFNE37_TAbSYWlaAKM/s320/vlcsnap-00087.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sir. Charles died
here, too. Died because he wanted a woman enough to bring her here at
night. He died screaming; she knows, she watched him. She explains
she, too is a Baskerville, as is her Father before her-living in
poverty while scum inherit the title and wealth. Now the curse of the
Hound is on him!. Bemusement turns slowly to terror as a terrible
howl rends the night. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sir.
Henry backs away in fear and apprehension, the girl in expectation of
his death. Holmes divests himself of his Inverness, preparing for the
worst. A sudden growl-turning in horror, Sir. Henry beholds a
gigantic, other-worldy Hound, standing above on the parapet. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR3t1r0ruLZckB4pBdM72Hm_1DbEAzlTu9MS00uXaSHDS7hpKBzNoqD0qp_Q_8f6GdhojWXBeiUVDNe5VzMuTkgVUyCFuKS-_klqy7BrpsojSUv5HPA_LQIsSEVi1P4lNmp_9nb6zP0DA/s1600/vlcsnap-00091.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR3t1r0ruLZckB4pBdM72Hm_1DbEAzlTu9MS00uXaSHDS7hpKBzNoqD0qp_Q_8f6GdhojWXBeiUVDNe5VzMuTkgVUyCFuKS-_klqy7BrpsojSUv5HPA_LQIsSEVi1P4lNmp_9nb6zP0DA/s320/vlcsnap-00091.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The eyes
that glitter down on him in the un-naturally massive and wolf-like
head know no pity and, with a giant bound, the creature leaps down
onto a sacrificial altar-stone and is upon him in a flash of tooth
and claw, the cruel fangs ripping into his flesh as he struggles for
his very life. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWZaa42fVDbkbJmQ3kLMnd1LiUmjsCga9NOXAmIqhRzADbaBjP2QDGhKEBAGUh-RAkoi6j3yqe38e3PLfwFV-fozLMz-WZCKXfl9G4pFqCXlNEhUh-rbDqueaH9denGhgbZ0_ElVkw3Zw/s1600/Q+THE+HOUND.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWZaa42fVDbkbJmQ3kLMnd1LiUmjsCga9NOXAmIqhRzADbaBjP2QDGhKEBAGUh-RAkoi6j3yqe38e3PLfwFV-fozLMz-WZCKXfl9G4pFqCXlNEhUh-rbDqueaH9denGhgbZ0_ElVkw3Zw/s320/Q+THE+HOUND.gif" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj36eMblKLTKnt0U5qDZGG74B61V9aq6-BZcKT0iTkkgzkKNJUHvGIHS4c6Cpk5Y0gXkc1YFkOo77ZnHu0Gwae_s-61UfV72Caf-xSSrhHJt0uvLyvAnRAuYUF7SbIlk7Ibb7kiOpeQocI/s1600/the-hound-of-the-baskervilles-1959-32.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj36eMblKLTKnt0U5qDZGG74B61V9aq6-BZcKT0iTkkgzkKNJUHvGIHS4c6Cpk5Y0gXkc1YFkOo77ZnHu0Gwae_s-61UfV72Caf-xSSrhHJt0uvLyvAnRAuYUF7SbIlk7Ibb7kiOpeQocI/s320/the-hound-of-the-baskervilles-1959-32.jpg" width="310" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Holmes
attempts a shot-but he'll hit Sir. Henry!-the girl's lips split in a
manic grin-Watson takes aim-Stapleton appears, knocks his gun-arm
down-they struggle. Watson pushes Stapleton back, but the
illegitimate scion of Sir. Hugo Baskerville draws his dagger to
attack. <i>BLAM!</i> Watson's shot catches the killer in the arm and,
to Cecile's horror, he staggers back, collapsing onto the altar-
stone. His very life-blood ebbing with his strength, Sir. Henry is
still valiantly attempting to defend himself against the overwhelming
force of the beast's jaws. A shot rings out from Holmes' revolver-the
animal lets out a yelp of pain, turning from the prostrate Lord in
rage and agony, to see the bleeding form of Stapleton on the altar... </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span>
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguDKsX09a2BFdLoBHsZkvy7sjvr0WjhWIIzT1g6DcN2D9OIOEfkfc6hlZYCvjzDvAG1VuTG1lK4YBdkNI5b-C9p9fLsG3rPWlUAQY_EIaPXLEjJbqqHmlPzXVUCLRat6aYusn0ECQLWHo/s1600/w964.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguDKsX09a2BFdLoBHsZkvy7sjvr0WjhWIIzT1g6DcN2D9OIOEfkfc6hlZYCvjzDvAG1VuTG1lK4YBdkNI5b-C9p9fLsG3rPWlUAQY_EIaPXLEjJbqqHmlPzXVUCLRat6aYusn0ECQLWHo/s320/w964.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Stapleton
dies a hideous death, mauled by the Hound as his daughter watches.
Another shot from Holmes despatches the Hound, but, insane with
jealous rage and her desire for revenge, Cecile snatches up the
dagger to avenge her father and attempt to murder the helpless Sir.
Henry. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAwBLCJzPcSt8BpaQ9crMOhrUCHdWr4osRL49JnzuMCAINeSN6w4RtSbDxUI6z4DSvMRAOyGS_Kxcw5fOpbnFHEmVl8vg0ujdCSIO5GtwtvWXqaXbRukkxZXOnJhy7phJmVHqfVj1Et9A/s1600/vlcsnap-00093.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAwBLCJzPcSt8BpaQ9crMOhrUCHdWr4osRL49JnzuMCAINeSN6w4RtSbDxUI6z4DSvMRAOyGS_Kxcw5fOpbnFHEmVl8vg0ujdCSIO5GtwtvWXqaXbRukkxZXOnJhy7phJmVHqfVj1Et9A/s320/vlcsnap-00093.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Holmes races forward, his steely fingers grappling with hers
to wrest the dagger from her grasp, the deadly blade falling to the
flagstones. Biting Holmes, she wrests herself free and dashes off.
Holmes cautions Watson against following; she won't get far-Sir.
Henry needs attention. </span></span>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
battered and torn figure of Sir. Henry Baskerville is supported by
his two allies, Holmes insisting on showing him the Hound that had so
nearly cost him his life. The detective reveals the existence of a
passageway connecting the mine with this place-he discovered it after
Stapleton's attempt on his life. Crouching by the body, Holmes
unbuckles the mask that Stapleton had affixed to it's head-a device
intended to make the beast even more terrifying. The creature was
starved for weeks, then given the scent and released. Removing Sir.
Henry's missing boot from Stapleton's jacket pocket, Holmes discloses
the dog had to have something of his to follow the scent. Watson asks
Holmes to retrieve his cape to wrap around the injured Sir. Henry for
the walk back.</span></span></div>
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<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Cecile
Stapleton dashes through the Grimpen Mire that she knows so well.
However, even the most familiar of places can become foreign at
night; she falls into one of the deadly pits and her screams alert
the trio as they ascend a nearby Tor. </span></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgySbvBkhLSnxs2kv9RCxM1qc5Z4jNJaoHIVQ2_ui7cjIF5eRwi9B2eTVCeHRBor1X4dRrTjV4UBqgVuX92A77ifqPhmMvrXQobG8l1a5hk-EwDNbP-kgjIZ15vBqGdbQSDPQ7lhMATUhM/s1600/B.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgySbvBkhLSnxs2kv9RCxM1qc5Z4jNJaoHIVQ2_ui7cjIF5eRwi9B2eTVCeHRBor1X4dRrTjV4UBqgVuX92A77ifqPhmMvrXQobG8l1a5hk-EwDNbP-kgjIZ15vBqGdbQSDPQ7lhMATUhM/s320/B.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;">A Lobby Card showing the scene</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZb1YWVYGk3X2S1q4aRDg0JHNnBNyyZnerIiRLYMND90IMVJ9y-YJ9s4zNWrNu5YFniJNpw1zDSrJrhAl1KNk_i-kJVyMssnNRfTJPKSJkPTDxB-8hTR24pP57W0PQzvQup9rv0oCO8xs/s1600/vlcsnap-00100.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZb1YWVYGk3X2S1q4aRDg0JHNnBNyyZnerIiRLYMND90IMVJ9y-YJ9s4zNWrNu5YFniJNpw1zDSrJrhAl1KNk_i-kJVyMssnNRfTJPKSJkPTDxB-8hTR24pP57W0PQzvQup9rv0oCO8xs/s320/vlcsnap-00100.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Grimly, Watson states the curse
has claimed another victim. 'Sherlock Holmes replies; <i>'Yes, no
more will be heard of the Hound of the Baskerville.'</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Returning
to the convivial surrounds of 221b, Baker Street, Holmes reads a
letter of thanks from Sir. Henry, Watson studying the portrait of
Sir. Hugo, complete with webbed hand that was found amongst the
Stapleton's possessions. Sir. Henry has gifted the portrait to
Holmes, along with a generous cheque. Sitting to tea, Holmes remarks
afterwards he shall write to Sir. Henry to accept both his gifts. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9vhSAaSVIOclWD3SLJoOwqPqsZtJRC3sGe-5F0dKlce9-zYYbEVG6Mdi0nM0QM3hEn6pKIAxgeL0C1cDrkxqam8ntYLErsoEFyZHl-hhlb1XMzwXn0Ri3iyPSKyyjflCdZuNJzEWPU_E/s1600/vlcsnap-00105.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9vhSAaSVIOclWD3SLJoOwqPqsZtJRC3sGe-5F0dKlce9-zYYbEVG6Mdi0nM0QM3hEn6pKIAxgeL0C1cDrkxqam8ntYLErsoEFyZHl-hhlb1XMzwXn0Ri3iyPSKyyjflCdZuNJzEWPU_E/s320/vlcsnap-00105.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Joining him, Watson asks when he first suspected the truth about the
case, that the hound was a real dog and not just a myth?. When Sir.
Henry complained of a missing boot, that put him <i>on the scent</i>
as it were. As early as that?; that's incredible, feels Watson.
<i>'Elementary, my Dear Watson, elementary.' </i>Concluding the case,
Sherlock Holmes offers his friend and comrade a muffin to go with his
tea.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
I first saw Peter Cushing's name attached to the Holmes role, I felt
it a mistake; this wonderful British character actor was surely
better suited to Horror films; he had played Garnd Moff Tarkin in
<i>Star Wars </i><span style="font-style: normal;">(1977) and even
Doctor Who in two films from the sixties. But Sherlock Holmes?. I
knew he had reprised the role for BBC television in 1968, playing the
detective in sixteen episodes and </span><i>The Masks of Death</i><span style="font-style: normal;">,
a 1984 production co-starring John Mills. How wrong can one person
be?; Cushing scintillates throughout-his mannerisms, gaunt features
and spare frame lend themselves wonderfully to the part, as does his
ascerbic manner. The logical thinking machine comes to life!. André
Morell plays a refreshingly intelligent Watson; just normal enough to
make Holmes seem to be a super-brain, Morell gives the role solid
dependability and is a far cry from the bumbling, yet loveable Nigel
Bruce character. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh880v1PG-_4w7cxICEBIftIfXMuppIawZepinTS35hYgXhiHnxMhxsdGlmb3x1rjSh_QKZqOfihVgG6CWOAHj5o0mZML9qyHnEV2PIAVjXPNUgkBNLn0URGUpCuF1I2U0mBWPIPD1frLg/s1600/the-hound-of-the-baskervilles-1959-10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh880v1PG-_4w7cxICEBIftIfXMuppIawZepinTS35hYgXhiHnxMhxsdGlmb3x1rjSh_QKZqOfihVgG6CWOAHj5o0mZML9qyHnEV2PIAVjXPNUgkBNLn0URGUpCuF1I2U0mBWPIPD1frLg/s320/the-hound-of-the-baskervilles-1959-10.jpg" width="152" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;">A French poster for the film.</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Christopher</span><span style="font-style: normal;">
Lee-himself to play Holmes, first in 1962 with </span><i>Sherlock
Holmes and the Deadly Necklace, </i><span style="font-style: normal;">then
in the early nineties with two TV movies, </span><i>Sherlock Holmes
and the Leading Lady </i><span style="font-style: normal;">and
</span><i>Incident at Victoria Falls. </i><span style="font-style: normal;">None
of Lee's Holmes films are considered classics, sadly (Though if all
he had ever done was Scaramanga in </span><i>The Man with the Golden
Gun </i><span style="font-style: normal;">(1974) he'd still be a
legend in my eyes). Here Lee is upright, kind and decent-a good man
if not a great character. His role is second fiddle, of course to
that of his long-time collaborator and friend Peter Cushing's; he's
the bait for the big dog and not a lot more. That said, his
performance is memorable-his screen presence and magnetism marking
him out as a man apart. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPyiVQ6ekBuKSwM7u-Z5CBnzyEA1UPR3FtulSl5asttErvUYXX3XtuKEK7eSaGmvy9Ti1TCN83C1i4_mN3WUF7dGtlPPq1hpRor-bZO7ExW7dJ6lJMHF97MhgWBVy-I7kVsrNlE1Kwt1w/s1600/English+actor+Peter+Cushing+as+fictional+detective+Sherlock+Holmes+with+Andre+Morell+as+Dr+Watson+in+a+scene+from+%2527The+Hound+of+the+Baskervilles%2527%252C+1959.+%2528Photo+by+Express+Newspapers+Getty+Images%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPyiVQ6ekBuKSwM7u-Z5CBnzyEA1UPR3FtulSl5asttErvUYXX3XtuKEK7eSaGmvy9Ti1TCN83C1i4_mN3WUF7dGtlPPq1hpRor-bZO7ExW7dJ6lJMHF97MhgWBVy-I7kVsrNlE1Kwt1w/s320/English+actor+Peter+Cushing+as+fictional+detective+Sherlock+Holmes+with+Andre+Morell+as+Dr+Watson+in+a+scene+from+%2527The+Hound+of+the+Baskervilles%2527%252C+1959.+%2528Photo+by+Express+Newspapers+Getty+Images%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;">A Publicity shot for the film</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">T</span><span style="font-style: normal;">he
supporting cast are all solid, Francis De Wolff as Doctor Mortimer
gives a good 'is he a baddie or a goodie?' performance, Miles
Malleson plays the dotty old Bishop to a T and Ewen Solon is a
believable Stapleton. Marla Landi is Cecile and clearly Italian
rather than Spanish. Why they didn't just re-write the part is beyond
me. </span><i>Dad's Army </i><span style="font-style: normal;">stalwart
John le Mesurier plays Barrymore, the Butler with a subdued elegance.
</span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhillIJSi4BYFikyp8aPJwC5B50GeLqV5QqIFz87pNyLqgEtTNAOv2XKtmdOyMuFZk1jnz1d_VGKvOXLpmJKy61fvRCcOkzLi-PHh-Uiv-MheMA9stMpQ46mIF8ItMScaeIqR1QXBba84w/s1600/hound_of_the_baskervilles.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhillIJSi4BYFikyp8aPJwC5B50GeLqV5QqIFz87pNyLqgEtTNAOv2XKtmdOyMuFZk1jnz1d_VGKvOXLpmJKy61fvRCcOkzLi-PHh-Uiv-MheMA9stMpQ46mIF8ItMScaeIqR1QXBba84w/s320/hound_of_the_baskervilles.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRlHsR0Cc2usA9j4B4jA8h0WMffGExfK9HjYs2B9sKbGtmR7Rg5_buy5PBoUfLkZoBgHPKRyn6TS2kcm2Y4_PtZMF6U25FoYkTrD-T3b38RvSCXY5RSeEUid79EhXJtyzFw1pBEiWZJH0/s1600/PRODUCTION.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="81" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRlHsR0Cc2usA9j4B4jA8h0WMffGExfK9HjYs2B9sKbGtmR7Rg5_buy5PBoUfLkZoBgHPKRyn6TS2kcm2Y4_PtZMF6U25FoYkTrD-T3b38RvSCXY5RSeEUid79EhXJtyzFw1pBEiWZJH0/s320/PRODUCTION.PNG" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Hammer
films simply would have vanished if it wasn't for one man; Terence
Fisher. Graduating from clapper boy to film editor to director,
Fisher took colour and gore and gave the Hammer films their iconic
feel, directing both Cushing and Lee in thirteen and twelve films,
respectively.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Hammer
regular James Bernard returns to Compose a dramatic, if not exactly
Earth-shattering score. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzJuGRStnjVDMwSZLZeCAkq-GwcN7dyajK7aGol7MceBvuJY-8HVi4AF2zBD1SuiWQlPoMRz33sGknkxcKY2IjTprKjRbLD6vNRKCIqEmCx7wm8obwlQOvommBbmL9tVRaSqQztn1NK2E/s1600/The_Hound_of_the_Baskervilles_1st_ed_cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzJuGRStnjVDMwSZLZeCAkq-GwcN7dyajK7aGol7MceBvuJY-8HVi4AF2zBD1SuiWQlPoMRz33sGknkxcKY2IjTprKjRbLD6vNRKCIqEmCx7wm8obwlQOvommBbmL9tVRaSqQztn1NK2E/s320/The_Hound_of_the_Baskervilles_1st_ed_cover.jpg" width="204" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;">The cover of the First Edition of the novel in Art Nouveau style</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">The
screenplay, written by Peter Bryan, differs from the Novel on several
points; these actually serve to bring suspense back for Conan-Doyle
readers. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Sir. Henry's heart
condition was added, as was the tarantula and mine scene. Stapleton's
wife becomes his daughter and hates Baskerville; in the novel, she
survives. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">The webbed hand
gimmick wasn't in the book, but Stapleton drowning in the Grimpen
Mire was. Other details were also changed, although more trivial in
nature, such as Sir. Henry's country of origin. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">The
film was intended to be the first of a series, but apparently Hammer
fans found it lacking; the production was hampered by the typical
low-budget approach of Hammer; for instance, the painted backdrop
outside the window of 221b, Baker Street is simply laughable. </span></span></span>
</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL1BCejVPAm26T7yeKjlY0doIVnI_m4ZjLkADLCBzKq9kGiIH5LsKMOgoDDuo_1AOGNPI9kK2SOK6srEWyd3xTE1TzhMMxcZ6gAZk2DYVbn-KoYl-WCViokcq0X1TNijj6e7jU54ahvKw/s1600/TRIVIA.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="81" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL1BCejVPAm26T7yeKjlY0doIVnI_m4ZjLkADLCBzKq9kGiIH5LsKMOgoDDuo_1AOGNPI9kK2SOK6srEWyd3xTE1TzhMMxcZ6gAZk2DYVbn-KoYl-WCViokcq0X1TNijj6e7jU54ahvKw/s320/TRIVIA.PNG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVAYRXEGC4gpbSROGvPe7wfcjeVyB_TtztWkuVxmfjNoGX8tWCeVrC4NvJwDteqXgA2aQRyl1ueeethSp1SMASG0Lmi5knNvPREZEXXQFF6Pg5CbfFUt9KIYRIkf1yKVOnzpv3XIisfbs/s1600/li6fFTISXqNWRYbSqM0vrwU2loJ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVAYRXEGC4gpbSROGvPe7wfcjeVyB_TtztWkuVxmfjNoGX8tWCeVrC4NvJwDteqXgA2aQRyl1ueeethSp1SMASG0Lmi5knNvPREZEXXQFF6Pg5CbfFUt9KIYRIkf1yKVOnzpv3XIisfbs/s320/li6fFTISXqNWRYbSqM0vrwU2loJ.jpg" width="216" /></a></span></span></div>
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<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">The
first Sherlock Holmes film made in colour, the set for Baskerville
</span><span style="font-style: normal;">Hall</span><span style="font-style: normal;">
was originally used for the </span><i>Horror of Dracula</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
(1958). Peter Cushing detested pipes and drank milk on-set to remove
the taste. The dog used in the production, </span><span style="font-style: normal;">a
Great Dane (</span><span style="font-style: normal;">Colonel by name</span><span style="font-style: normal;">)</span><span style="font-style: normal;">
reportedly attacked Christopher Lee after successive takes had to be
aborted due to the animals' placidity; production staff goaded the
dog who then took it out on Lee, biting his arm. Apart from some
stock, or second-unit shots of Dartmoor, the film was made on
location at Chobham Common and Frensham Ponds, both in Surrey. </span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> </span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKkIzYeEX1RURTgaSjuksOtNtGFDPklAP06yAMkf5qdUeYkc5qNl8mUWIHsPstaZXd7VbYtXZqXBe_czrc-Z1FYbdyQaC2GDTOfUqN-BfLj5fTjSkmGd6pRY-5jLLEuz74ZSB9WKtc57Y/s1600/GOOFS.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="81" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKkIzYeEX1RURTgaSjuksOtNtGFDPklAP06yAMkf5qdUeYkc5qNl8mUWIHsPstaZXd7VbYtXZqXBe_czrc-Z1FYbdyQaC2GDTOfUqN-BfLj5fTjSkmGd6pRY-5jLLEuz74ZSB9WKtc57Y/s320/GOOFS.PNG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
chessboard Holmes is briefly seen with is set up incorrectly. </span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJJwu_02GX0_lFGs1FRkJLwZ4Xhu3ejr4ZHxHupXbpdPoDcCgPm4qYvKnoJGC8G-6aZB59l_mxyTXCUWhaRDf39tDkRfE8tjPnXUulszBsq8WzmW5fopDhYETkS63cquxh1zulp6kqFKc/s1600/HoundBaskervilles-1959-UA-halfB.jpg%257Eoriginal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJJwu_02GX0_lFGs1FRkJLwZ4Xhu3ejr4ZHxHupXbpdPoDcCgPm4qYvKnoJGC8G-6aZB59l_mxyTXCUWhaRDf39tDkRfE8tjPnXUulszBsq8WzmW5fopDhYETkS63cquxh1zulp6kqFKc/s320/HoundBaskervilles-1959-UA-halfB.jpg%257Eoriginal.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
Bishop's window is clearly already scored for the telescope to easily
smash it. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">When
asked why he doesn't shoot his game, Stapleton shows his deformed
hand as answer; yet he clearly owns a shotgun as one is visible in
his house. This may not be an actual error as it's possible his
daughter used it, or it was an heirloom. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiplM2I0HCXlwgNnBbUcNIyIWIXqPPgit6rMxjAZ91AC3lESKEq7LU3S7t-Cmv4us6-aNT1mUdEmBxRKiEUYGacOJHf6joDozbjEzSVtYOdzC5NC7Xmosgu2ERt9NUKYFTxIeveh_2Xkl0/s1600/the-hound-of-the-baskervilles-1959-65.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiplM2I0HCXlwgNnBbUcNIyIWIXqPPgit6rMxjAZ91AC3lESKEq7LU3S7t-Cmv4us6-aNT1mUdEmBxRKiEUYGacOJHf6joDozbjEzSVtYOdzC5NC7Xmosgu2ERt9NUKYFTxIeveh_2Xkl0/s320/the-hound-of-the-baskervilles-1959-65.jpg" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Paytone One;">The late, Great Peter Cushing; Cushing brought his knowledge of the story and character to the part brilliantly.</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When
Stapleton is savaged by the Hound, he has to drag it onto him due to
Colonel's aforementioned lack of aggression. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
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<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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Volcano Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14372941500458681755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555240865021461020.post-21331719232693833052017-02-03T08:35:00.003-08:002017-02-03T08:35:41.124-08:00Book Contest winner announced!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And
the winner is... </span></span><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Dr.
Piyumi Ranasinghe!. </span></span><span style="font-family: Paytone One;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Well
Done!; your book-inscribed personally to you-is winging its way to
Sri Lanka as we speak. Or tomorrow when the Post Office is open...
Thanks to everyone who entered.</span></span></div>
</div>
Volcano Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14372941500458681755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555240865021461020.post-60656536718181411702017-01-17T09:41:00.000-08:002017-01-29T12:34:04.901-08:00EXCLUSIVE SHERLOCK GIVEAWAY!-WIN A FREE BOOK!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLhSBe3kGBbwUYfqd_u4rpoqqQ5tesRKRAZaYv6u4CJb0iCq7o0VBPy6EnYGEPcOpYcXT_xGkcyfpMIQCwznLFhxojuW1BoKN91YmgHII-sZ9eXn58SVgxaORWX6wAZ-Plt6uOt8v-IsA/s1600/BLOG+VERSION.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLhSBe3kGBbwUYfqd_u4rpoqqQ5tesRKRAZaYv6u4CJb0iCq7o0VBPy6EnYGEPcOpYcXT_xGkcyfpMIQCwznLFhxojuW1BoKN91YmgHII-sZ9eXn58SVgxaORWX6wAZ-Plt6uOt8v-IsA/s320/BLOG+VERSION.PNG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "carbontype";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Who
do YOU think was Jack the Ripper?; name your suspect and give the
reason you believe this person was indeed the notorious Victorian
serial killer. Post your answers in the Comments Section below.Please don't forget to include your full name and
<i>postal address</i> (Not e-mail!) including postcode/zip code, plus
the dedication of choice should you win. This offer is global-so if
you live in a cave in Borneo, if there's a letterbox, you can apply!.
(Winners be selected on merit by the author and if no dedication is
specified, the author will sign to the person applying.) </span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "carbontype";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Good
Luck-and remember, The Game is Afoot!. </span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "carbontype";"><span style="font-size: medium;">UPDATE: If you don't wish to show your address details here, simply message them to me separately. </span></span>
</div>
</div>
Volcano Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14372941500458681755noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555240865021461020.post-40180403689506507092017-01-16T09:26:00.002-08:002017-01-16T09:27:13.219-08:00Update; The new Sherlock Holmes novel on Amazon!. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Yes, I'm back pumping my book again; you can now Pre-Order my
Sherlock Holmes novel from Amazon-click the link below to be whisked
away with effortless speed and precision should you care to blast a
tenner on the book that took me two years to research and write. See
Victorian London burst from the pages before your very eyes!. Gasp at
the terror that was Jack the Ripper!. Cheer as Sherlock Holmes and
Watson pursue the fiend through the murky labyrinth that was (and is)
the East End!. Grind your teeth at my audacity in plugging this twice!.
Watch this space for exciting freebies!. Realise I've been on those
marketing blogs again!. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Sherlock-Holmes-Whitechapel-Murders-account/dp/1787050599/ref=sr_1_cc_4?s=aps&ie=UTF8&qid=1484502866&sr=1-4-catcorr&keywords=SHERLOCK+HOLMES+AND+THE+WHITECHAPEL+MURDERS">https://www.amazon.co.uk/Sherlock-Holmes-Whitechapel-Murders-account/dp/1787050599/ref=sr_1_cc_4?s=aps&ie=UTF8&qid=1484502866&sr=1-4-catcorr&keywords=SHERLOCK+HOLMES+AND+THE+WHITECHAPEL+MURDERS</a></div>
Volcano Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14372941500458681755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555240865021461020.post-16035608463003837552017-01-13T19:18:00.001-08:002017-01-13T19:18:27.062-08:00Now available for Pre-Order... Sherlock Holmes and the Whitechapel Murders<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b>Fantastic news!; my first novel is, as you may have read, due out in March. MX Publishing are taking Pre-Orders now, the link is below. London is in the grip of the most notorious murderer of the Victorian era. Only Sherlock Holmes can solve the mystery of the identity of 'Jack the Ripper'... or can he?. Along with his staunch companion, John Watson and his brother Mycroft, Holmes is plunged into a relentless chase through the labyrinth of East London. The truth is revealed through a series of clues only a genius could hope to unravel, but who is the mysterious 'Professor'?. What devilry does his organization plan?. What connection is there to the Ripper murders?. Everything will be laid before you as it was to Holmes, every clue and lead. Can <i>you </i>solve the crimes alongside Sherlock Holmes?. </b><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mxpublishing.co.uk/product/9781787050594/Sherlock+Holmes+and+The+Whitechapel+Murders+-+An+account+of+the+matter+by+John+Watson+M.D.">http://www.mxpublishing.co.uk/product/9781787050594/Sherlock+Holmes+and+The+Whitechapel+Murders+-+An+account+of+the+matter+by+John+Watson+M.D.</a><br /><b><strong></strong></b></div>
Volcano Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14372941500458681755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555240865021461020.post-3085267743356605502016-12-20T15:54:00.001-08:002016-12-20T15:54:37.789-08:00A very merry Christmas to all of you!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlBUwvHlevBjhH6ZAyujvp_hlh26z7vNdBdGALF6xJO-RugWz0yUaPSP105kpT8kF8dNT5CE3HX-UEdjUH1H5xaFuF-X9IWkRaUFSPT89I93ItUgW9je0N7uUkuA0sVAahu_9v8URg1KA/s1600/HOLMES+XMAS+FINAL.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlBUwvHlevBjhH6ZAyujvp_hlh26z7vNdBdGALF6xJO-RugWz0yUaPSP105kpT8kF8dNT5CE3HX-UEdjUH1H5xaFuF-X9IWkRaUFSPT89I93ItUgW9je0N7uUkuA0sVAahu_9v8URg1KA/s320/HOLMES+XMAS+FINAL.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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Volcano Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14372941500458681755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555240865021461020.post-91725685824469131442016-10-22T09:56:00.005-07:002016-10-22T09:58:27.492-07:00Stop the Press!; The New Sherlock Holmes Novel-exclusive!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEVWKRUWT9ELCFpf_SNWlgJi1n4pGxLvfOFerlVb1TKS-298Vm2B4saPHekqbs6J9CXF5P9b5hxnNv3Hs55dhG79QM4JaDCxyEuVW1txaAyP89-6b7C0tJy9c1Fafj6NoT_yTnKFav8_U/s1600/BLOGGER+TEASER+HEADER.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="106" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEVWKRUWT9ELCFpf_SNWlgJi1n4pGxLvfOFerlVb1TKS-298Vm2B4saPHekqbs6J9CXF5P9b5hxnNv3Hs55dhG79QM4JaDCxyEuVW1txaAyP89-6b7C0tJy9c1Fafj6NoT_yTnKFav8_U/s320/BLOGGER+TEASER+HEADER.PNG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Fabulous
news, Dear Reader;</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">As of today I can announce the forthcoming publication of my novel
<i>Sherlock Holmes and the Whitechapel Murders-An account of the matter
by <b>John Watson, M.D.</b></i><b> I
am proud to say the publishing house MX Publishing is producing the
book, though at this stage whether as an E-Book or in Print remains
to be arranged. </b></span></span>
</div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>An
original account, the story follows the murders as they happened,
with the World's first Consulting Detective facing a murderous
conspiracy that includes a plot to steal the Crown Jewels themselves.
History tells us what happened-now I reveal </b><i><b>why </b></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><b>it
happened. </b></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><b>
</b></span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><b>The
facts are all there, but making sense of them will take you to the
very edge of madness.</b></span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><b>What follows is a short extract from the book-what you must
do is follow the clues...</b></span></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>AN EXLUSIVE PREVIEW OF; </b></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>SHERLOCK
HOLMES AND THE WHITECHAPEL MURDERS</b></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>AN
ACCOUNT OF THE MATTER </b></span></span>
</div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>BY
JOHN WATSON, M.D.</b></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><br /></i>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><b>The
perilous chase continued, the going slippery and treacherous on the
slime-coated slates of the houses adjacent to the brewery. The gap
between buildings here was mercifully narrow, allowing even one as
unsteady as myself to leap across with no more than a determined
step. </b><b>More than once, my feet slipped on the wet tiles. </b><b>I</b><b>t
was hard to look anywhere, but at my feet. I</b><b> could not be
sure, but Holmes seemed to have the beast in his grasp when, with a
curse of dismay, he fell from sight. Concern for my friend impelled
me to greater effort, reaching the spot where he had disappeared. The
figure in the cloak had turned, waving a fist in the air in a gesture
of pure spite. ‘Damn you!’ My whispered curse came as I drew my
revolver, pausing only to take aim. Two shots rang out, shattering
the very air between us. I could not be sure if </b><b>the heavy</b><b>
bullets had found their mark; the fiend whirling around behind a
chimneystack a moment after I fired. A groan from the blackness
below-it was Holmes!. </b></i></span></span>
</div>
</div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"> </span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;">
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><b>For
further updates, follow this Blog and visit;</b></i></span></span></div>
<br />
<a href="http://www.mxpublishing.co.uk/"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";">http://www.mxpublishing.co.uk</span></span></a></div>
<br />
<br /></div>
Volcano Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14372941500458681755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555240865021461020.post-84593070452460913422016-07-29T11:43:00.000-07:002016-07-31T08:33:44.044-07:00THE RATHBONE HOLMES - THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES (1939)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSVqZIzu-IxeCM5peiYz4OxaQICUziVQ6mD4TsV20QWpCeLFeewmGjROYhmAMrMzFV_xsubK7drXIIbqUgdOikfBtiVskW8j4Hl5joKiu6oN8dXwiZ3_ODX2lnKLwuSTOvlDf1y7_N1kQ/s1600/TASH+TITLE.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSVqZIzu-IxeCM5peiYz4OxaQICUziVQ6mD4TsV20QWpCeLFeewmGjROYhmAMrMzFV_xsubK7drXIIbqUgdOikfBtiVskW8j4Hl5joKiu6oN8dXwiZ3_ODX2lnKLwuSTOvlDf1y7_N1kQ/s320/TASH+TITLE.JPG" width="257" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAurCgHiW0ybOJnz9NBibDCvNcdWtZaR1_d3vRevPuB5RGeYnqNF3hcqbwkIqIVnCuUD5LH73xrOMdCPilF5L8Lwd_CYt-46-2wYJ03UBnb4y4gI7ExjWCU1XHinnc4tPtfYu122T5kTo/s1600/1+TITLE.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAurCgHiW0ybOJnz9NBibDCvNcdWtZaR1_d3vRevPuB5RGeYnqNF3hcqbwkIqIVnCuUD5LH73xrOMdCPilF5L8Lwd_CYt-46-2wYJ03UBnb4y4gI7ExjWCU1XHinnc4tPtfYu122T5kTo/s320/1+TITLE.gif" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
opening credits play and, behind those most familiar of names stands
Sherlock Holmes, in silhouette, pipe smoking and bullseye lamp
casting its light as for clues. Closing on a cluttered desk, a book
is opened. Inside, the opening page;</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRKkJjV5TaobHyaLiR7LH8FNcsFi5t6TSTNqAJuXcNFSmP-2275wPbDkugNg6sCEP4rhKSCfFo2ogjchBgfYeRByw6zqOsu8rxNR7qlcsC5ozjCUY8HR1_hJG72O4ToSZAoDt343A2kG0/s1600/vlcsnap-error767.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRKkJjV5TaobHyaLiR7LH8FNcsFi5t6TSTNqAJuXcNFSmP-2275wPbDkugNg6sCEP4rhKSCfFo2ogjchBgfYeRByw6zqOsu8rxNR7qlcsC5ozjCUY8HR1_hJG72O4ToSZAoDt343A2kG0/s320/vlcsnap-error767.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGiJJyU8Uh8oyA7Cfou6vXvWqaBBz5RczP8buU3yBXh9-uJZ6wZRT_20VsTCoGEfQg0oDSZ2U0vIDJhycoscmENdysuBpYn4Rh3hCYSxe0NJyY1DPOouGcgun6o-m1pdBLfgmGlXDcaY8/s1600/vlcsnap-error196.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGiJJyU8Uh8oyA7Cfou6vXvWqaBBz5RczP8buU3yBXh9-uJZ6wZRT_20VsTCoGEfQg0oDSZ2U0vIDJhycoscmENdysuBpYn4Rh3hCYSxe0NJyY1DPOouGcgun6o-m1pdBLfgmGlXDcaY8/s320/vlcsnap-error196.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">An
English Court room. Four judges sit on the bench, as the Clerk of the
Court asks a jury if they have reached verdict. They have. At the
words 'The Prisoner will rise' a tidy, bespectacled man with a trim
beard and scholarly air looks up from his note-taking. It is as if he
were inconvenienced somehow, rather than awaiting news of his fate.
Does the jury find the prisoner guilty or not guilty of willful
murder?. According to the evidence, they have no choice; not guilty.
That this verdict is followed by 'And may God forgive us' indicates
the unease of almost all present. The presiding Judge, a man of great
distinction notes that this is a gross miscarriage of justice. He
feels it deplorable a man of such intellectual attainments should be
in the prisoner's box charged with murder, yet he cannot find it in
his heart to exonerate Professor Moriarty. He is discharged, but then
comes a commotion at the door; Sherlock Holmes has arrived bearing
evidence that proves Moriarty murdered Loray and that will destroy
his alibi. Counsel for the Defence argues that alibi was established
by three hundred members of the Royal Society, pointing out that,
once acquitted, his client cannot be charged twice for the same
offence. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN2weqgDtBUYRbE7HkXT5U9aIkCMZNldWloXdRukNwsDb_tfEGS2FvoGoJcj-UN-BF8UNLJXd-eWKm7Nu7pJa7UoLwz7bjiBFzqArUTkMVzPHRjMdKIcYFR3Pjy11ZJ8ilT_V23fbsHxg/s1600/30_holmes_1939_adventures_rathbone_bruce.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN2weqgDtBUYRbE7HkXT5U9aIkCMZNldWloXdRukNwsDb_tfEGS2FvoGoJcj-UN-BF8UNLJXd-eWKm7Nu7pJa7UoLwz7bjiBFzqArUTkMVzPHRjMdKIcYFR3Pjy11ZJ8ilT_V23fbsHxg/s320/30_holmes_1939_adventures_rathbone_bruce.jpg" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Doctor John Watson and Sherlock Holmes; Nigel Bruce is Watson, Basil Rathbone Holmes. </b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Outside,
in a typical London shower, Professor Moriarty waits for Sherlock
Holmes to emerge from the Court. The Professor feels Holmes has a bad
opinion of him. Coldly, Holmes states that, on the contrary, he holds
him in the highest esteem – but only as a knave. Moriarty offers
his foe a lift, cabs being scarce in the rain. Thus is it that the
onlookers outside the Court building find themselves treated to the
rare, perhaps even singular sight of the two adversaries walking side
by side to a waiting Hansom. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNDc5ZweKnVSHtb-VcWLCF00PR6Y6Xr7LdlUpnEc8vXDd3fKJSCJhwtnfMSKQB-O-LwxpKnca4VeFMaHYRIcIgDnZgdFC9ujnxk-xsAbcT4yPt7aSLmr6nmPu9RWKwb-FEbrCINlFU3Wc/s1600/vlcsnap-error646.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNDc5ZweKnVSHtb-VcWLCF00PR6Y6Xr7LdlUpnEc8vXDd3fKJSCJhwtnfMSKQB-O-LwxpKnca4VeFMaHYRIcIgDnZgdFC9ujnxk-xsAbcT4yPt7aSLmr6nmPu9RWKwb-FEbrCINlFU3Wc/s320/vlcsnap-error646.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">George Zucco is Professor Moriarty.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Once inside, Holmes acidly states he
admires the Professor's brain so much, he would like to present it,
pickled in alcohol, to the London Medical Society. Far from being
insulted, Moriarty finds this amusing, stating it would make an
'interesting exhibit.' The journey continues, with Moriarty observing
Holmes nearly brought him to the gallows. He then makes the most
audacious boast – one that, in a lesser criminal, might well have
elicited scorn. He plans to 'break' Holmes.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>'I'm
going to bring off<br />right under your nose<br />the most incredible
crime<br />of the century -<br />and you'll never suspect it<br />until
it's too late.<br />That will be the end of you,<br />Mr. Sherlock
Holmes.<br />And when I've beaten and ruined<br />you then I can retire
in peace.<br />I'd like to retire,<br />Crime no longer amuses me.<br />I'd
like to devote my remaining<br />years to abstract science.' -
Professor Moriarty </i></span></span>
</div>
<div align="center" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
hansom rolls to a halt outside 221 Baker Street and politely, Holmes
regrets himself unable to invite the Professor in. They bid each
other a civil 'Good night.' </span></span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghCFXGTKzJVI4-nAVXGqoBCJVjhTWnkvrFW3swfwBdCdx3LuSkepWoi6x1FXBWdyv53SK1uyj1bi-l4M8okQSPnb1TU8gmBXQHsLdN_PPUrc9snp1REEYuKYk14uqmEgXT1vwOz11cwEw/s1600/vlcsnap-error117.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghCFXGTKzJVI4-nAVXGqoBCJVjhTWnkvrFW3swfwBdCdx3LuSkepWoi6x1FXBWdyv53SK1uyj1bi-l4M8okQSPnb1TU8gmBXQHsLdN_PPUrc9snp1REEYuKYk14uqmEgXT1vwOz11cwEw/s320/vlcsnap-error117.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">In
his nursery and element, Moriarty admires a remarkable example of an
orchid. A flautist plays, a strangely-unsettling, repetitive
melancholia. Examining his potted plants, however, the Professor is
seized by a terrible suspicion; the dryness of the watering can
confirms it!. Striding across to the bell pull, plant in hand he tugs
at it savagely, summoning Dawes, an elderly servant. Dawes informs
his Master of Mr. Bassick's arrival. His every word betraying his
discomfiture, Moriarty directs the servant to return after Bassick's
departure. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipTyXyYXm81eGHN8cZ1oR-GI5xwhtfV02HB4ga_B1ci7bNr9-vsDAAGRFYBQHlTQ4z2wKhyphenhyphenKqKrcJFWTp55Na76u-YBKYpj7HTqBAFR_gRqKYl6nsvKzfuwJHHG8ooEDxV7rkpFXiLWhM/s1600/vlcsnap-error301.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipTyXyYXm81eGHN8cZ1oR-GI5xwhtfV02HB4ga_B1ci7bNr9-vsDAAGRFYBQHlTQ4z2wKhyphenhyphenKqKrcJFWTp55Na76u-YBKYpj7HTqBAFR_gRqKYl6nsvKzfuwJHHG8ooEDxV7rkpFXiLWhM/s320/vlcsnap-error301.png" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Pausing to consider the uncanny Flautist, seen to us as
mere shadow, Moriarty takes the lifeless plant to his desk. He
examines it carefully, as if hoping to discover some hidden secret as
Dawes shows Bassick in. This latter is a tall, stooped man in
fashionable long coat, with military moustache and trimmed sideburns.
He removes his top hat as he approaches the Professor's desk. Bassick
states that the music gives him the creeps – Moriarty rather likes
it. Handing the tall man an envelope, he instructs him to post it in
the box at Portland Square a few minutes before twelve. This done, he
is to return to his lodgings via Oxford Circus. There he is to
remain, until sent for. </span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Refusing
to be dismissed, Bassick wants assurances; he has a right to know
what he's getting into. Moriarty tells him that he will take care of
it. Uneasy, Bassick reminds Moriarty of the similar promise he made
to 'Iggins on 'that Hammersmith job.' The Professor laments the loss.
Poor Higgins!; all they found was his boots. The tall man dares
correct his employer; 'One boot.' Massaging his right fist with his
left, the Professor expands on this – Higgins was a valuable man, a
cracksman, but he had Bassick's unfortunate habit of asking
questions. Now, all that remains of him is one boot. Thinking this
veiled threat over, Bassick backs down. He will obey the Professor's
orders. Ameliorated by this subservience, the Professor rises to
circle his desk. He tells his subordinate the bones of his plan. He
intends to exploit a peculiarity of Holmes' brain, his restlessness
even. Holmes again?.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>'Always
Holmes until the end.<br />He's like a spoiled boy<br />who picks watches
to pieces<br />but loses interest in one toy<br />as soon as he's given
another.' </i></span></span>
</div>
<div align="center" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>-
Professor Moriarty.</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Moriarty
plans to present the ingenious, fickle Detective with two 'toys',
hoping to mislead him as to the significance of one and focus on the
other. The first is the letter, the second?, Moriarty draws, shows
him a most unusual and unsettling sketch. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Moriarty
hopes that this intriguing doodle will so occupy Holmes that the
letter will not. It contains the germ of a crime, a great crime –
one that will stir the Empire. The letter is addressed to Sir. Ronald
Ramsgate, the Constable of the Tower of London. Bassick secretes the
letter in his topper as Moriarty ushers his visitor out, the
Professor's attention returning to his poorly plant. Dawes enters and
his Master berates him for neglecting to water his Anthurium
Magenta*. In vain, Dawes protests innocence, but the watering can
bears evidence to the contrary; a spider's web across the spout.
Nothing is as important to the Professor as his flowers. His
declaration that his servant has murdered a flower only serves to
underline his lack of empathy with his fellow man. He should be
broken on the wheel, drawn and quartered – boiled in oil.
Dismissing the unfortunate servant, he returns to his desk where he
snips the sole flower from the doomed plant to press it between the
leaves of a Baedeker's guide to london. It just so happens the pages
the flower lies between include a map of the Tower of London...</span></span>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">*No
such plant existed at the time, however, one has apparently since
been named in honour of the Professor. </span></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyh4P4ib5AFJ5nB3oNGZTqOhGwRF0KODT07lHt89DZXlQfEizmkLvGqXMjEbDkTZbIhOvJeQ_1JqKu64FmrUldIhyphenhyphenab4LndxL5vSnAN_lRv8kI9-uYdL_FH0L0HTsgcxY-eulqszTzWdQ/s1600/2+FIDDLING+WITH+HIS+FLIES.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyh4P4ib5AFJ5nB3oNGZTqOhGwRF0KODT07lHt89DZXlQfEizmkLvGqXMjEbDkTZbIhOvJeQ_1JqKu64FmrUldIhyphenhyphenab4LndxL5vSnAN_lRv8kI9-uYdL_FH0L0HTsgcxY-eulqszTzWdQ/s320/2+FIDDLING+WITH+HIS+FLIES.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">221b
Baker Street and Holmes plucks away at his violin, observing the
reaction of some flies trapped in a brandy snifter as he plays a
scale. Mrs. Hudson enters, un-noticed, sighing in dismay at her
eccentric lodger's latest experiment. Going through to the landing,
she finds the boy, Billy, sweeping in a girl's frock. Telling him he
can dust next, she goes down-stairs. Cheekily, Billy sweeps the dust
under a rug. A ring at the door diverts the boy; looking down to see
Doctor Watson entering. Taking the stairs, Watson remarks on Billy's
attire. Mrs. Hudson made him wear it, but he was afraid the Doctor or
Mister Holmes would see him. Watson thinks it very becoming, going in
to see his friend. Billy changed his name to Norman and bought a
motel... </span></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipkgc4DyTKCll_-RVotg5tixXheQyC_BtqUQivFEd__1tryZUGxQ1ijElm2PrxQ6I7LBvleeCI89DewRJwANa8TDVZiaDf_tDLGVFyYQoCNLxK69ndWAbqZVYuVcAwfTBYqN3BLfUmOPA/s1600/32_holmes_1939_sherlockadventures_rathbone_bruce.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipkgc4DyTKCll_-RVotg5tixXheQyC_BtqUQivFEd__1tryZUGxQ1ijElm2PrxQ6I7LBvleeCI89DewRJwANa8TDVZiaDf_tDLGVFyYQoCNLxK69ndWAbqZVYuVcAwfTBYqN3BLfUmOPA/s320/32_holmes_1939_sherlockadventures_rathbone_bruce.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Avuncular,
Watson saunters in to find the great Detective busy fiddling with his
flies. Sherlock produces a note from his dressing gown. From an Ann
Brandon, it states she wishes to consult him about her attendance at
a garden party. She will call at eleven; the hour approaches. Holmes
has researched Miss Brandon. Living with her brother – their father
died mysteriously some ten years past, Miss Brandon is of good stock,
wealthy from her family's mining enterprise. The party is to be held
by Lady Conyngham, an eminently respectable personage, if her parties
are a little dull. Watson feels Holmes ought to be concentrating his
intellect on Moriarty, but Holmes has decided to do nothing. The
Professor is as interested in his movements as the reverse. Moriarty
will call on Holmes, he does not doubt it. And what is this fiddle
and fly?. Holmes is observing the effects of the chromatic scale on
the common housefly. Scathingly, Watson calls it a 'brilliant
experiment', but Holmes insists such will be the case; if he can find
the note to disperse the flies. This time, Watson is genuinely
amazed. No, no, no... <i>Elementary, my dear Watson... purely
elementary. </i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i> </i></span></span>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">A
knock; Doctor Watson predicts this to be the young Miss Brandon,
Holmes plumps for an elderly man suffering with gout. Indeed, it is
Sir. Ronald Ramsgate whom the Detective welcomes into his consulting
room. Sir. Ronald produces Moriarty's letter, Holmes inferring from
the apparently childish scrawl the author used their left hand.
Holmes reads aloud; <i>'The Star of Delhi will never reach the Tower
of London.' </i>The missive is unsigned. Going to the fire, Holmes
takes up a taper to light his pipe. The Star - possibly the largest
Emerald yet found, is a gift to Her Majesty from the Maharajah of
Raipur. Dismissing the letter as a typical crank note, Holmes
reassures Sir. Ronald that no professional thief would go near the
Star of Delhi, but agrees to the request to be present when the Star
arrives, this weekend, when the cruiser <i>Invincible </i>docks. </span></span>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmGceu1DfZrRBE8Ztquw-I050TFlrxVUpIDPeJ3DGzSkJqZeNnKJl8BM-z9GXsSnDFUVyiZXpBDXJV_7n0vjPzq_qFk1XD_Uw4UMl-XNip3gcHJ4uzlgrY5x1NW1LwkITjslVfSB9MkTI/s1600/The-Adventures-Of-Sherlock-Holmes-41.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmGceu1DfZrRBE8Ztquw-I050TFlrxVUpIDPeJ3DGzSkJqZeNnKJl8BM-z9GXsSnDFUVyiZXpBDXJV_7n0vjPzq_qFk1XD_Uw4UMl-XNip3gcHJ4uzlgrY5x1NW1LwkITjslVfSB9MkTI/s320/The-Adventures-Of-Sherlock-Holmes-41.jpg" width="261" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Ida Lupino is Ann Brandon, seen here in a 20th Century Fox production still.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">An
agitated rapping at the door is followed by the entrance of a
beautiful young woman, who excuses herself to cross to the window.
Apologetically, she approaches Holmes, telling him she is certain of
being followed to Baker Street. Reasoning this to be Ann Brandon,
Holmes introduces the present company, but Miss Brandon is reluctant
to talk. Sensing this perhaps, Sir. Ronald takes his hat, stick and
leave, telling Holmes he is depending on him. Holmes, for his part
asserts he will not fail him. Clearly agitated, Miss Brandon
apologises for her melodramatic manner, but she had to see him.
Charmingly, Holmes asserts it to be of no matter, there being no more
informal household in London than his. He is unclear as to why she
should consult him over a garden party. Her brother and the family
solicitor, a man by the name of Jerrold Hunter are insisting she
attend – she herself does not wish to. Watson suggests that perhaps
she should attend; Lady Conyngham is eminently respectable. </span></span><br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Miss
Brandon is, however, frightened. Of?. Murder. At this, Holmes and
Watson stiffen perceptibly. Urging her to sit, Holmes listens to her
case. She explains that a drawing came for her brother Lloyd in the
post two days ago; she shows Holmes Moriarty's albatross drawing, the date May 11 written clearly upon it. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span><br />
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<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Holmes
goes to his desk, laden with chemical experiments and snatches up his
glass. Examining the sketch, he remarks it a field day for crank
messages. Today is, indeed May the Eleventh. Ann states her father
received just such a note before his own murder. Ten years ago, on
May the Eleventh; Scotland Yard couldn't make anything of it. She saw
his body herself, lying on the pavement. She stops with a shudder and
turns away as if from that terrible image. Holmes asks if the date
carries further significance to her family. She says no, nothing.
Imploringly, Miss Brandon pleads with Holmes not to let 'them' murder
her brother. A knock; Watson opens the door to a tall, young man with
a resolute air of determination about him. Jerrold Hunter enters and
chides Ann for coming here after he expressly discouraged it. He asks
after the paper she took from his desk – she has it and means to
keep it until the cryptic scribble is de-cyphered. Mr. Hunter
apologises to his hosts, explaining as Mr. Brandon's legal
representative, the note was placed in his safe keeping. It's of no
concern to anybody except the two of them. Watson asserts murder to
be the concern of every right-minded person, looking to Holmes whose
silent gaze is affirmation in itself. Hunter claims it to be a
trifle, the work of a mental incompetent perhaps. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Coolly,
Sherlock removes his pipe, asking of Hunter whether it is true that
Miss Brandon's father received just such a note before he was killed.
The lawyer responds that since his client attaches no importance to
it, he doesn't see why Holmes would. Pure co-incidence. 'Yes. But it
would be unfortunate if the coincidence turned turned into a tragedy,
wouldn't it?.' That is our responsibility, comes the answer. Hunter
promises to forward Holmes' fee. As of yet, there </span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">is
</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">no
fee; Holmes has yet to accept the case. The lawyer then tells Miss
Brandon she has made herself ridiculous, but she insists if Mr.
Holmes won't help, she will go to Scotland Yard. Leaning closer, his
eyes appeal to hers, revealing an intimacy not hinted at before;
'Won't you trust me, Ann?' </span></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Her
brother!. Gently, Jerrold insists Ann trust him; what will become of
them if she doesn't?. She doesn't know and is clearly torn between
her devotion to her Brother and loyalty to her </span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;">fiancé.
</span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Seeing this, Holmes shrewdly
interjects and offers his services. Sherlock Holmes has accepted the
case. Furious, Hunter wheels and states he doesn't want his
'interference.' 'I interfere whenever and wherever I like, Mr.
Hunter.' Jerrold Hunter tries to take Ann with him, but her refusal
leaves him little choice. Politely, he departs. </span></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Holmes
asks to examine the note further, ringing for the boots. He wonders
if Ann knows what kind of bird is depicted in the drawing, but,
rather vacantly she tells him she knows little about birds.
Procellariiformes is his guess, adding he should go to the Kensington
Museum to investigate. Billy arrives in his buttons. Holmes instructs
Billy to take Ann downstairs for some tea, then to whistle up a cab.
Brightly, Billy repeats a past injunction of Holmes'; not to take the
first cab in the line, nor the second, but the third. Holmes feels
that precaution un-necessary in this case, but adds that Billy should
then remove the dust he kicked under the landing rug. Fuming, Billy
exchanges stares with Watson, who fixes him with a schoolmasterly
glare. Escorting Miss Brandon out, Billy leaves, still shooting
daggers at the Doctor. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">No
sooner than they have left, Watson reminds a distracted Holmes of his
duty to safeguard the Star of Delhi. Waving his friend's caution away
with an irritable scowl, Holmes exclaims 'Oh bother the Star of
Delhi!.' There is a man's life at stake here, something grotesque
about the whole business. Young Hunter knows more than he proposes to
tell. He directs Watson to find out all he can about Mr. Jerrold
Hunter and to meet him at the museum. Watson's protestations about
lunch are brushed aside. You can have lunch at any time. Holmes
hurries to dress.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">In
the Ornithological collection of the Kensington Museum of Natural
History, Holmes goes through the archive files, pausing to ask Miss
Brandon if anyone nursed a grievance against her father or family.
She repeats what she's already told him, that her brother and herself
live quietly. True, her father was a hard man, as men who go out into
new worlds must be, but he was an honourable man. And Mr. Hunter?.
She answers with a wistful look on her comely features; she has known
Jerrold since they were children. Her brother and herself have always
trusted him completely. His voice and countenance stern, Holmes asks
if she or her family have ever heard the name of Professor Moriarty.
She has not – is sure of it. Why did he ask?; Holmes had the
feeling of renewing an old acquaintance. Just as the terrier knows
the rabbit by it's habits, so too does the Detective recognise the
faint aroma of intrigue. Returning his interest to the files, he sees
Procellariiformes – large sea birds are located in the West
Wing... </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Nor
has Doctor Watson been idle; he strolls the cobbled streets amongst
carriages, postmen and bicyclists. Finally, he arrives at a building
divided for businesses, the tenants being advertised by small
plaques. <i>Jerrold Hunter, Solicitor</i> is on the Second Floor.
Seeing someone about to exit the building, Watson assumes the pose of
a loafer, whistling tunelessly. As the man departs, Watson ducks
inside. No sooner has he taken the stair, however than Hunter emerges
from his rooms shaking hands with a client, Watson leaps for cover
and is unseen. Unseen by <i>Professor Moriarty!</i>. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCxxh332jfZ6XV1-w_z0LGGOFdgL69U3nQSxEP8Qbf0Ykkv7fY2ezd1uxTQMTW2dXXRtvlCVlzQcp_5WVWKl0opW24_sUjEOX2jTMWsXRs-_cS575S6smFiKanHp-ychfMJjqrtUxOxbY/s1600/tumblr_nbidcp1Kwd1s1n0bxo1_1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCxxh332jfZ6XV1-w_z0LGGOFdgL69U3nQSxEP8Qbf0Ykkv7fY2ezd1uxTQMTW2dXXRtvlCVlzQcp_5WVWKl0opW24_sUjEOX2jTMWsXRs-_cS575S6smFiKanHp-ychfMJjqrtUxOxbY/s320/tumblr_nbidcp1Kwd1s1n0bxo1_1280.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">That they are in
business together is in little doubt from the way Moriarty tells
Hunter that he depends on him implicitly. The Solicitor advises him
that there will be no difficulties and the Professor departs for his
carriage, followed by Watson. The driver is none other than Bassick,
who can hardly fail to notice Watson's obvious and rather clumsily
betrayed interest. Upstairs, Hunter sits reading, but is interrupted
by the arrival of Lloyd Brandon, Ann's brother. Jerrold had thought
his friend would be sleeping, but how can he sleep with such a threat
hanging over him?. Who was the client that just left?.
Sympathetically, Jerrold tells his old friend he mustn't let himself
go like this. Lloyd confesses he hasn't had a wink since the note
arrived, in his own words he is 'beastly nervy.' Jerrold advises him
to try to sleep, but, wide-eyed and visibly under immense strain,
Lloyd reminds him of the date. Wherever he goes, whatever he does...
he's going to be killed. Thinking it over, Hunter repeats his advice;
go home, to bed. Surely the safest place in London is his address?.
(Yes, I'm thinking the same thought here... Jerrold might as well pin
a target to his friend's back.) Defeated, Lloyd has no fight in him.
Piteously, he asks that if anything happens to him, Jerrold look
after Ann. The Solicitor reminds him how he feels about Ann and, a
little less-dispirited, Lloyd says he intends to walk home, to get
some air. Jerrold assures him nothing can happen to him on a busy
London street. Perhaps history isn't his area...</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Lloyd
departs with much the same air as Captain Oates, but then Jerrold
hurries to his desk to retrieve a revolver. Taking his hat from the
stand, he follows his friend out into the street. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">At
the museum, Holmes and Ann compare a stuffed Albatross with the
mysterious sketch. It is undoubtedly a representation of the famous
bird, known as omen of good fortune to honest mariners, but a symbol
of destruction for those that do it harm. Ann agrees it looks the
same, but Holmes presses her; is she sure it has no meaning or
association with her family?. No – the only thing it reminds her of
is the poem. <i>Water, water, everywhere... </i><span style="font-style: normal;">Excitably,
Holmes realises she's hit upon it; </span><i>'and instead of a
cross... the albatross about my neck was hung.'</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
No childish prank this!, rather a cryptic warning of avenging death.
They must go to her brother at once, but before they can leave,
Watson comes blustering up. The Doctor is left to catch up and soon,
they are in a speeding coach, one of those snazzy two-horsepower
jobs. As they hurtle through the streets, its clear Watson is
bursting with the containment of his news – Holmes urging him to
divulge this. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Moriarty! In
league with Hunter; Watson saw the Professor leave his office. Then
what of Hunter? - Watson doesn't know, having left at once to impart
his discovery. Has he done wrong?. Holmes cannot yet be sure, but he
particularly wanted Hunter's movements under observation today.
Earnestly, Miss Brandon urges Holmes not to judge Jerrold too soon.
He is, she feels, incapable of vicious action. Holmes has to take
that on trust, adding that they must be on their guard. Watson was
going to say something, but decides against it. Holmes fears his
friend to be an incorrigible bungler. 'Afraid I am' responds a
dejected Watson. Turning, the great detective pats his friend on the
back, a gesture which produces immediate succour in the form of a
smiling Watson. </span></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">A
lamplighter steps down his ladder as the carriage takes a bend in the
notorious London fog, the driver pushing his horses to sustained
exertion. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Agitated, Ann
wishes they could go faster, soothingly, Holmes assures her the
driver is going as fast as he can. Somewhere ahead, her brother
walks, casting nervous glances behind him as he passes a familiar
carriage, Bassick stood by. The villain ducks inside as Jerrold
Hunter appears, hand conspicuously in his pocket. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Clattering over the
tram-tracks, Holmes' carriage continues at a desperate lick. Lloyd
Brandon crosses the road to a park, where he seems to linger. Both
sets of pursuers, wheeled and on foot are closing. Swinging his cane
as if testing the air, Lloyd goes into the murky gloom of the park.
Barely seconds later, the air is rent by a terrible scream. All
around, heads turn and constables begin moving towards the park. The
carriage pulls up sharply and Holmes and party alight to find a crowd
has gathered around the body. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Ann
goes to her brother, who is beyond all aid. Gently, Holmes pulls her
away from the terrible scene.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">The
Brandon home. Watson raps on the knocker urgently as Holmes carries
the prostrate Ann. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">A
constable opens the door, another guards the palatial hall as the
house-maid Mrs. Jameson bustles up to her stricken mistress. Holmes
assures the woman that Miss Brandon has only fainted, tasking Watson
to </span><span style="font-style: normal;">her assistance. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">The
Doctor asks for smelling salts. The Detective asks for Inspector
Bristol and is told he is in the sitting room. The constable cautions
Holmes against entering, as the Inspector is questioning a witness,
but Holmes replies he will take the responsibility for the intrusion.
Once inside, he finds the witness to be none than our old friend,
Jerrold Hunter. Producing Hunter's revolver with a smug air,
Inspector Bristol brags that he is ahead of Holmes on this case. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Then
he has already solved the crime?. He has found the murderer, a claim
which Hunter refutes furiously. Rising, the young man claims that
while Bristol badgered him, the real murderer has got away. If that
is so, Bristol wonders, can he explain how he was found bending over
the corpse with a heavy revolver in hand and 'him with his head
bashed in.' If he won't talk, adds the policeman, he'll be held on
suspicion of murder. Once again, the young Hunter protests himself to
be innocent of the crime. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Bristol
states plainly that Hunter clubbed Lloyd to death. His manner one of
barely suppressed irritation, Holmes interjects and suggests Bristol
shouldn't go too far down that line. What, then, does he suggest?.
</span><i>Find the murderer</i><span style="font-style: normal;">. The
Inspector – thrusting with the revolver for emphasis, asks if
Hunter didn't club Brandon to death, who did?. Nobody. Brandon was
strangled to death. The wounds to his head were administered
post-mortem, of this Holmes is certain. Bristol can talk with the
medical examiner if he has any doubts. Ordering Hunter to stay there,
Bristol leaves the room. Offering Hunter a cigarette – he declines
– Holmes considers the problem </span><span style="font-style: normal;">as
he lights up</span><span style="font-style: normal;">. </span></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>'So,
that blow on the back of the neck becomes an interesting element. It
was unnecessary, therefore vicious. Intelligent criminals are seldom
vicious except on special occasions. Though the apparent method of
the crime was brutal, I'm convinced that the crime itself was
intelligently planned.' </i></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Hunter
seems appalled the Inspector considers him capable of such an act,
but Holmes explains that the nose of the police dog, though long,
points in only one direction. Exasperated, Jerrold wonders why he
should have killed his friend. Coldly, Holmes states the obvious; he
managed his affairs, his estate. Stepping forwards, Hunter demands an
explanation. Unfazed, Holmes expands - the Brandon estate is quite
considerable. Miss Ann inherits and he is to marry Ann. Hunter is
furious at this, but Holmes mollifies him, explaining it as a
demonstration of how the police mind works. Indeed, Bristol is set on
arresting him. Jerrold insists he stay free, to protect Ann. Indeed,
Miss Brandon has entered the room, Watson at her side. Protect her
from what? She asks. Coming forward to comfort her, Jerrold tells her
he's sorry. She says that first they murdered her father, now her
brother. Is she to be killed too?. Turning away, anguished, Jerrold
states he doesn't know. He did his best to guard Lloyd, yet they
found him all the same and on an empty street. He couldn't have been
far behind. Suspicious now, Ann asks who are 'they?', accusing him of
lying to her from the start, that he had known all along the note was
a real threat. That's why he tried to send her away, why he followed
Lloyd. Holmes watches this display with the greatest care, his
analytical mind probing for the slightest inconsistency, that spark
of untruth that becomes a torch in the right hands. If he knows who
killed Lloyd, why won't he say?. 'I'll tell you why.' Watson steps
in, adding he has been watching Hunter and he's found out... Ann
asks what that might be, but Holmes cuts in; whatever Watson's found
out, will become known inevitably. He has unbounded confidence in his
lack of discretion. Before Watson can respond, he takes his arm and
leads the Doctor from the room. Outside, Watson is crestfallen at
being treated like a child, in another moment, he tells Holmes he
would have had a confession about Hunter's link to Moriarty. Of
course, this is precisely what Holmes wished kept quiet. If the
Professor is behind this case, Moriarty will lead him to him. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Inspector
Bristol returns from his talk with the medical examiner and,
naturally Holmes right. Lloyd Brandon died from strangulation, 'Just
as you and I thought.' This last elicits a smile which even Sherlock
Holmes fails to suppress. He intends to arrest Hunter for
questioning, inviting Holmes to accompany them to Scotland Yard.
Declining politely, Holmes states his intent to visit the scene of
the crime. He advises Bristol against an arrest; questioning will get
him nowhere and anyhow, he hasn't a case. Why not keep him at large,
under observation?. Scratching his chin, the Inspector considers this
as Holmes adds his advice has been of usage in the past, gaining
Bristol a lot of attention in the newspapers. And Holmes?, will he
work the case? In the usual way?. Indeed, yes. The Inspector agrees
to the proposal. Knocking, he tells Jerrold Hunter he is free to go.
Alone once more, Jerrold hugs his fianceé to him, attempting to
convince her of his innocence.</span></span><br />
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<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">She doesn't know what she can believe
in; if she cannot believe in him there's nothing she can count on.
Suddenly, her face clouds and she pulls away. If he knew Lloyd was in
danger, why did he try to stop her consulting Sherlock Holmes?, why
follow her brother with a revolver in his pocket?. Sometimes, she's
afraid, even of Jerrold. Anguished, he asks how she could say such a
thing?. Sitting, she replies that she doesn't know what she's saying.
She's tired, confused.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Watson
finds the cross of chalk indicating where Lloyd Brandon was found.
Dropping umbrella and gloves, he lays down on the spot and calls that
he's ready, head resting on his fists. Holmes, meanwhile, is making a
thorough study of the small park that Brandon walked through
immediately before his death. A gentleman walks up to Watson and asks
if something has happened. 'Definitely.' comes the response, Watson
waving him back a few paces. Perhaps, the man asks, he could find a
Doctor. Watson remarks; 'I'm a Doctor – what's the matter with
you?.' The gentleman is all right – he was thinking of Watson.
Why?. Isn't he ill?. 'Certainly not... I'm dead.' Alarmed, the poor
fellow makes a hasty retreat. Holmes calls for him and Watson finds
the detective poring over some footprints.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">A club-footed man about
five feet eleven from the length of his stride. Holmes points out a
singular oddity; club-footed people invariably place their weight on
the toe, whereas these footprints are balanced heel-to-toe. Just one
more un-natural element to a peculiar case. The club-foot must have
some compensatory deformity. Are these the footprints of a killer?.
Possibly; Holmes goes to stand where they lead and finds he has a
commanding view of the fatal stretch of footpath. He might project
some kind of weapon. But what weapon strangles and crushes a man's
head in?. 'If we knew that, my dear Watson, we'd be a great deal
closer to the solution of the crime.' Going forward, Holmes finds a
small shoot, severed from its tree somehow. Perhaps by something
hurtling past. The sap is not yet dry, which tells Holmes it was torn
off within the last few hours. Then he spots something tiny on the
ground, a watch fob perhaps. It is a charm of some kind, Watson
thinks it resembles a rabbit's foot, but Holmes tells him it is
unquestionably chinchilla. The Doctor feels such trophies are in poor
taste, Holmes remarks on the carelessness of leaving one at the scene
of a murder...</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ann
Brandon goes into her brother's room. There, in the darkened room is
his body, lying beneath a sheet. Miss Brandon seems a very lonely,
frightened woman. Outside, seated on his perch atop Moriarty's
carriage, Bassick looks around nervously. Tears streaking her face,
Ann looks up in sudden horror as a mournful dirge plays from a flute
nearby. Professor Moriarty may enjoy this music, but Ann does not.
Plucking her courage, she goes to the window, every note foreboding
and filled with menace. Looking down through the fog, she sees him.
Sitting on the kerb, behind Moriarty's coach is the flautist.
Petrified by this ominous concert, she screams. Sound carries in fog
and nearby, Holmes and Watson hear her cry. The flute-player flees,
jumping aboard the carriage as it departs, his right foot encased in
a heavy and clumsy boot. Club-footed!. Dashing across the street,
Holmes and Watson are shown up to Ann's room by Mrs. Jameson. Fearing
she may seem foolish, she describes the uncanny tuneless music she
heard. Music without beginning, without end. What was it that
frightened her so?. She has heard that tune before, once and in South
America as a child. </span></span><br />
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<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The night her father was killed. Doctor Watson
suggests a hallucination, but she is insistent, describing the street
beggar standing in front of the house (This is an error on her part;
the man was sitting.) Holmes asks if she could recall the melody. She
will never be able to forget it. Wishing he could spare her, Holmes
states that time is important, asking her to repeat the tune. Ann
crosses to her piano and attempts to replicate the exact sequence of
notes. Finished, she declares 'There's death in every note of it.'
At this, Holmes and the Doctor exchange glances. Weary, Miss Brandon
asks to be alone and the two friends withdraw, leaving her with her
thoughts. Thoughts of a terrible nature.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Back
at 221b and Watson relaxes to a pipe and his paper, whilst </span><span style="font-style: normal;">over
by the window, </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Holmes plays
the notes on his violin. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Billy
finishes polishing his shoes while he plays. Holmes notes the tune
and Billy asks him about the chinchilla foot. The boy asks to examine
it and surmises that in Chile or Bolivia these must be carried for
luck, in the same manner that we might carry a rabbit's foot. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Laughing, Holmes spears Billy with his pencil in playful fashion and
asks Watson if he has heard the exchange. Grumpily, the Doctor
replies that his hearing is in no way impaired. Holmes asks Billy for
his opinion on the origin of the charm's owner. The boy's view is
that indeed the owner must be from South America. 'Well Watson, what
do you say to that for a simple deduction?.' Disc</span><span style="font-style: normal;">ar</span><span style="font-style: normal;">ding
his paper, the irascible Watson growls that he has heard sea-shells
make better sense. Why waste time like this?, half the women in the
world own chinchilla wraps. 'You exaggerate, Watson – and half the
women in the world wish you didn't.' Bright as his buttons, Billy
helpfully points out the coats are made from skins, the only place to
get a foot would be where the animal lives. Holmes gives the boy
sixpence and, delighted, Billy rushes off </span><span style="font-style: normal;">to
spend his tanner.</span><span style="font-style: normal;"> </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Haughtily,
Watson states he doesn't know why Holmes lets the boy into the flat,
but the detective was, of course pulling his leg. Billy made certain
observations that co-incide with his discovery. Eagerly, Watson joins
his friend at the table. Holmes has identified the music. </span><i>'</i><i>It's
an ancient Inca funeral dirge, still used by the Indians in the
remote Chilean Andes as a chant for the dead.</i><i>'</i><i> </i><span style="font-style: normal;">What
this has to do with Moriarty or the Star of Delhi, Holmes does not
know. </span></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">A
knock at the door. Watson goes to answer leaving Holmes to fill his
pipe from the </span><span style="font-style: normal;">disreputable
old </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Persian slipper he keeps
his tobacco in. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Beaming in
his avuncular manner, Sir. Ronald enters and makes himself
comfortable. He wonders what Holmes has made of the note. Clearly, it
had almost slipped Holmes' mind as he tells Sir. Ronald he hasn't had
time to think about it. The Star of Delhi is not an immediate
problem, he adds. 'Oh, but it is.' Sir. Ronald implores Holmes to
help as he promised. The loss of a crown jewel!. Distracted by the
chinchilla foot – Moriarty's plan working better than even he could
have hoped for – Holmes asks when the Star arrives. Tomorrow night,
with delivery at ten. The chinchilla occupies more of Holmes'
attention. Once it arrives, it is technically within his custody.
Holmes asks what he wants him to do. Could he be at the Tower at
ten?. Holmes agrees and as well as Sir. Ronald's guards, suggests
arranging a police presence. Leaving, Sir. Ronald steps out into
Baker Street and bumps into Miss. Brandon, who is agitated and in a
hurry. Stepping into a cab, Sir. Ronald asks to go to the Port
Authority, Pier Nine. The cabbie – Bassick, of course – reaches
for his whip and says 'Giddyap' to the horse. </span></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Holmes
greets the distraught Ann, who shows him a new note. The same sketch,
with a new date.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">They
don't even give her time to bury her head. Appalled, Holmes invites
her to sit, but she prefers not to. The note was delivered half an
hour ago. What should she do?. May the 13<sup>th</sup> is tomorrow –
the date of Lady Conyngham's party. Holmes notes the emphasis on the
date – whether she should go or shouldn't. She mentions Jerrold.
Watson goes to put his foot in his mouth, but Holmes silences him
with a look. Moving around, Holmes places a hand on a chair-back. His
tone sympathetic, he tells Ann Mr. Hunter has much to explain, but as
yet he has yet to be proven guilty. Rushing forwards, she simply <i>must
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">know. If she really wants to
know, she will have to attend the party. Ann feels this inappropriate
given the circumstances, but Holmes is a rational thinker and
explains. Lady Conyngham is an older woman and fond of Ann. Ann is
alone, and in such circumstances going to her would seem natural. But
her brother?. An appearance; nothing more. All she has to do is show
herself at the party, taking a walk through the grounds. This will
involve considerable risk, but if she is indeed the type of woman he
thinks, Holmes feels she would rather take such a gamble than live
life under the shadow of </span><span style="font-style: normal;">doubt
and </span><span style="font-style: normal;">death. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Bravely,
Ann agrees to attend. Showing her out, he asks if she is not afraid –
of course she is, but she will go through with it. After she has
left, Watson remarks he certainly has let himself in for a busy night
tomorrow. What about the Star of Delhi?, his promise to Sir. Ronald
and his duty to the Crown. All that will be taken care of, never
fear. Holmes will delegate to the most dependable man he knows, while
he keeps an eye on Miss Brandon. And this mysterious ally?. Watson!.
Clapping the Doctor on the back, Holmes smiles as Watson laughs a
self-conscious little laugh.</span></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Dawes
shaves Professor Moriarty. Cruelly, the Professor states that Dawes
would like to let that razor slip. Aghast, Dawes protests, but
Moriarty hasn't finished yet. He has to have his fun. He accuses
Dawes of being a coward – if he wasn't he would have slit his
throat long ago. The manservant gives him his word such thoughts
never entered his mind.</span><i> '</i><i>Then you're worse than
a<br />coward. You're a fool. You have as much hatred for me as I have
contempt for you.</i><i>'</i> Surveying Dawes' handiwork in the
mirror, Moriarty's narcissistic side is satisfied; he looks quite
different without the beard. Deferentially, the elderly servant tells
him without it, he looks like his own son. Going through to his
study, Moriarty pockets a heavy revolver, giving Dawes the rest of
the evening off. They exchange polite 'Thank You's' and the Professor
takes his leave. Outside, Bassick growls down to the clean-shaven and
un-bespectacled gent that he is engaged. The crook only recognises
his Master when he speaks. Knocking up, Moriarty sits back as the
speaking flap opens, asking Bassick what he found out. As he said,
they are taking the goods off the boat tonight. The men 'is waitin'.'
Excellent news; Moriarty orders his driver to hurry. </span></span>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpa4kqMWfsgflwRsByEtik_2_9TJNFmTUxMx4tStr5LYeHXDxwi9gVFJcotSM0ljbohzzqAUV3KOrTLfnCkinn7SIkVaFzG6IWWSvsSPysd-qXzmmIDKNjaIc224k41-M-YMF610XaSAU/s1600/vlcsnap-error615.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpa4kqMWfsgflwRsByEtik_2_9TJNFmTUxMx4tStr5LYeHXDxwi9gVFJcotSM0ljbohzzqAUV3KOrTLfnCkinn7SIkVaFzG6IWWSvsSPysd-qXzmmIDKNjaIc224k41-M-YMF610XaSAU/s320/vlcsnap-error615.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Arthur Hohl plays Bassick, Moriarty's driver. Hohl appeared as Journet in <i>The Scarlet Claw (1944) and as Gilflower in The Spider Woman (Also 1944)</i></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Lady
Conyngham's residence. The party is in full swing, a band playing in
the gardens. Elegant guests chatter gaily on the lawns and in the
house, where Miss Brandon approaches her hostess. Lady Conyngham
herself is welcoming, with an open face and a smile that belies her
age, which would seem to be somewhere towards middle. Kindly, she
asks if Ann is feeling all right; she thinks so. And has her son
behaved himself towards her?; he's been awfully kind. Distracted, Ann
is afraid she's been tiresome, but her hostess won't hear of it.
Generously, Lady Conyngham insists the girl stays with her over the
weekend. Nervous as a rabbit, Ann wonders if anyone has asked for her
tonight. No-one that Lady Conyngham knows of – is she expecting
someone?. She isn't sure. Tony Conyngham – an affable twit - then
steers Ann off to see the entertainment. Sitting her on a bench, he
wants her to see a Music Hall chap that might prove amusing. The band
strikes up and a Cheeky Cockney Chappie comes out, straw boater,
whites and boating blazer and launches into <i>'I do like to be
beside the sea-side.' </i><span style="font-style: normal;">Luckily,
no-one has a gun.</span><i> </i><span style="font-style: normal;">Larking
up and down </span><span style="font-style: normal;">t</span><span style="font-style: normal;">he
</span><span style="font-style: normal;">Brilliantined and moustached
idiot </span><span style="font-style: normal;">gives </span><span style="font-style: normal;">it
his all, much to the assembled guest's amusement. Only poor Ann is
unaffected by the jollity. Finishing his routine, Mister Comedy
exits, returns for applause and leaves with a cheeky little kick. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> </span></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Tony
offers to fetch Ann an ice, leaving her alone. Just as she is
unattended, the Cheeky Chappie pops up from the bushes to ask if
she's all right. Panicked, she asks what he wants, and, in his own
voice, he reminds her that they did have an appointment. Going
closer, she suddenly recognises Sherlock Holmes!. </span></span></span><br />
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<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">The disguise is
uncanny, but he shushes her before she can reveal his identity.
Leading her into the bushes, he tells her they mustn't be seen
together. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Has anything
happened?; nothing so far... does he think she could be in danger
here?. Holmes doesn't doubt it, advising her to stay in the lights
and crowd, not to talk to strange people. She returns to the terrace
to find what looks and sounds to be a South American </span><i>gaucho</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
orchestra playing. The flautist seems rather fixated on her. Tony
returns with the ices and confirms Ann's suspicion that it is indeed
a gaucho orchestra. Understandably spooked, Ann claims to be cold and
goes inside with the affable Tony. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">The
Tower of London, officially </span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Her
Majesty's Royal Palace and Fortress of the Tower of London, </span><span style="font-weight: normal;">built
by William the Conqueror. Armoury, treasury, Royal residence and even
menagerie. Prison to Sir. Walter Raleigh and Elizabeth Tudor both,
the Tower has stood as a symbol of English justice and
impenetrability for centuries. Inside its forbidding moat and walls
lie the treasure that is known as the Crown Jewels. Inside a vaulted
chamber, Sir. Ronald stands, arms folded as Watson paces anxiously
between the Guardsmen that only a fool or one who is tired of life
dare challenge. Sir. Ronald is disappointed in Holmes, who had given
his word he'd be there. </span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Watson
informs him of Holmes' decision to send him in his stead and it is
all Sir. Ronald can do not to laugh; he cannot keep the scorn from
his face. Piqued, Watson tells him he could do considerably worse.
Where, at least are the policemen he promised to send?. A sergeant
and two constables are </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">en
route</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;">, picked men. A
sergeant of guards steps in with a snappy salute; police officers, to
see Doctor Watson. A sergeant of police strides in and offers a
salute, asking for Watson. The sergeant is Moriarty!; the two
constables behind him include Bassick and another confederate.
Sergeant Moria-I mean </span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Bullfinch,
</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">cheekily
asks for Watson's identification and examines his card. The
'sergeant' then removes his helmet and shows Watson his warrant paper
by return. </span></span></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Led
by two Naval officers, a detachment of soldiers escorts the Star of
Delhi to the gatehouse of the Tower. </span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">'Captain
Mainwaring of the Royal Navy reporting to Sir. Ronald Ramsgate.' </span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Sir.
Ronald appears at the portcullis with Watson and the three spurious
policemen. Sir. Ronald orders the portcullis raised and shakes hands
with Mainwaring. Perhaps unwisely, the Captain hands Sir. Ronald the
box containing the jewel there are then. Open, the box contains </span></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">an
emerald bigger than a penny!. Sir. Ronald tells the Captain the Star
has caused him great anxiety, the old duffer continuing that he will
be relieved to have it locked up in the Tower. Moriarty's eyes are on
stalks, but he keeps his composure and the pretence up a little
longer. Declining the Captain's offer of accompaniment to the vault,
Sir. Ronald bids him and his party goodbye and takes the Star into
the Tower, </span></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">followed
by Watson, the three frauds in the rear. They go up the ancient stone
steps to an imposing vaulted chamber, which is in darkness. Lit only
by a Guardsman's lantern, a massive ironwork grille is revealed, the
size of a large seaside pavilion of the type recently made
fashionable in some of the gaudier resorts. Inside this lie the Crown
Jewels, </span></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">revealed
in a majestic blaze of glory as the lights are lit. </span></span></span></span><br />
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<br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Handing Watson
the Star, Sir. Ronald feels himself safe enough to show the jewels.
The accumulated wealth of ten centuries of English kings. It is not
often </span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">this </span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">door
is unlocked – he produces an over-sized key and proceeds to unlock
the door. </span></span></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Moriarty
calls out one word; 'Now!' and the lights are extinguished, plunging
the chamber into chaos. Attacking the guards, his two 'constables'
dash outside, closing the door behind them. Oddly, one then places
the Star on the floor where it will easily be discovered!. The two
</span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">faux</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">-constables
then make good their escape. The lights restored, the policemen are
gone and Sir. Ronald realises he has been tricked; they were not
policemen at all. Bursting out, the Guards take the stairs, both up
and down, </span></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Watson
and Sir. Ronald about to follow – when the Doctor spots the case.
The Star is regained!. Small thanks to Watson's brilliant friend
Sherlock Holmes!. Mockingly, Sir. Ronald recalls Holmes' opinion that
no thief would dare steal the stone. Tompkins, the sergeant of guards
returns from his search to report no-one is there. Sir. Ronald is
unperturbed, returning the Star to the vault. He tells Watson he's
minded to give the story to the press. It would certainly put Holmes
in his place. Watson advises against it, after all he has the Star.
Locking it away, Sir. Ronald's spirits are restored. He promised the
Doctor's courage will be reported in due course, to the authorities.
An Officer arrives to report the thieves have escapes, in the
direction of Tower hill. They left without what they came for, Sir.
Ronald tells him. The Officer orders Sergeant Tompkins to extinguish
the light as they leave the vault. </span></span></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">No
sooner than he's alone, Moriarty pops up from his hiding place behind
the jewels, inside the grille-work. Lighting a lamp, he examines the
treasure, his eyes afire with greed. Opening the latch, he reveals a
small wooden block which, in the brief confusion, he used to prevent
the lock closing fully. In seconds he has the door open and his hands
on Saint Edward's Crown, the first thief to do so since Colonel
Thomas Blood in 1671. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">A</span></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">t
Lady Conyngham's residence, the festivities are over and the servants
are packing up in the gardens. The Lady herself is seeing the last of
her party-goers out with her customary grace and elegance. </span></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Ann
comes up to her, her head dropping. Seeing how tired she is, Lady
Conyngham tells her to go to bed. She will look in on her – and if
she isn't asleep she promises to be 'terribly severe.' This cheers
Ann somewhat, but looking up the stairs, she stiffens. Whatever is
the matter with her?. She has noticed the time, the clock on the
landing. It is almost midnight. In another eight minutes, it won't be
May the 13</span></span><sup><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">th</span></span></sup><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
any more. Confused, </span></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">her
hostess nonetheless offers to escort her up. </span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">'Have
a good rest, my dear – and be sure to sleep late, its an inviolable
custom of the house.' </span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Ann
goes to her fate, locking the door behind her and looking about for
any hidden danger. Outside, in the shrubbery, a man walks, treading
the earth with his club-foot. Removing her ear-rings, Ann freezes as
she hears the dreaded melody once more, coming up from the grounds
outside. Rushing to the balcony, she sees only swirling mist around
the trees, the music stopping as she emerges. Rushing from her room
in abject terror, she is surprised to see a butler with a message for
her. There is a man on the terrace asking to see her, insisting it is
most important. Mr. Holmes!. She goes down-stairs to meet him,
emerging into the mist to see a figure smoking by the terrace. Going
to him, she finds it is Jerrold Hunter. </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">What is he doing here?. He
has been terribly worried about her, but as he goes towards her, she
shrinks back in fear. He wanted to be sure she was safe, but she asks
why he thought she might not be. Whatever has come over her?. Backing
away, she tells him not to touch her. Surely she cannot be </span></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">afraid?.
He sees she is, after all the years... angered, Jerrold fails to
notice her fear is simply magnified by his raised voice and manner.
She thinks he wants to hurt her? - he doesn't know why he doesn't!.
Unsurprisingly, Ann is petrified and runs from him. Realising his
folly, Jerrold calls after her, but she is brushing through the dense
shrubbery, desperate to get away. </span></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">An
oversized boot appears and something heavy clubs Jerrold about the
head. He falls, unconscious to the ground. Ann is at the mercy of a
killer. </span></span></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">And
what of the much-vaunted Sherlock Holmes?. Has he failed Miss Brandon
as abjectly as Sir. Ronald?. No, he is in the garden in the
deer-stalker and Inverness that are so familiar to us now. Bullseye
lamp in hand, he goes about the business of detection, examining the
mis-shapen footprints left by the Gaucho. </span></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Again
that diabolical music. Holmes hears it and straightens, looking about
in attempt to locate the mist-shrouded flautist. Ann hears it too,
slumping exhausted against a tree as the killer's footsteps close
quietly on her, his flute silent.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Holmes is dashing through the
undergrowth, but unknown to him, he is not alone; Watson is here with
two constables, leading them from the terrace into the gloom. Running
once more, Ann is remorselessly pursued by the steady steps of the
Gaucho. Fighting the dense foliage, her progress is slow. His was
never quick to begin with. Always the same, relentless pace.
Relentless death on foot. Coming into a landscaped clearing with a
small fountain and a statue </span></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">depicting
one of the classical goddesses. Swaying, Ann is on the verge of
collapse when she sees her fate emerging from the mist. The Gaucho
has murder, hatred in his eyes. She screams, the sound alerting
Holmes. Drawing the </span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">bolas</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
from his belt – he swings the three balls around his head and Ann
is as good as dead. </span></span></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">At
the very second of release, Holmes erupts from the bushes to tackle
Ann to the ground, the deadly bolas whipping overhead to wrap around
the statue's neck, the balls smashing into the head and toppling it
from the shoulders. Had it been Ann, she would be dead. The Gauncho
sees his deadly attack has failed and turns to flee, a shot from
Holmes' revolver finding hi</span></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">m</span></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">.
He slides down a tree trunk and </span></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">falls
to the ground</span></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">.
Watson and the constables arrive. Holmes? - never better and Miss
Brandon has merely fainted. Holmes details a constable to take her
back to the house. Seeing the decapitated statue, Watson wonders what
the mysterious object is wrapped around the neck. Holmes explains and
tells him it is the instrument that killed Lloyd Brandon. </span></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Holmes
introduces Watson to the murderer, lying there in agony. Pulling open
the gaucho's shirt, Watson examines him briefly and concludes he is
in a bad way. The remaining constable asks if he can be moved –
Watson says he can – and wants to take him to the Yard. Pulling the
orthopaedic boot from the man's foot, Holmes finds he has no
deformity. A clever ruse, but not clever enough. Who thought of it?.
The Gaucho names the Professor, who said he'd fix it so the man
wouldn't get caught. Moriarty!. The killer vows to kill the
Professor, but Holmes is scornful of his chances. Watson feels that
clears up the case. Clears it up?, they've only just begun; Holmes
grabs hold of Watson and they tear off to Moriarty's home. </span></span></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Professor
Moriarty's residence. Stealthily, Holmes and Watson enter through the
</span></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">darkened
</span></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">nursery.
</span></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Revolver
in hand, the Detective goes silently onwards, but clumsy Watson slams
the window shut and compounds his sins by stepping into a water
trough with a terrific crash. Shaking his leg produces a noise like a
shark thrashing around in shallow water. Suddenly, Holmes returns and
cautions him not to move, to keep his eyes open. Holmes goes forward
into the house, up the stairs.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">A tendril brushes Watson's face and,
frightened, he grabs at it. Charging back down the steps it is clear
Holmes has no further usage for stealth. There is no-one here...
lighting the lamp in the Professor's study, he looks about and Watson
sees the lilly pond he crashed into. Quickly, Holmes goes through
into the small room where Dawes shaved Moriarty, finding the shaving
brush damp and some of his beard. Moriarty's worn that beard for
years, he speculates – why shave it off now?. Returning to the
study, Holmes makes a cursory search of the desk, spotting the
Baedeker. What would Moriarty be doing with a guide book?, he knows
London better than a cab driver. Opening it to the page containing
the pressed flower. </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">The Tower!. Suddenly, Watson remembers Sergeant
Bullfinch; Moriarty without his beard!. Then it </span></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">was
he who stole the Star of Delhi. Holmes wonders what exactly he </span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">did
</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">do,
or is indeed doing. Watson doesn't know what to make of this. </span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">'</span></i><i>Don't
you see, my dear Watson. Moriarty concocted that Brandon case with
all its fantastic convolutions expressly to divert my attention </i><i>at
the</i><i> the time the Star of Deli was delivered.</i><i>'</i><i>
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">Watson points out that the crime
was foiled, but Holmes is convinced that was never Moriarty's plan.
He caused a man to be murdered and solely to distract Sherlock
Holmes. He </span><i>staged </i><span style="font-style: normal;">the
fiasco at the Tower and then his boast comes back to Holmes.</span><i>
</i><i>'</i><i>I'm going to bring </i><i>off </i><i>right under your
nose the most incredible crime of the century.' </i><span style="font-style: normal;">He
said he would do it and</span><i> </i><span style="font-style: normal;">he's
doing it now, the most stupendous crime of the century. The crowning
act of his career, in fact... his own words hit Holmes in sudden
revelation. Flicking through the Baedeker, Holmes finds the entry for
Saint Edward's crown. He reads it, of Colonel Blood's attempt. The
Regalia is currently valued at... Three Million pounds!. Rather late,
Holmes realises the Crown Jewels are imperilled. The two adventurers
hurry to stop the crime of the </span><span style="font-style: normal;">C</span><span style="font-style: normal;">entury.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Dashing
up to an unattended cab, Holmes decides there's no time to waste
finding the driver. Watson dives in as Holmes takes the reins and the
cab lurches off into the night. Watson hangs on for dear life as
Holmes whips the horse up. Inside the vault, Moriarty takes his time
prising jewels from the crown. In the road ahead, a carriage is
turning, the road blocked. Holmes takes the pavement, the horse's
shoes skidding desperately on the flags, the poor creature only just
staying upright. Despite Watson's heated rebuke from below, Holmes
keeps up the pace. At the Tower, the Guardsman at his post behind the
portcullis cannot believe his eyes as, suddenly, from the gloom of a
Thames fog, the cab comes crashing into view, hits a raised section
of kerb and overturns.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Holmes is thrown to the cobble-stones and lies
there for an instant, stunned. The poor horse is thrown onto it's
side and Watson is in there somewhere. The Guardsman calls out the
guard, explaining why. They go to Watson's aid and rush to get the
petrified horse to it's feet. Holmes sneaks off into the fog as
Watson is questioned. Where is the cabbie?; he doesn't know. The
Guard commander orders Watson taken to the postern room. Going
through a door, Holmes finds himself inside, but the next door swings
to behind him and, suspicious, Moriarty looks up at the faint sound,
but continues unscrewing the cross from the orb. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
staircase leading to the vault is eerie, deserted – apart from
Sherlock Holmes, who stands, revolver in hand surveying the scene.
Cautiously, he takes the steps, but Moriarty hears the faint
scuffling of his shoes and douses his lamp, advancing behind the
heavy oaken doors with pistol in hand. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Slyly, he goes to the angle of
the wall by the stairs before looking down to see the instantly
recognisable silhouette coming up towards him. The Professor goes up
the stairs from the landing and Holmes spots him, flattening himself
against the ancient stone. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Rushing up on tip-toe, Holmes reaches the
flight directly below his deadly enemy, only the columns supporting
the staircase hiding one from another. Dashing to the next floor,
Moriarty dodges back into the shadows, taking aim at his pursuer, who
comes around up after him. When it seems he cannot miss, Moriarty
pulls the trigger – a loud click betrays him and informs him his
pistol has mis-fired. Whirling behind a column, Holmes fires at the
same time as his foe, who shoots the revolver from the detective's
grip. Now it is Holmes who is the rabbit and Moriarty the terrier,
chasing Holmes up still further. With no chance remaining of getting
hold of his precious loot, the Napoleon of Crime abandons his
unheralded larceny in favour of a more tantalising prize; the death
of Sherlock Holmes. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Downstairs,
Sir. Ronald and Watson with the Officer on duty rushes out to his
men, who all heard the shots. The Officer calls on him to follow and
they charge upstairs. Holmes goes along to a final set of stairs
which take him out, inevitably, onto the roof. Moriarty soon follows.
Holmes is trapped. Divesting himself of his cape, Holmes goes around
a pillar, out of sight. Climbing still higher, he goes around the
stonework, above Moriarty. Just as it seems Moriarty must look up,
Holmes leaps some twelve feet or more onto his antagonist. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">A
desperate struggle ensues, both men fighting for their lives.
Moriarty drags the revolver towards Holmes, but the detective is
possessed with exceptional strength in the forearm and fingers,
wrenching the weapon away to fire harmlessly into the night air. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfe5aR67WFMuldWm5hWh3dDeorvJmZKnZ7yzr01vyXdMkoK_4kdbK91PbptGLElU5JFDI3a3w9GN-H6fZzCO868thIPhQCFJhD7sHwUr6EQprf01NndPtjOGq0_P-hdSGcJtaMYeJIm3E/s1600/17+FINAL+STRUGGLE.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfe5aR67WFMuldWm5hWh3dDeorvJmZKnZ7yzr01vyXdMkoK_4kdbK91PbptGLElU5JFDI3a3w9GN-H6fZzCO868thIPhQCFJhD7sHwUr6EQprf01NndPtjOGq0_P-hdSGcJtaMYeJIm3E/s320/17+FINAL+STRUGGLE.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Getting the pistol clear, Holmes and his nemesis roll over and over
to some steps, where the detective deals him a heavy blow with his
fist. Rocking back, Moriarty grabs ahold of Holmes and the grapple on
the ramparts. One moment Holmes hangs between the crenelations, the
next it is the Professor. Finally, Holmes delivers a staggering punch
to the jaw and Moriarty falls back into the tower courtyard, the
Guards below watching as he plummets to his certain death. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">At
a local hostelry, Holmes smokes a cigarette as a delighted Watson
reads aloud from the paper, a band playing in the background. The
society pages announce that the marriage of Ann Brandon, twenty-one
to Jerrold Hunter (twenty-nine) took place this morning at the Caxton
Hall registry office. Watson still can't understand how young Hunter
became involved in the mystery. Holmes calls to Alfred, the violinist
to borrow his instrument, plucking away at it with the same
distracted expression he wore with his fly-experiment. Perfectly
simple, he states, whatever was done was to protect young Miss
Brandon. This won't do for Watson, who blusters <i>'But I saw him
myself, closeted with Moriarty.' '</i><i>My dear Watson, I expected
even you to see through that trick. Moriarty went to him with a
trumped-up lawsuit to put us off the track.</i><i>' </i><span style="font-style: normal;">Holmes
starts his chromatic scalery again, but Watson has a more effective
method. Rolling the paper, he thwacks it down hard onto the offending
insect.</span><i> </i><span style="font-style: normal;">Smiling,
Holmes is not taken aback by his friend's direct action; </span><i>'Very
effective, my dear Watson.'</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
Returning to his paper, Watson responds; </span><i>'Elementary, my
dear Holmes... elementary.' </i><span style="font-style: normal;">Sherlock
Holmes cannot hold back the laughter this time. </span></span></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnM44o950CN2L0x88aQdc9zFEFBuyuBgHmtrJTfC6kyFG9gRpcoe3RhClosDwIVekCeWPDl23PvpjyEaDqKMA2FswqrPTutr-iUY8FkO_a64O5oe6HzVtyBy3WmyccRGv7k8CeUVpfQJc/s1600/vlcsnap-error406.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnM44o950CN2L0x88aQdc9zFEFBuyuBgHmtrJTfC6kyFG9gRpcoe3RhClosDwIVekCeWPDl23PvpjyEaDqKMA2FswqrPTutr-iUY8FkO_a64O5oe6HzVtyBy3WmyccRGv7k8CeUVpfQJc/s320/vlcsnap-error406.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">So
ends the last of the 20<sup>th</sup> Century Fox Holmes films
starring Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce. Big-budget 'A'-pictures
both, <i>The Hound of the Baskervilles (1939) </i>was followed by
<i>Adventures </i>later in the same year, as War was breaking out
across Europe. Following Fox's decision to drop the films, Universal
picked them up and ran through twelve 'B'-pictures of varying
quality. All fourteen were a success. </span></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhkNtsiPnxpNxKQ9A6sWzRXNPqog_8Mb5YdQ9APyjd6RLuj3Yfp3QcC3QGlIeut4AbkoAyKn28_Tcp8BL-9S-fPXhsc2sBVN_zO1VEr6dP_0pgYV4CZCKGmrr3vdDvd9DEAfzjWdeJ5GI/s1600/The-Adventures-Of-Sherlock-Holmes-39.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhkNtsiPnxpNxKQ9A6sWzRXNPqog_8Mb5YdQ9APyjd6RLuj3Yfp3QcC3QGlIeut4AbkoAyKn28_Tcp8BL-9S-fPXhsc2sBVN_zO1VEr6dP_0pgYV4CZCKGmrr3vdDvd9DEAfzjWdeJ5GI/s320/The-Adventures-Of-Sherlock-Holmes-39.jpg" width="258" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Publicity shots; Rathbone hangs dramatically from the portcullis on the Tower of London set.</b></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguSAS_yn2ZPhvRYzIz7l_4oJ3gwC-jD0C0PNJefCR2baIhNckVIxEKL_6I7CLJneu1u_poCtwETYc48cSpC58r3vT2p5B8gMgtl-8Xhyphenhyphenj2UcfyQxsr4BQDpm8jGVg0Fj6Vi0DuZIcXifE/s1600/The-Adventures-Of-Sherlock-Holmes-32.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguSAS_yn2ZPhvRYzIz7l_4oJ3gwC-jD0C0PNJefCR2baIhNckVIxEKL_6I7CLJneu1u_poCtwETYc48cSpC58r3vT2p5B8gMgtl-8Xhyphenhyphenj2UcfyQxsr4BQDpm8jGVg0Fj6Vi0DuZIcXifE/s320/The-Adventures-Of-Sherlock-Holmes-32.jpg" width="288" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Rathbone and Lupino.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">For many, Rathbone remains <i><u>the</u></i><i>
</i>Holmes, incisive, witty, elegant and flawed. Unlike the perfect
reasoning engine of Doyle's stories, this Holmes falls into traps,
makes mistakes and allows himself to be distracted. Nigel Bruce's
staunch ally is rather more useful than the Universal version allowed
him to be, but still a bungler by nature. This partnership endears
and endures as the greatest Holmes/Watson, perhaps rivalled only by
Jeremy Brett's remarkable synergy with David Burke and, later Edward
Hardwicke.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMyJnEiTS3MaJegOABCN-TtoZAUCe5Be8_3q-N6O236qVTlbQJmo2f7Ru0dNvylMbOJsmTEnHrxMX3VvDFuPEYgvzVDRnrp30AEfAOlk98B6BoLkCCwO_Jvt7a6azIr2XXgB4VOAjQrZw/s1600/The-Adventures-Of-Sherlock-Holmes-35.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMyJnEiTS3MaJegOABCN-TtoZAUCe5Be8_3q-N6O236qVTlbQJmo2f7Ru0dNvylMbOJsmTEnHrxMX3VvDFuPEYgvzVDRnrp30AEfAOlk98B6BoLkCCwO_Jvt7a6azIr2XXgB4VOAjQrZw/s320/The-Adventures-Of-Sherlock-Holmes-35.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Basil Rathbone in distinctive pose. In deer-stalker hat, Inverness cape and with his pipe and glass, this remains, for many the quintessential image of Sherlock Holmes. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> However, the Rathbone series distinguishes itself by
diverging from the Doyle source material. Only <i>Hound </i>follows
an original story and the latter ones were far from faithful – the
decision to update Holmes to modern times to deal with events such as
the War partly explains this. George Zucco specialised in screen
toughs and his Moriarty is a delight; the cultivated, trim bearded
and bespectacled Professor contrasts nicely with the naked avarice
and desperate cunning displayed by his counterfeit constable. Ida
Lupino's career was faltering by 1939; this film restored her to
prominence. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNV6ZdKF0-Key6xKNIyohCD_FcCLmAHy1FQOFZeNQAClGh6mK-FgE4rxicOlG2-uPhIM5H-sXAGhyldQ_piLOS6lLk9hGrluzcouTTfdlcBh4ISUmSg7m2VsQ_b46BP3squxiTJ9HqwPw/s1600/IDA+LUPINO+REHEARSING.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNV6ZdKF0-Key6xKNIyohCD_FcCLmAHy1FQOFZeNQAClGh6mK-FgE4rxicOlG2-uPhIM5H-sXAGhyldQ_piLOS6lLk9hGrluzcouTTfdlcBh4ISUmSg7m2VsQ_b46BP3squxiTJ9HqwPw/s320/IDA+LUPINO+REHEARSING.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Ida Lupino rehearses with Basil Rathbone.</b></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Her Ann Brandon is taut, fragile and pretty, giving
Holmes a strong motivation to neglect his duties to Sir. Ronald and
the Star of Delhi. Peter Willes is Lloyd Brandon, playing the role
earnestly and with effect. Alan Marshal played Jerrold Hunter with
plain screen-idol style, in a convincing performance. Mrs. Hudson is
Scots actor Mary Gordon, a role she would repeat for ten of the
series, as well as the radio show. Terry Kilburn is Billy – he had
already made his mark as a child actor in <i>'A Christmas Carol'
(1938) </i>and <i>Goodbye Mr. Chips (1939). </i>The most famous name
attached to the role of Billy the Buttons, however, remains Charles
Chaplin. Often mis-cited as his first stage role (It certainly was
not), his performance as Billy was so popular that he was sent for by
William Gillette, the first Stage Holmes. He was to play the role in
three nationwide tours, culminating with a run in the West End. The
rest, as they say, is history. </span></span>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnilZIWslEmK0FDfWLbHDFGt-BQfB1XJ9axQa6bK9HBA-z82I2oZ64ZB7eT5CtPqpsFU58UZg1IM47U3jqRsDHrCxlNzsr2xCO6qHIIo5hnsrboQ0i3vmENGYc047kYhJeEPGWGozSsE0/s1600/Chaplin_13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnilZIWslEmK0FDfWLbHDFGt-BQfB1XJ9axQa6bK9HBA-z82I2oZ64ZB7eT5CtPqpsFU58UZg1IM47U3jqRsDHrCxlNzsr2xCO6qHIIo5hnsrboQ0i3vmENGYc047kYhJeEPGWGozSsE0/s320/Chaplin_13.jpg" width="218" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Charlie Chaplin as Billy in the William Gillette Stage-play.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
film is based, extremely loosely on the 1899 stage play of the same
name by the aforementioned Gillette. Most of the main cast are
English-born and this adds some verisimilitude. There are some
glaring problems; Holmes wastes time going to Moriarty's house when
he should have rushed to the Tower of London – or he should have
been at the Tower all night, with Watson and some under-cover police
mingling with the guests at Lady Conyngham's party. The way he allows
his mind to wander when faced with two problems indicates a lack of
what we would now call 'multi-tasking.' Some of the film feels
laboured, with un-neccesary explanations that might have enlighted a
late-thirties audience, but seem painful today. By now, our love of
'goofs' will be plain, but apart from Sherlock's pipe disappearing
(At around 16:40 into the film), the song <i>'I do like to be beside
the seaside' </i>wasn't even written in the 19<sup>th</sup> Century
(1907 for the record) and, very briefly, Moriarty's lamp in the Tower
Vault is revealed to be electric – a wire going into his cuff
betrays this – though we see him pretend to light it with a match.
Later, Holmes carries an identical lamp, also with cable. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">All
in all, then, we come to the tawdry business of rating art. After no
small consideration – to say nothing of chromatic scales – we
award <i>The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes...</i></span></span></div>
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Volcano Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14372941500458681755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555240865021461020.post-51238592140255390132016-06-28T18:19:00.001-07:002016-06-28T18:20:13.510-07:00Murder By Decree - Sherlock Holmes hunts Jack the Ripper<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Q37CaTRcUTLDKNdDTjebvtVsDnsHDtumZ3zbN_m0yvZC-xXBz_Civ2gQDBOlWuy7ZvGBn25xI8UVkuz-60ldefmSgMeM7sf8XnpXowOLABhaKGb_XvIJgLuqK6mBU_1eRQCGkuqsfTw/s1600/TITLE.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Q37CaTRcUTLDKNdDTjebvtVsDnsHDtumZ3zbN_m0yvZC-xXBz_Civ2gQDBOlWuy7ZvGBn25xI8UVkuz-60ldefmSgMeM7sf8XnpXowOLABhaKGb_XvIJgLuqK6mBU_1eRQCGkuqsfTw/s320/TITLE.JPG" width="228" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">London.
1888. The camera pans across the rooftops to the Thames and in a
foggy street in the Whitechapel District, few venture forth. A horse
and cart and the occasional local, a dog barking somewhere in the
gloom. Hurrying through a narrow back-street, a woman looks behind
her fearfully. Frantically, she knocks on a door. Crossing the
street, a Constable walks his beat. And there is the carriage.
Emerging from the nebulous haze, a masked coachman sits mutely as his
passenger alights onto the damp flags...</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgfxYRQ9la8X7ijYMVmQ3OJbA7V564UmjUjr8dSHbv7JZXlOSMjZRYzD399ffvi0ORttyzARfbduj1LuQ20iQ8HQgvA3TCREPs3yv22RVv80XeOokdNvcH4WOWmoCPjUQYh_V-pwLU5ws/s1600/1+RIPPER+COACH.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgfxYRQ9la8X7ijYMVmQ3OJbA7V564UmjUjr8dSHbv7JZXlOSMjZRYzD399ffvi0ORttyzARfbduj1LuQ20iQ8HQgvA3TCREPs3yv22RVv80XeOokdNvcH4WOWmoCPjUQYh_V-pwLU5ws/s320/1+RIPPER+COACH.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
Royal Opera House; that most prestigious of venues for society's
elite. Outside, the carriages of the nobility of Europe and prominent
politicians await their masters. Tonight's performance is Donizetti's
<i>Lucrezia Borgia.</i> Inside, Sherlock Holmes taps out his pipe,
remarking to his friend Doctor John Watson that there seems to be an
excessive delay. Ruffled by his colleague's tone, Watson responds
that they are waiting for the Prince of Wales and cannot begin until
his arrival. Holmes, however, is not so impressed by title;
'Punctuality, my dear fellow – punctuality.' Watson cautions Holmes
against criticising the future King. Never fellows to dwell on a
disagreement, the two companions share a joke at Lestrade's expense.
Finally, Princess Alexandria enters the Royal Box, to enthusiastic
applause, followed by Albert Edward himself. The Prince's reception
is not so warm, with the <i>hoi-polloi</i> in the gods booing and
hurling abuse at the personage. Watson is appalled, but Holmes
asserts that if the Prince wants more respect, he should conuct his
affairs with more discretion. Staunch as ever, Watson claps and
starts a cry of 'God save His Royal Highness!' which is taken up by
the crowd. Eventually, the Royalists win, the socialists being
out-numbered. The Prince signifies his gratitude with a small bow
towards Watson. The Princess beaming her own thanks as the national
anthem is played.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span>
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyDTzWW-FLOBdZxWQAs62b4RuXxum_CmuuLH-QJOKJn10rVrA9_X1NV9wJC5oP-v2seQ3xk663WWut5kLDRdPm21tvqWII9dxrBTMJTaEHCZW32WgDVbh-fi0Z4rsSP_D7Y-tq94VcUZk/s1600/34rrr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyDTzWW-FLOBdZxWQAs62b4RuXxum_CmuuLH-QJOKJn10rVrA9_X1NV9wJC5oP-v2seQ3xk663WWut5kLDRdPm21tvqWII9dxrBTMJTaEHCZW32WgDVbh-fi0Z4rsSP_D7Y-tq94VcUZk/s320/34rrr.jpg" width="251" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>CHRISTOPHER PLUMMER is SHERLOCK HOLMES</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">His
breath coming in excited gasps, the killer walks through the darkened
streets looking for his prey. Stepping along into an alleyway between
the tenements of this terrible slum, his footsteps echo on the fog.
Pausing at a yard, he looks to the left before resuming his search.
Time enough, no need for haste. Reaching the end of the alley, we see
a glimpse of the killer's eyes, pupils narrowed unnaturally with
enlarged irises of a dark and malevolent kind. It is a glimpse into
Hell. He stands, waiting, beside a police poster offering a reward
for his capture. A woman, short and frail walks to her front door.
She dies at her front door; frenzied hands far stronger than she
choking the life from her. </span></span>
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig7xvYm1_9oadUjEELBJcawqdTlisxNQi6Ek4RvaCQn6yy_9h1w2sbDCepC9kCAULy2edBWEd-dyd5KZLKyfpuFyQhP7yUljS3N4QWr7SV1MajJTECsqOtENetLBuUmpMxEeZ7OOBL9n0/s1600/jm+a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig7xvYm1_9oadUjEELBJcawqdTlisxNQi6Ek4RvaCQn6yy_9h1w2sbDCepC9kCAULy2edBWEd-dyd5KZLKyfpuFyQhP7yUljS3N4QWr7SV1MajJTECsqOtENetLBuUmpMxEeZ7OOBL9n0/s320/jm+a.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>DR.WATSON is played by JAMES MASON</b></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Two
pamphleteers rush to meet the crowd leaving the Opera House; the
evening editions have excelled themselves. The murder in Whitechapel
sends ripples through the shocked crowd as they pay their pennies.
Watson buys a copy and Holmes follows him out to hail a cab.* They
take an open carriage, which prompts Watson to comment that no-body
uses an open carriage in October and at night. 'I do.' Comes the
amused reply. Watson notes this is the third murder; Annie Chapman,
Polly Nichols and now this third, as yet unidentified victim.
Pithily, Holmes remarks there's not been much chance to study the
evidence; no-one has asked him. Watson is at a loss to explain why
Scotland Yard have not followed their customary practice in
perplexing cases and consult Holmes. Sherlock has also been pondering
this very question. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">*For
some reason, he wears deerstalker and Inverness cape; somewhat
incongruous amongst the top hats and evening dress of the other
patrons. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
carriage drops Holmes and Watson off at 221b Baker Street, where they
soon spot a group of apparent ruffians waiting for them. Upstairs,
Holmes cautions his friend not to light the gas – better to observe
than to <i>be</i> observed. Is this some case of Holmes'?. It is not.
The bell rings and there are five, perhaps more of them outside.
Watson volunteers to go down, but Holmes cannot resist a joke; are
these outraged husbands, perhaps?. Going down, Watson does not see
the funny side. Opening the door, Watson is politely asked if he is
Sherlock Holmes. Calling down, Holmes invites the men up, at which
the leader gives the nod for two men to remain on guard at the door. </span></span>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Turning
on the gas, Holmes illuminates that most instantly familiar of
chambers; the walls lined with exotic artefacts and weaponry,
bookshelves and pipes. On two levels, the table of chemical
experiments sits below the consulting area to the front, the whole
comfortably furnished as befits two gentlemen of professional
stature. Selecting a calabash, Holmes greets his clients. Doffing his
cap, the spokesman for the group introduces them as the 'Citizens
Committee'. His name is Makins, the others are Lanier and Carroll.
Holmes enquires about the others outside and Makins apologises for
any upset. Lighting his pipe, the detective asks the purpose of the
Committee. They want the killer stopped and brought to justice.
Lanier adds that if it were the West End and rich women being
attacked... Makins cuts him off to inform Holmes they all have shops
in Whitechapel. It's ok if you trade on the main road, but otherwise?
- no-one feels safe off the beaten path. Holmes can see the problem.
Carroll speaks up, telling Holmes they might as well shut up shop
until this bloke is caught and put away – which is never if they
wait for the Police, according to Lanier. Distracted with his pipe,
Holmes promises to consider taking the case and asks Watson to see
the men out. Pausing by the door, Makins asks when they can expect to
hear; 'Soon', promises the detective, asking them to leave an address
where they may be contacted with Doctor Watson. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Alone,
Holmes remarks on the reluctance of 'These merchant chaps' to
advertise themselves. Watson, however is concerned with Holmes' lack
of enthusiasm – finding his attitude almost rude. Finally, Holmes
agrees to make a start in the morning. Finding one of his syringes
bent, the Doctor berates his friend for using it to clean out his
pipes, but Holmes is already lost in thought, pondering the problems
and the possible solutions to the problem at hand. </span></span>
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8jveR9MQz7UOd_FvcpA2qPt6SbVU7TUD9yVPtczHICHUsJ7ZKk8Eitc_JNA0IcMBvOL6zv4AALEdwiHGbogR9mLthLvhbrqCySd4jgumHHvzPWgCgq-Zk2tvHAvd7DXpCv0s4t-Btuuc/s1600/4+PIPEWORK.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8jveR9MQz7UOd_FvcpA2qPt6SbVU7TUD9yVPtczHICHUsJ7ZKk8Eitc_JNA0IcMBvOL6zv4AALEdwiHGbogR9mLthLvhbrqCySd4jgumHHvzPWgCgq-Zk2tvHAvd7DXpCv0s4t-Btuuc/s320/4+PIPEWORK.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Again
the black coach traverses the streets. Lolling in a stupor, the woman
is an unfortunate. Spotting a potential patron, she approaches him,
only to be rudely rebuffed. Angrily, she calls after him as a coach
draws up, the driver masked by his scarf. The passenger asks if she
is alone and invites her in. It's not safe on the streets... the
coach recedes into the fog, to be swallowed up as if it never was. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Meanwhile, at 221b, the sound of furious fiddling from the darkened
front room as, trying to ignore the noise, Watson sits up in bed
leafing through a book. Giving up the unequal battle, he blows out
his candle and turns in. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsdPSVxbMg3A_jfu2vBiqVVxeD1PoLCGhoX1Z2W3tsSvDPL9c-lZ1_EhlK-_JArYKXjCbIE12ZxFyS4RoO-Sf2kWQdVAtXpe_JtKoVzTiKabiNHK6EYjMR6r-TtQENUxzetLRPuggvU_M/s1600/6+MIDNIGHT+FIDDLER.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsdPSVxbMg3A_jfu2vBiqVVxeD1PoLCGhoX1Z2W3tsSvDPL9c-lZ1_EhlK-_JArYKXjCbIE12ZxFyS4RoO-Sf2kWQdVAtXpe_JtKoVzTiKabiNHK6EYjMR6r-TtQENUxzetLRPuggvU_M/s320/6+MIDNIGHT+FIDDLER.gif" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Through the London fog, the dark horse is
pulled up to allow the passenger to complete his grisly work. Hefting
the body of his latest victim, he takes it to a convenient place to
continue what he has begun, his hands already streaked with her
blood. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Gently,
Sherlock Holmes wakes his friend from his slumber. There's a cab
waiting, the game's afoot with no time to lose. Blearily, Watson asks
what is it – an anonymous message advising them of another murder. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Flashpowder
flaring, the police photographer does his duty before Inspector
Lestrade covers the body. Watching, his face set grimly, is Inspector
Foxborough. A small crowd has already gathered when news of Sherlock
Holmes' arrival is passed to the Inspectors. Indeed, both Holmes and
Watson are amongst the throng, Holmes noting the interest of a young
woman who appears both frightened and intensely preoccupied by his
presence. Lestrade greets Holmes with evident pleasure, introducing
Foxborough. Walking with Lestrade, Holmes observes Lestrade is having
trouble with the case. The Inspector tells Holmes of the stories
around the murders; people think he is in league with the devil, has
the ability to appear and disappear and so forth. Inspector
Foxborough warns Doctor Watson to brace himself, pulling back the
sheet to reveal the victim's corpse. A medical veteran of Afghanistan
has surely seen all there is to be seen of death and horror, yet
Watson has to gulp back his abhorrence at the wretched sight before
him. Through an iron effort of will, Holmes manages to remain focused
on the details of the case. Was the body in this posture when found?.
Yes. And the internal organs?. Watson wants no part of this, but the
great detective must have answers!. The other body had it's throat
cut, but no more, which Lestrade attributes to the killer being
disturbed before he could remove the organs. Suddenly, Holmes' eye is
drawn to something on the cobblestones and he picks up a grape stalk.
<i>Most curious...</i></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Next
comes the arrival of Sir. Charles Warren, the Commissioner of the
Metropolitan Police, churlishly demanding to know who called Holmes.
Inspector Foxborough assumed Holmes was here at his invitation, but
rudely the Commissioner declares he has no use for this sort of
'bloody amateur.' Pouring scorn on Holmes' self-professed status as a
Consulting Detective Sir. Charles' boorish insults are as water from
a duck's back. Holmes smoothly disengages himself, beckoning Watson
to follow him in pursuit of the mystery woman. As they trail her,
Watson asks who it was that just abused Holmes. On receiving an
explanation he recalls the 'Bloody Sunday' Trafalgar Square riots of
the previous year, adding that in his view Warren was as much to
blame as the rioters. However, there is something far more pressing,
if Watson could restrain his indignation.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">A
Constable treading his beat in Goulston Street kneels, his bullseye
lantern shining on an object in a dark passageway. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">It is
a piece of bloody cloth, perhaps from an apron. Investigating
further, he finds some graffito scrawled in chalk upon the wall. </span></span></div>
<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span>
</div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>THE
JUWES ARE NOT </i></span></span>
</div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>THE
MEN THAT WILL BE </i></span></span>
</div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>BLAMED
FOR NOTHING</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">He
never notices the two shadows sneaking away behind him. Later, the
Constable shines his torch for Sir. Charles and Inspectors Foxborough
and Lestrade. The latter is arguing vehemently for the graffito to be
preserved. But the Commissioner orders it to be removed, claiming he
is concerned Jews will be attacked as a result. Even Lestrade's idea
to cover up the words isn't acceptable. The Commissioner of the
Metropolitan Police grabs a handkerchief and erases the evidence of a
murder himself, to the dismay of his Inspectors. </span></span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="background: transparent; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
crepuscular light of the early evening dimly illumines the Embankment
and the famous view across the mist-shrouded Thames to the Palace of
Westminster and the Clock Tower, a horse-drawn van jerkily crossing
Westminster Bridge. The last light is above Baker Street too and a
restless Holmes who walks over to the dinner table as Watson laments
the newspapers will have the city in a panic. Holmes asks his
companion if he noticed a woman at the (Catherine Eddowes) murder
site. Watson is engrossed in his attempts to spear the last pea on
his fork. There was, Holmes, recalls a singularly haunting quality
about her, like some wild creature... cornered. Taking Watson's fork,
he squashes the pea with it, ending his game. Sullenly, Watson states
his displeasure at the demise of his pea; he likes them whole, so he
can feel them pop in his mouth. A knock; Mrs. Hudson, the landlady
with a telegram. The boy didn't wait for an answer. Opening it,
Holmes finds an invitation to meet at the Elizabeth Wharf. </span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Water
lapping gently, the lantern below the Wharf is hidden as the two
adventurers arrive. Finding the place apparently deserted, they step
onto the decking, Watson speculating this to be a hoax. Rowing
beneath them, their informant speaks up; he couldn't commit this to a
telegram. They spot the lantern below and the mysterious rower calls
up the name Robert James Lees of The Elms, Riverside Way. No sooner
have the words been spoken than a tinkle of glass alerts them to the
possibility of an eavesdropper. Holmes signals to Watson to
investigate, but he fails to spot the be-cloaked figure hiding in the
darkness, a drawn sword-stick ready to strike. Holmes calls his
colleague back, however, as the anonymous boatman pulls away. Left
high and dry, so to speak, the friends discuss this odd occurrence.
Holmes didn't recognise the fellow, but the voice was familiar. And
does Holmes know of Lees? - indeed, yes; the man has a reputation as
a medium. Watson asks is that all he had to say?, as the hidden man
listens intently, Holmes reveals the man said something extraordinary
and that a fascinating piece of evidence has been uncovered. There
isn't a moment to lose, but a night watchman approaches, armed with a
boat-hook and sees them off, unimpressed by their names. As they
leave, the interloper emerges at the top of steps while the
unheralded informer re-appears to tie up. Makins looks up to see his
own death approaching. </span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRlhLV-9BzFB1eELUee2kMmh1r7h1F_PXOVKf4X_u-RW4wm6NdLjO39Le2Fp3YGb9F9O-gx3NIO8Fu3KcsCmigoyBLeAcst7LsBnZqhG_6IXbF9z62_uHSB8BXjNeQrMo0F7tN1AzV_Qg/s1600/3rtyui.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRlhLV-9BzFB1eELUee2kMmh1r7h1F_PXOVKf4X_u-RW4wm6NdLjO39Le2Fp3YGb9F9O-gx3NIO8Fu3KcsCmigoyBLeAcst7LsBnZqhG_6IXbF9z62_uHSB8BXjNeQrMo0F7tN1AzV_Qg/s320/3rtyui.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>HOLMES & WATSON.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Returned
to Baker Street, Watson wonders about the ridiculous manner used to
pass a message. Working with pestle and mortar at his experimental
table, Holmes replies the man didn't wish to be seen and informs
Watson that they have been watched since they took the case. As a
matter of fact, they are watching right now. Peering through the
window reveals nothing to Watson, a jocular Holmes informing him the
watcher won't show himself. They shall leave via the back garden to
avoid detection. The doctor arms himself with his revolver, Holmes
throws his scarf at a glass flask, causing it to shatter. The scarf
is weighted, an old Thuggee trick as Watson observes. As they leave,
Holmes nonchalantly throws the scarf about his neck, smashing more
glass. </span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
East End of London and a deliveryman's cart rolls along steadily
behind his horse, a ships horn calling mournfully from the nearby
river whose fog competes with that of the capital's myriad factories.
The fog provides useful cover now for Holmes and Watson as they
examine the scene of the Goulston Street discovery. The writing has
been thoroughly erased – at least that is, to the casual observer.
Taking a brush and a bottle acid of from Watson, Holmes brushes the
fuming agent onto the wall, urging Watson to note the message before
the plaster absorbs the liquid. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0o2Wh4H71tqXqePrK9mNFKMxiyhX2ebfuTBkqBFdOjS0_dDcvHsbX8rrxbJ8kLBtoss3gNAyf6U4hyphenhyphenDXRZMJ3cNiBMS-Gk3-nlYeWSD4NObp5vBdHTqyJO0CzMiE6DdpaAGEJRyTGIug/s1600/10+SCIENCE+REVEALS+THE+MESSAGE.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0o2Wh4H71tqXqePrK9mNFKMxiyhX2ebfuTBkqBFdOjS0_dDcvHsbX8rrxbJ8kLBtoss3gNAyf6U4hyphenhyphenDXRZMJ3cNiBMS-Gk3-nlYeWSD4NObp5vBdHTqyJO0CzMiE6DdpaAGEJRyTGIug/s320/10+SCIENCE+REVEALS+THE+MESSAGE.gif" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Back at Baker Street, the message
copied onto the blackboard, Holmes invites his ally to see what can
be made of it. The Jews are responsible and will not be caught.
Teasing out this line of reasoning from Watson, Holmes asks who wrote
it. A Witness?; Watson's instinctive grasp of the obvious is
invaluable!. Why not go to the police? - a man might use these crimes
for his own purposes, some malign influence at work here. It is a
two-pipe problem and Holmes would prefer to be alone. </span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiai2Jjbee1RV4YrHuUTRCFS-tsUZrPlsyxTCMZqcsT7wmgNsGTaOKn1tKyzhz42ZYf5u_ODly7-vmvWAKmMtae-FyQSmYa5Y0U9XP2x-vNrGdbHANhIlCqUw_k-g0qE4yHJuspkf0IIu8/s1600/%255B-p0o9i8u7yh6tg5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiai2Jjbee1RV4YrHuUTRCFS-tsUZrPlsyxTCMZqcsT7wmgNsGTaOKn1tKyzhz42ZYf5u_ODly7-vmvWAKmMtae-FyQSmYa5Y0U9XP2x-vNrGdbHANhIlCqUw_k-g0qE4yHJuspkf0IIu8/s320/%255B-p0o9i8u7yh6tg5.jpg" width="250" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>DONALD SUTHERLAND portrays ROBERT LEES.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
next morning at the house of Robert Lees, a large villa in its own
grounds, Holmes asks Mr. Lees what he knows of the Whitechapel
murders. Followed anxiously by his wife, Lees settles his tall, lean
frame into a chair before replying. His face gaunt with strain, Lees
states he has seen the man known as Jack the Ripper. Watson rolls his
eyes at this, but Holmes remains attentive. He was sitting here
reading, when he was overwhelmed by a vision of a man and a young
woman. He describes how he 'saw' the man reaching out to the woman,
then the image shifted to a carriage. The man hurls the woman's
mutilated body from the carriage. 'Did you not go to the Police?'
Asks Holmes. Mrs. Lees replies they treated her husband as a lunatic.
Holmes has seen stranger events. Mrs. Lees adds the following evening
just such a murder took place. The woman's name was Annie Chapman.
Watson scoffs, but Lees is not put off. He has seen the man again –
this time in person!. </span></span></div>
<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span>
</div>
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<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Robert
Lees recalls how, in Abbey Street, he was on the omnibus with his
wife. Being mid-day the streets were crowded with people and traffic,
yet he had a feeling of unease. This feeling centred on a gentleman
preparing to alight from the steps leading to the top deck. As the
man exited the 'bus, Lees himself followed, compelled by some sixth
sense. All that could be seen was the back of the man, in top hat,
frock coat trimmed with fur and grey trousers as he hailed a cab. By
now certain this was the Ripper, Lees hurried to where a Constable
directed traffic. Not surprisingly, Lees was rebuffed. By the time
Lees returns to where he saw the man, he is departing in a hansom. </span></span>
</div>
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<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Lees'
account finished, Holmes is not satisfied, insisting Lees had seen
more of the man. Before his host can reply, however, Inspector
Foxborough breezes in informing Holmes Sir. Charles Warren requires
his presence at once. Foxborough apologises to Mrs. Lees for the
intrusion and Holmes thanks Mr. and Mrs. Lees for their hospitality. </span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Far
from an interview in the comfortable surrounds of Scotland Yard, the
Commissioner receives Holmes and Watson at the mortuary adjoining
Whitechapel infirmary. The body of Makins identified, Sir. Charles
challenges Holmes to deny he was in the man's employ. 'I am in my own
employ, Sir – this man and others enquired after my services; I
have given them no reply as yet.' This impertinence rouses the
Commissioner to fury. 'Don't play games with me, Holmes – you're
running with the foxes.' Smoothly, Holmes retorts that he was well
aware Makins was a radical, a revolutionary. Watson is aghast, but
Sir. Charles is triumphant; Holmes admits his part in their
conspiracy!. Their treason!. 'Damn nonsense' exclaims Watson, asking
the Commissioner to explain himself, Holmes, however remains
sanguine. He infers Sir. Charles means to arrest him, to which Watson
is astounded; arrest Sherlock Holmes for treason!. Not treason –
<i>murder.</i></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Fortunately,
the arrival of the dock watchman gives Holmes and Watson time to
examine the fatal wound. Holmes determines it was indeed a
swordstick. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Watson asks why
radicals would hire a detective to catch a madman. Why indeed?. Why
deliver the information in such bizarre fashion? Also, who killed
Makin and why?. Watson has another question; how did he know they
were radicals?. Holmes made enquiries in Whitechapel, also Makin's
false deference and Lanier's evident scorn for the wealthy gave it
away. Foxborough interrupts them with the news they are free, but
Sir. Charles wants them in his office at once. The Inspector warns
Holmes not to provoke the Commissioner, then tips him the wink that
Sir. Charles has many 'secret friends.'</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">I</span><span style="font-style: normal;">n
his office at Scotland Yard, Sir. Charles is in abrasive mood,
storming across to warn Holmes off, he stops short as Holmes engages
in the most peculiar behaviour. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Standing
erect, left hand extended palm up he places the other across it, palm
down. Next, he raises the edge of his right hand across his throat
before extending the hand downward, thumb and little finger extended.
</span><span style="font-style: normal;">Flummoxed, Watson can only
look on as the Commissioner follows suit with the last gesture,
hooking his little finger around Holmes', thumbs and knuckles
touching. A Masonic handshake. Before Sir. Charles can react, Holmes
snatches the signet ring from his little finger, apologising for the
sleight of hand. Apparently of plain gold, the central panel of the
ring rotates to reveal a Masonic emblem. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">What
is this mumbo-jumbo?, Holmes answers Watson's question; both handshake and ring belong to the 33</span><sup><span style="font-style: normal;">rd</span></sup><span style="font-style: normal;">
Degree of the Secret order of Freemasons. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> </span></span></span>
</div>
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<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Indignant,
Sir. Charles takes back his ring, responding that they are not a
secret order. Holmes doesn't see the distinction as while their
existence is known, their rituals and membership are closely guarded.
Which is why, he adds, the Commissioner removed the writing from the
wall. Hiding behind his office, Sir. Charles insists he is
responsible for the safety of the people of the city and their right
to go safely about their business. His face tight with the effort of
control, Holmes </span><span style="font-style: normal;">asks if that
includes </span><span style="font-style: normal;">the right to murder
and mutilate. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">This is too
much for the Commissioner, who erupts. 'You fool!. Jews would have
been slaughtered in the streets if I had not had those words
removed.' </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Somewhat calmer, he
asks Holmes if he knows the current fashionable theory of a jewish
blood ritual, with prostitutes being sacrified to god. Jewish
families and businesses were at risk from those words. Holmes is
having none of it, stating the words had nothing to do with Jews. To
the Commissioner's mounting horror, the detective reveals his
knowledge extends to the rituals and lore of Freemasonry. The words
were removed to protect freemasons, the 'Juwes' are from his own
order of masons!. </span></span></span>
</div>
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<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Weakly,
Sir. Charles protests that they are a benevolent society, but again
Holmes makes a masonic sign including the drawing of the hand
diagonally across the body from heart to appendix. Realising the
calibre of man he is facing – a man intimately familiar with the
most secret of signs and rituals – anger rises again in the
Commissioner. He insults Holmes, telling him this is not the sort of
sordid business he is used to </span><span style="font-style: normal;">meddling</span><span style="font-style: normal;">
with, </span><span style="font-style: normal;">warning him he does so
at great risk to himself and ending the interview with a terse 'Good
day.' The Commissioner nods to Watson, who returns it and the two
take their leave of Sir. Charles Warren. No sooner have they left
than a man enters; none other than Home Secretary Henry Matthews.
Sir. Charles says simply 'You see?.' and the two regard the door with
expressions that do not bode well </span><span style="font-style: normal;">for
a 'meddling detective.'</span></span></span></div>
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<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
mood at Baker Street is convivial. Pouring a glass of port, Watson
hands one to Sherlock, remarking on the extraordinary gesticulations
he made to Sir. Charles and noting at least it shut him up. Holmes
remarks he doesn't know which concerned the Commissioner more; his
knowing the secret signs or the fact he might have been a Mason.
Perhaps superfluously, Holmes explains the signs are used by
Freemasons establishing rank. But how are the Masons involved?.
Rising, Holmes tells his companion whoever wrote that message was a
Mason. Either that, or a man like himself who has studied their
practices. Elucidating on this, he reveals the Juwes were three men
who murdered the master builder of Solomon's temple. Jubela, Jubelo
and Jubelum. Presumably Jubilee couldn't make it. Watson is impressed
at Sherlock's knowledge, the detective continuing the story. When
brought before the great King, Jubela saying 'O that my throat had
been cut across.' Jubelo said 'O that my left breast had been torn
open, my heart and vittals taken and thrown over my left shoulder.'
Jubelum, however wanted his body 'Severed, in the midst.' Grasping
the significance, Watson realises the poor woman had been mutilated
in just such a fashion. Assuming this indeed to have Masonic
significance, in what way were the women involved?. Cryptically,
Holmes responds; 'Well, ask them.' expanding that he means to ask
their friends. For a moment, Watson feared Holmes was going the same
way as Robert Lees. Smiling, Holmes tells Watson that he will be
making the enquiries whilst Holmes ingratiates himself with Lees.</span></span></div>
<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
chimney sweep trudging the alley alongside Riverside Way, bent
beneath the weight of his brushes has the cough so prevalent among
veterans of his trade. Hawking and coughing, he reaches The Elms and
greets the Constable posted outside with a cheery 'Morning, Guv.'
Opening the door to the filthy creature, the housekeeper tells him
she wasn't expecting a sweep. He tells her to fetch the lady of the
house, which request she refuses. It is to no avail as he pushes
rudely past. Mrs. Lees appears at the stair and demands to know what
is going on, to which Holmes – for it is he! - addresses her by
name, apologising for troubling her in such a manner. Removing his
false moustaches and nose, he reveals he adopted the guise to spare
her husband further inconvenience. Mrs. Lees is outraged, but Holmes
reveals it is <i>her </i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">he
came to see, and if she allows it, to speak briefly with her husband.
</span></span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Mrs.
Lees – 'You see the danger you have put him in – </i></span></span>
</div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>and
he has nothing to do with this.'</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Holmes
– 'Yes, and I will abide by your decision... </i></span></span>
</div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>but
I say one thing...</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Mrs.
Lees – 'I will not be swayed, Mister Holmes.'</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Holmes
– 'If your husband can help me find this man – </i></span></span>
</div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>and
prevent any more of these atrocious crimes - </i></span></span>
</div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>do
you have the right to deny me?.'</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Mrs.
Lees - (turns away to fetch her husband.)</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">In
his chair, his wife's hand a comfort upon his shoulder, Robert Lees
speaks. They were at dinner, at home when suddenly he knew the killer
had struck again. He went to the police, who were more inclined to
listen this time. He was able to give them details no-one could have
known. The police asked him to track the murderer from the scene of
the crime. He was taken by Inspector Foxborough to a site near a
bridge, but could find no image of the man he was after there. They
gave him a piece of a dress; again, he could find no sense of him. It
was then the Inspector handed him something quite trivial. Astutely,
Holmes infers this to be the stem from a bunch of grapes. Surprised
by this, Lees asks how Holmes knows this, but the detective evades
the question, stating that he was then able to sense the man. </span></span></div>
<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJshUAo7Lg1xvQdViv3xTVHnMQTs74B5cpAbbDJzjrBw-V8Rb7Geo0pSrHhQus-o9rhCVII5tjcgYAZg3PAHR0m0TIIOXPEMF85yj2iJTUU0_alPt0F0yckRaa7yymK3TShO0i1b18Cfg/s1600/11+ROBERT+LEES.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJshUAo7Lg1xvQdViv3xTVHnMQTs74B5cpAbbDJzjrBw-V8Rb7Geo0pSrHhQus-o9rhCVII5tjcgYAZg3PAHR0m0TIIOXPEMF85yj2iJTUU0_alPt0F0yckRaa7yymK3TShO0i1b18Cfg/s320/11+ROBERT+LEES.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mr.
Lees was indeed able to see him, as if he was there, even to follow
the spectre. He led Foxborough to a grand house, a private coach
waiting outside the front entrance. The Inspector remarked that it
was impossible, but Lees strode forth anyway and Foxborough spoke
with the owner of the property. This gentleman was, not surprisingly,
unimpressed and suggested they leave. Holmes' keen insight has
focused on the reluctance of his host to name the gentleman to whose
house he went; Sir. Charles' influence, no doubt. Mrs. Lees explains
that Sir. Charles threatened her husband, in his own home. Looking
into Mr. Lees' eyes, Holmes face is kind as he states he cannot
expect him to break his word. Lees then tells Holmes he has the
strongest intuition concerning him, sensing some danger, close and
threatening. His face becoming sombre, the detective admits he has
some sense of this himself.</span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
streets of Whitechapel are thronged with tradesmen, workmen, soldiers
and house-wives buying their produce and household goods. At the
Christian Mission, the downtrodden and luckless of the borough queue
for their meal. A group of <i>demi-mondaines </i><span style="font-style: normal;">discuss
the terror abroad in the area with the newspaper reporter – Watson
– who claims to be writing about Polly Nichols. One of the girls
warns him not to write anything bad about Polly, which he assures her
is not the intent. It seems to him that a good deal more is written
about the killer than the victims. Watching this from another table,
is the young woman Holmes saw at the murder site. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Another,
altogether more unsavoury character is also looking on, a surly
fellow who makes to leave. </span></span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">As
Watson asks if Polly was friends with any of the other women, the
girls grow silent, apart from one talkative soul who advises him to
talk to Mary – Mary Kelly. Asking where he can find this Kelly, the
'reporter' is interrupted by a coarse voice from an adjacent table, a
woman who says he won't find her around here, calling Kelly a
'toffee-nosed slut.' She calls him over to tell more, but one of the
other girls sidles past, elbowing her viciously and telling her to
keep her mouth shut. Spotting a potential piece of business, the girl
engages in a spot of advertising, assuring Watson she has all her own
teeth and inviting him to inspect them. Her demeanour changes
somewhat when she discovers one of her teeth is loose. Watson is
fascinated by this display of harlot's dentistry and quite forgets
his purpose for a moment. Fortifying his intentions, he attempts to
resume the interrogation and ignore the hand wandering along his
thigh. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">She tells him this
isn't the place and they leave.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz_OpAJPpByk_m729fxB5VKdURRMWmzO9CMMPcxiqUvUKG4WRi-dpl1BosgD2xIGZVImeUMu6Imvvv7v7cVO-KW02TTUlIgwX6m-tIVCCoFXBYtKRVn1PbEFGLFhtgXqPCFR_Iy8hfbwQ/s1600/WQERIOP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz_OpAJPpByk_m729fxB5VKdURRMWmzO9CMMPcxiqUvUKG4WRi-dpl1BosgD2xIGZVImeUMu6Imvvv7v7cVO-KW02TTUlIgwX6m-tIVCCoFXBYtKRVn1PbEFGLFhtgXqPCFR_Iy8hfbwQ/s320/WQERIOP.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>A PUBLICITY SHOT OF CHRISTOPHER PLUMMER.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">On
the busy streets, the woman leads Watson across to a tall wooden gate
leading to an alleyway. She tells him if he wants Mary Kelly, she
will take him to her. Foolishly, Watson agrees – the Doctor not
being from the 'college of the streets.' Distracting Watson from any
nerves he may be feeling at such an obvious trap, she tells him she
reckons toffs come down here just to talk about the Ripper. Resuming
his enquiry about Mary Kelly elicits a bored look as the tart admits
she doesn't know any such person, whistling for her 'minder'. Sure
enough, it's the surly fellow from the mission, robbery and blackmail
foremost in his mind. The </span><span style="font-style: normal;">blackmail
attempt is as sordid as it is predictable – pay up or I tell your
wife. Unimpressed, Watson goes to see what the police make of it,
blowing his police whistle loudly to summon a constable. The pimp
makes a run for it, but Watson's days on the field have not been in
vain and he tackles the brute, hurling him to ground to pin him by
the throat with his walking stick. This is all to the disgust of the
girl, who folds her arms and exclaims 'Oh, Danny...'. Two constables
arrive and, quick as silver, the brassy hussy declares Watson is Jack
the Ripper. They had best arrest him or she'll scream and bring a
mob. Watson's life would be endangered and one of the officers warns
her against such a course. However, they decide to take Watson to the
station. As he is led past the girl, she can't resist jibing 'Serves
you right, you old fart.' Her victory is, however short-lived as she
is taken along too, followed by her would-be minder. </span></span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Through
his magnifying lens, Holmes examines the stem of grapes, </span><span style="font-style: normal;">smoking
his pipe as he does so. Snipping a sample, he places it beneath his
microscope for further analysis. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">He
consults a botanical text book for reference as he considers the
origin of the grapes. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">It
is some time later the next day, when the door to Watson's cell is
opened and Sherlock Holmes walks in with a laugh and a smile to
relieve his friend of the tedium of custody. Thoroughly enjoying his
charge's predicament, Lestrade is there to release the prisoner into
Holmes' custody. He urges Holmes to take his friend home and ensure
he doesn't get into further mischief. As they leave, Lestrade is
laughing out loud. So too, in the carriage Holmes; unable to contain
his jocularity at the indignant Watson. To the Doctor's dismay,
Holmes simply cannot restrain himself from uproarious laughter. Back
at 221b, however, the business of investigation resumes apace.
Writing the name of Mary Kelly upon the board, Watson cannot help,
but think the woman who gave him so much trouble had even heard of
the former. </span><span style="font-style: normal;"> </span></span></span></div>
<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe2V-7UQK-xBzLEN3bDHlqhJKc4CEbLKO-J_VuDMSwDPdwQQRdNCvDfMf-Q28oMFpKD38y2bqMTxwbSIkOqoBzJQmv9d7ISGMEmNtnsiK3Cdhe0Qc-HhkVPnXoGDJwq39jx-yP_V37ikk/s1600/87y6t5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe2V-7UQK-xBzLEN3bDHlqhJKc4CEbLKO-J_VuDMSwDPdwQQRdNCvDfMf-Q28oMFpKD38y2bqMTxwbSIkOqoBzJQmv9d7ISGMEmNtnsiK3Cdhe0Qc-HhkVPnXoGDJwq39jx-yP_V37ikk/s320/87y6t5.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Watson sets out his theory regarding Dorset Street.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></span></span></div>
<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">A rudimentary
diagram has been set out attempting to link locales with victims.
Although the crimes are relatively distant, the women all were
</span><i>habitués</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> of a tavern
in Dorset Street. Liz Stride, known as 'Long Liz' due to her height,
was living with a man in Dorset Street. Surely this can be no
co-incidence, women living so close and known among each other?.
Beaming, Holmes praises this ratiocination, observing that Watson has
excelled himself. Making to leave, Holmes has another task for his
colleague; to find the house of the man indicated by Lees. He is sure
the man is a physician – and has left a list of possible streets on
his desk for Watson's perusal. Watson's protest at separating is met
with the sound reasoning that, together they are simply too
conspicuous. Holmes is to pay his last respects to Catherine
Eddowes...</span></span></span></div>
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</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
bells toll at the Anglican chapel at the City of London cemetery as,
led by piper and drummers, the hearse enters the grounds. The funeral
paid for by the undertaker (for reasons unclear), the procession
passes a familiar black coach and enters the chapel where Holmes is
amongst the mourners. Following the coffin into the chapel are
funeral banners; behind these the murdered woman's friends,
themselves in funereal black. (For women suffering such abject
poverty this can only have been at the grace of the undertaker.)
Holmes spots the young woman at the same time as she recognises him
and she departs hurriedly, the detective following. She runs up a
side road, Holmes giving chase, both unaware of the muffled coachman
preparing to follow on his black coach. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
hunt takes Holmes to Clink Wharf, where it appears the girl has
simply disappeared. As Holmes looks about, a shadow is just visible
moving in a doorway. He does not notice it, until a chance scraping
noise alerts him. Moving cautiously over to the shadowy figure, he
enquires 'Mary Kelly?.' She tells him she has a knife, her Irish
accent taut with fear, but gently, he gives the terrified girl his
name. Bravely, Mary agrees to talk. People are after her, yesterday
some old bloke was asking about her. (Watson, of course!) Sherlock
tells her she can trust him, but her nerve broken, she flees,
stumbling at the kerb. Clearly torn, she wants to talk, yet the
terror of retribution is a terrible threat hanging over her. </span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mary
continues down the passageway and, as yet unseen, the sinister coach
comes menacingly into the roadway behind them. Holmes construes that
whatever this secret, she told Polly Nichols. Mary asks if he knew
her, but when he presses the point she denies having known her. It is
a transparent falsehood, born of fear. Sobbing, she admits that,
indeed Polly was with her often. The whinny of a horse renews her
dread; they must have seen her. <i>They? - </i><span style="font-style: normal;">who
are </span><i>they?. </i><span style="font-style: normal;">Consumed
with anguish, Mary proclaims that she knows where the baby is. A
woman named Annie Crook gave her the child, to look after her. Annie
was then taken away. Babbling now, Mary mentions a lover of Crook's
named 'Eddie'. This last personage would not let 'them' kill her. By
now, the coach is travelling at speed, hurtling towards them.
Carefully, Holmes asks the whereabouts of Annie Crook. She was at St.
Christopher</span><span style="font-style: normal;">'</span><span style="font-style: normal;">s,
but then moved. The sound of racing hooves reaches them and,
convulsed with fright, Mary drops to the flag stones beseeching
Holmes to help her. It is a piteous spectacle and, rarely moved,
Holmes offers her his protection. However, the coach comes tearing
around the corner and is upon them. Dashing for their very lives,
Sherlock and Mary take flight, but the legs of human beings are a
poor match for those of a horse. A</span><span style="font-style: normal;">t</span><span style="font-style: normal;">
the last possible instant, Holmes flings her to one side, throwing
himself against the wall of a warehouse to land heavily, his senses
shaken by the fall. The coach roars past, missing them both by an
inch. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">In a valiant effort,
the dazed detective attempts to regain his feet, but through blurred
vision he sees the shape of Mary being hauled away by a burly figure.
Consciousness slides away and Holmes falls back to the pavement, out
cold. </span></span></span>
</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD_VBBOHwLAU059DhsMOJqyNVSOFh57DdEdYJX2EQsBjRoUvqa8Up7JbwJ5rEXuA1sWZNgtAEwan2c53c8D8LWik_A874HNeglyYEOv5tmcD1GglcYX7_ev-WkyhNUlE1X1XFtCe-z2K8/s1600/16+MARY+KELLY+KIDNAPPED.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD_VBBOHwLAU059DhsMOJqyNVSOFh57DdEdYJX2EQsBjRoUvqa8Up7JbwJ5rEXuA1sWZNgtAEwan2c53c8D8LWik_A874HNeglyYEOv5tmcD1GglcYX7_ev-WkyhNUlE1X1XFtCe-z2K8/s320/16+MARY+KELLY+KIDNAPPED.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Slowly,
consciousness returns and Holmes finds himself in the familiar
surroundings of 221b, attended by Watson and Foxborough. Recognising
his closest of friends, Holmes finds himself unable to recall
anything. Watson observes this may be due to a slight concussion.
Sherlock recalls a woman – what became of her?. Acerbically, the
Inspector observes that Lestrade told him to prepare for something
dramatic, but not quite so stupid. Holmes recognizes Foxborough as
the Inspector informs him an attempt was made on his life. Struggling
to regain his faculties, Holmes remembers Watson had discovered
something of import, that three of the murdered women frequented a
tavern in Dorset Street. The Black Horse?. Foxborough's speculation
is indeed correct. Watson recalls being told to speak to a Mary Kelly
– this triggers something in Holmes' memory and the recollection of
his meeting with Kelly. The Inspector determines to set his men to
searching for her at once, but Holmes is clearly recovering his
powers of reasoning and asks that the search be left to Watson and
himself. That Foxborough accedes to this request gives Holmes pause
for thought... either the Inspector is averse to finding the girl, or
he has an ally in Warren's camp...</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Holmes
rushes out, leaving an indignant Watson to complain he's forever
rushing off without enlightening him on the details. Holmes calls
back they are off to St. Christopher's hospital to look for a woman
named Annie Crook. En route, Holmes asks if Watson had any luck with
the medical directory; too much if anything. He found the names of no
less than a dozen physicians in the immediate area, producing his
list. Only a dozen? - Holmes jokes he expected at least a hundred.
Doctor Watson expresses his opinion that no-one from his estimable
profession would be connected with these atrocious crimes. With an
expression that borders on devilment, Holmes instructs Watson not to
allow professional loyalty to prevent discovery of the truth. After a
brief glance at the list, Holmes drily remarks 'Well, illustrious
names indeed.'</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Striding
along a corridor in St. Christopher's, the Doctor in charge
apologises to Watson for the lack of positive information. Watson
assures him he has been most helpful, when a nurse hurries up
summoning to Doctor to the aid of a patient in distress. Glumly,
Watson informs Holmes of what he already knew; Annie Crook is not
here. He told the Hospital authorities she was a family servant and
that he had promised his elderly mother he would look her up.
Brusquely, Holmes demands to know where she is, the two halting
briefly as a Sister halts them to take a patient past on a stretcher.
Watson finally gets to it; Crook was taken to a hospital near
Reading, more like an asylum. Asking if she is still there, Holmes is
told the poor woman is insane and unlikely ever to leave. Her
Physician, is by the way... Holmes finished the sentence for him;
Sir. Thomas Spivey. One of the Court physicians. Watson is taken
aback, but Holmes reminds him Sir. Thomas is on his list. He has,
himself compiled his own list – there is a specially imported
species of grape, for those of the most discriminating of taste.
Spivey is on the list of customers for this choice variety and, as
such is the only man on <i>both lists</i>. It seems they are being
exploited, by the very people for whom they search. Holmes declares
it time to turn the tables...</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
whistle shrieks as the train rushes along the tracks, locomotive
hurling steam up from it's stack. From the station, the intrepid pair
journey by carriage, a pale moon illuming the sky. From his research,
Watson has ascertained Annie Crook suffered an accident rather
similar to Holmes'. Initially deemed superficial, things took a turn
for the worse at which Sir. Thomas decided to have her committed.
Asking why this woman is so important to Holmes gets Watson the reply
that he is as much in the dark as himself, but he refers him to the
peculiar circumstances of the man following them. Glancing through
the screen, Watson says there is no-body following them. It is to
that peculiar circumstance that Holmes draws his attention. </span></span>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
carriage pauses for a moment to allow the passengers a look at the
asylum. A vast, imposing edifice, it is somehow at once both bleak
and grandiose. Holmes has seen enough and calls up to the driver to
drive on. Inside, the ominous sound of heavy doors being locked
behind as Holmes and Watson follow Doctor Hardy and the warder, the
only light coming from the Doctor's lantern and the latter's candle.
In a whisper, the detective asks Watson to leave him alone with the
girl as long as possible. Doctor Hardy, his voice low, asks the
visitors not to disturb the other patients. The ward – if indeed,
it can be given such an inflated appellation – is stark, dark and
bare. The patients!, the poor, pathetic wretches lie in their beds,
disturbed by the slightest intrusion. At least a nurse is on hand to
calm the poor creatures. At the far end sits a young woman, her hair
shorn, gazing into some unknown space beyond the single candle that
burns in front of her. This, then, is Annie Crook.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
medical man in Watson takes precedence and he observes the woman
hardly seems to know they are present. Hardy is sure she does not; a
strange phenomenon, she has not uttered a word in some six months.
(Given her surroundings, you can understand it. Thank whatever god
you pray to that psychiatric care has advanced as it has since the
Victorian era.) Watson asks his colleague if the patient has
deteriorated since admission and the Doctor replies in the
affirmative. Bearing Holmes' intentions in mind, Watson asks to
examine her medical records and the two depart, leaving Holmes to
attempt to question the poor girl. Before he can do so, a befuddled
patient comes up to him and the nurse, not unkindly, shepherds her
away.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Removing
his deerstalker, his voice soft, Holmes tells Annie he is a friend –
that Mary sent him. Mary Kelly – does she remember her?. Seating
himself, he continues; Mary's frightened, frightened for her life.
Though he'd like to help her, he cannot until he knows why she is
frightened. Still Annie sits, rocking slightly, but not a word does
she speak. Trying a new tack, Holmes produces a box of matches and a
pencil to write on the box the single word 'EDDY'. Taking her hand,
he moves it across to touch the box and she reaches out with her
other hand to grasp it. Hesitant at first, she makes to speak and
utters the name, clutching the box to her as if it was made precious
by the letters. Holmes smiles as she looks at him for the first time.
Annie asks; <i>'</i><span style="font-style: normal;">He sent you?...
Eddy – sent you' and it is all Holmes can do not to answer falsely
– would that he could commit such an easy falsehood!. Noble Holmes!
- he keeps silent rather than lie. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Annie
always knew Eddy would come for her, send for her, but Holmes finally
answers that it was Mary who sent him. </span><i>They </i><span style="font-style: normal;">will
not let her see Mary. Querying this produces a revelation, the words;
'Mary – keep my baby safe.'</span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGSsbXzjHp0Nln0VivecGXNgrEvvih1ssDQaR9__aFWJ457ZA98mDkksznvcXzfwgzbridCYYaCws5U_s6o2mdpgUVRlBT8n8X4FCf4e8E7AA9n-w68AEIlot2PPhaQrMyldEFme5ySgU/s1600/1233.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGSsbXzjHp0Nln0VivecGXNgrEvvih1ssDQaR9__aFWJ457ZA98mDkksznvcXzfwgzbridCYYaCws5U_s6o2mdpgUVRlBT8n8X4FCf4e8E7AA9n-w68AEIlot2PPhaQrMyldEFme5ySgU/s320/1233.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Holmes at his chemical experimentation table.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Disjointed
and in snippets, </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Annie</span><span style="font-style: normal;">
mentions her baby may be in danger, that this child is danger for
</span><i>them. </i><span style="font-style: normal;">Eddy said when
'they' knew of the baby, they would kill it. Who </span><i>are
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">'they'?. 'Brought me here.'
Regaining something approaching lucidity, the woman inside the shell
tells Holmes she doesn't belong here and shan't stay. The others here
belong. She will fight 'them'. She asks Holmes simply; 'Help me.'
Holmes asks why Eddy lets them keep her here if he loves her.
</span><span style="font-style: normal;">Thumping Holmes, Annie
flares; 'He loves me!.' This sets the ward off, the other inmates
cackling and keening. As the nurse looks on with what may be concern
(For whom remains unclear to this day) Annie reveals Eddy married
her. Why does he let them keep her here?. She screams 'I don't know!'
and the nurse hurries off to fetch help. Recovering something
approaching equilibrium, Annie states they won't let Eddy see her –
he doesn't know where she is – they will tell him she doesn't love
him – that she took the baby – she will make trouble for him.
Agitation rising, she tells him they want to know the whereabouts of
her baby, which they intend to destroy, she has told them repeatedly
she does not know where the infant is, but they continue to torment
her here. Pleading with her, Sherlock asks again who these people
are, but, shockingly Annie suddenly recalls telling them she gave the
baby to Mary (Kelly). </span></span></span>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">T</span><span style="font-style: normal;">he
door is opened and Doctor Hardy is there with two warders, the nurse
and Watson. Hardy demands to know what Holmes is doing and, his voice
flint, Holmes retorts that he has no business keeping this woman in
restraint. Watson cautions him, but Holmes is adamant; she needs
care. Hardy insists she gets it – Holmes by turn insists Watson and
he must remove her from 'This hellish place.' Suddenly, the penny
drops – Hardy recognises his visitor. His voice wavering, he tries
to insist that Annie came here of her own free will. Blustering, the
'doctor' claims it the opinion of her own physician and the members
of the board that she remain. Sherlock Holmes is not a passionate
man, as is widely known from a study of Watson's chronicles – yet
as is sometimes the case, dis-passion can reverse itself under
extreme circumstance. He goes for the loathsome 'doctor', hands round
his throat in a sudden fury. </span></span></span>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">As
Watson and the warders desperately fight to restrain the maddened
Detective, we see a most singular piece of evidence that would have
proved his argument had yet he retained his powers of rationality and
logical faculty. For there – in the centre of the ward, as the
other patients shriek and shake, in the midst of bedlam itself, still
seated, Annie sits quietly, tears rolling down her face for the baby
she will never comfort. If only some better witness than us!. In this
place of madness, where even detectives are driven to mania, this
'incurable' patient remains the most sane of all.</span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkMBksVL8DvlwjwftHO7ua4N-f4SJaG3szLlc4UrEA4qU2Zw01tJSDa2THkCm9X5n6hpwO_fSo6j5yIfpqEJuuN2-XXFB5HJFAsP5SkjjEluu_Gel113nnGVNi8FDc_yff4hkjEJjBls8/s1600/32425+-+Murder+by+Decree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkMBksVL8DvlwjwftHO7ua4N-f4SJaG3szLlc4UrEA4qU2Zw01tJSDa2THkCm9X5n6hpwO_fSo6j5yIfpqEJuuN2-XXFB5HJFAsP5SkjjEluu_Gel113nnGVNi8FDc_yff4hkjEJjBls8/s320/32425+-+Murder+by+Decree.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Holmes cries as he realises Annie Crook will not be saved.</b></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">As
the wretched excuse for a doctor leaves, sanity returns to Holmes as
quickly as it departed him. Turning, his face streaked with rare
tears, he realises his terrible moment of abandon has condemned this
poor woman and that, far from helping her, he has failed her
dreadfully, Watson's comforting hand on his shoulder un-noticed.
Annie Crook sits there throughout, crying for her child. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf3ZBg-ktZRm_28Ne5fiu-bRwuwZxdp9qjgq_u4mKZ7GBFxP0c_aU5ne5tZhrXfnNk7szp3PuaS4Hm-raGgf30xDl-4CMpgEk8PzxJr-jiemg9xrtAAqlyk39IepSuXnUKeIsLKCyXBeM/s1600/s-dwefio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf3ZBg-ktZRm_28Ne5fiu-bRwuwZxdp9qjgq_u4mKZ7GBFxP0c_aU5ne5tZhrXfnNk7szp3PuaS4Hm-raGgf30xDl-4CMpgEk8PzxJr-jiemg9xrtAAqlyk39IepSuXnUKeIsLKCyXBeM/s320/s-dwefio.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Holmes and Watson on the train.</b></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">On
the train back to London, Holmes sits in disconsolate, unapproachable
silence. Dear Watson! - the truest friend, he defines the word with
his gentle attempts to coax Holmes from his misery. However, Holmes
has retreated into his natural element, that of the abstract problem
solver; his thoughts spill from his lips in a murmur - <i>Heir
presumptive – Duke of Clarence – Eddy, she said... </i><span style="font-style: normal;">Holmes
now realises why they were not followed; </span><span style="font-style: normal;">they
thought Annie Crook hopelessly insane, but never counted on her
courage and extraordinary will to protect her child. Looking to
Watson, he reveals a terrible truth; it is now too late for Annie
Crook – and also for Mary Kelly, unless they can find her this very
night. The train's mournful whistle sounds and he asks Watson to
forgive him; he can spare no thought for any other matter. </span></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">The
camera pans across the Thames to the rooftops, while the coal steamer
</span><i>Deja Vu </i><span style="font-style: normal;">sounds her
weary horn somewhere in the mists of </span><span style="font-style: normal;">budgetarily-challenged</span><span style="font-style: normal;">
model-work. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Moving along...</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Yer
actual East End. Even at this late hour, carriages rattle down the
cobbles, Constables walk the beat and late-night shoppers look for
bargains. A hansom pulls up to discharge Holmes and Watson who meet a
talkative Lestrade. Of Foxborough's locale, he is unsure, but informs
the pair o</span><span style="font-style: normal;">f</span><span style="font-style: normal;">
Commissioner Warren's resignation. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Can
Holmes believe it?. Yes, he can – and informs Lestrade in no
uncertain terms that, had he or any officer stood up to Sir. Charles
he could not have perverted the course of justice as he did. Watson
adds his endorsement to this scathing indictment and the two </span></span></span>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">take
their leave of the Inspector. Watson mentions the Black Horse tavern,
which is precisely where Holmes is headed.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
coach sits in a quiet street, populated by silent houses and
businesses, sparse light afforded by the meagre gas lamps.
Unattended, the dark horse waits patiently for it's master. In the
adjacent courtyard, known as Millers Court, the dwellings are mainly
squalid single rooms, let out to anyone who can come up with the
rent. Breathing heavily, the killer known as Jack the Ripper
approaches Number 13, finding it all too easy to enter the room
where, by the light of a brazier, Mary Kelly sleeps. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO8aUbn3DMXt7PswVORvKbAt1rLWqc8y0nKKN-G5p8JJ-oek2XaF3yr0zPYFNBhOuY-t-gDrnIpsbye_4wmdZptv8DxV-uvgTVSBHailZ8jO8HKwS5YF4yGGhrn6TENKavix2VLDoSxIQ/s1600/s-l1600ASDEFTHO.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO8aUbn3DMXt7PswVORvKbAt1rLWqc8y0nKKN-G5p8JJ-oek2XaF3yr0zPYFNBhOuY-t-gDrnIpsbye_4wmdZptv8DxV-uvgTVSBHailZ8jO8HKwS5YF4yGGhrn6TENKavix2VLDoSxIQ/s320/s-l1600ASDEFTHO.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Holmes and Watson tread the streets of the East End.</b></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
Black Horse. Watson and Holmes exit the noisy public house and head
to Millers Court. At the same time, Mary Kelly is suffering the
agonies of hell, her chest open for the knife to remove, stab and
cut. Her screams are dreadful. Dreadful!. Meanwhile, Holmes tries to
find his way through the myriad alleys and back-passages of
Whitechapel, a brick rabbit-warren almost inaccessible to outsiders.
Entering a street, they walk the pavement alone. However, a solitary
figure emerges to stand in the street, watching their progress. Mary
Kelly's death is mercilessly slow in coming – the fiend mutilates,
but does not kill. Back on the street, Watson casually remarks that
they are being followed; Holmes had noticed this. Hesitantly, Watson
offers his friend a pistol, which, to his surprise, he accepts.
Setting the simplest of traps – Holmes lurks in a handy nook while
Watson strides on. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sure
enough, Inspector Foxborough strides out to find Holmes' revolver
trained on him. Coldly, Holmes demands to know where is Mary Kelly.
Foxborough feigns ignorance, but Holmes states he had her and lost
her deliberately. Watson appears to be told that the Inspector is
their mysterious informant. He used his agents Makins and Lanier to
deliver the messages, to steer the Detective in whichever direction
he chose. Foxborough declares Holmes insane, but the great detective
has proof he is in fact the head of a radical organisation; his
career at Scotland Yard is finished. Quite appallingly, Foxborough
tries to offer Kelly as some sort of bargaining chip; Holmes is
repulsed, asserting that Foxborough doesn't care about any of these
poor wretches. Foxborough admits this to be the case, that these
women were not important, except that they show the government's
aristocratic contempt for the people and how they suffer. If Sherlock
Holmes cannot see the corruption all around him, perhaps better some
people die to expose it. Foxborough is indeed a radical, hoping to
bring the very Monarchy to its knees. Aghast, Watson thinks the man
insane, that he doesn't know what he is saying. 'Yes he does, Watson
– he knows full well. He knows exactly what he's doing – a man
devoid of conscience, as guilty as the murderer himself.' Holmes
delivers this damning verdict on the repugnant Foxborough whilst
staring at him in the fashion of a Professor of Entomology
scrutinising an insect. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Walking
off, Foxborough has one last drop of venom left for Holmes; he states
Mary Kelly came out of hiding because she trusted him, so if 'they'
have got her, it is because of the God-almighty Sherlock Holmes. In a
voice of steel, Holmes warns Foxborough to stay away from him, but
the abhorrent creature gloatingly mocks the detective, saying 'They
used you – <i>we </i><span style="font-style: normal;">used you, you
did exactly what we wanted you to do. Sherlock Holmes has a terrible
promise for Foxborough; 'If she dies – and you come under my hand,
expect no mercy – you have my word on it.' Watson is left staring
after the disgraced Inspector, until he realises Holmes has stridden
off. </span></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Through
the window of Number 13, Millers Court the Ripper is finishing his
work. Thankfully, Mary Kelly is beyond any pain, the room in a
ghastly silence. As Holmes and Watson approach, the latter questions
his friend on Foxborough's allegations of government complicity;
Holmes informs him is is true. How high up?. The Doctor's question is
unanswered, as Holmes is peering curiously at an unattended black
coach, the horse whinnying in a state of nervous excitement. Finally,
Holmes answers the question; 'Perhaps to the throne.' Watson is left
in disbelief as Holmes trots forth to investigate the carriage, going
around to Millers Court. Casting around for number 13, he finds it
the only one lit. Glancing through the window a scene from hell's
lowest chambers; the killer hunched over his victim, still cutting
and mutilating what is left of a human being. Despite the abominable
shock, Holmes draws his pistol. Turning the handle he kicks the door
open and rushes in... to find <i>two </i><span style="font-style: normal;">murderers!. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwRMdvtJRcxNt7kD9HxyL077wn21NWjPfdehfCMiyNU3dgwm9dUY3Kmc6ol5FYEtT7JPaMFyeYrF6tcJREluR8Jsnu_xIxw06XZT7u0xhEMnLRBDKU9zvP-TCx_omr8oPxPrj8d4NMTSc/s1600/19+THE+KILLERS.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwRMdvtJRcxNt7kD9HxyL077wn21NWjPfdehfCMiyNU3dgwm9dUY3Kmc6ol5FYEtT7JPaMFyeYrF6tcJREluR8Jsnu_xIxw06XZT7u0xhEMnLRBDKU9zvP-TCx_omr8oPxPrj8d4NMTSc/s320/19+THE+KILLERS.gif" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Horror seizes Holmes as he looks into the eyes of death itself –
crouched on the floor a figure more a creature than a man; eyes black
as pitch, staring from a face frozen in the middle of blood lust
</span><span style="font-style: normal;">(Although he cannot know
this, this is the man who killed Makins at the Wharf.)</span><span style="font-style: normal;">,
before he breaks the spell and looks over to see the face of the
Ripper; an older man, grey and sated, blood streaking his otherwise
unremarkable features. While Holmes beholds this abomination, the
first scoops a handful of coals from the brazier and flings them up,
dazzling and blinding Holmes. The fiend then takes up a red-hot poker
and knocks the helpless detective to the floor, raising it to strike.
Watson arrives in the very nick and grabs hold of the man, who proves
surprisingly strong. Turning, he thrusts the poker into Watson's
shoulder, igniting the cloth of his coat as it sears into his flesh.
With a cry of agony, the Doctor falls to the ground, allowing his
attacker to remove the dazed older man from the scene, the Ripper
clearly in a delirium of some atrocious nature. </span></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Momentarily,
Sherlock regains consciousness and goes to Watson, apologising to
him. Bravely, Watson refuses aid, telling Holmes to go after them,
managing a laugh when Holmes returns his revolver in the same fashion
as he received it. Rushing after the killer and his accomplice,
Holmes finds the latter clambering onto his seat and receives a
vicious slash from his sword-stick across his cheek as he arrives.
The Ripper is in a stupor inside the coach. Leaping down from the
coach, the be-cloaked coachman runs, leaving Holmes nursing his
wounded face. His resolve renewed, Holmes wrenches the door open to
drag the fiend from the coach and thrust him against a wall, where,
eyes lifeless, the murderer hangs limp in his grip. This monstrosity
does not seem to know anything, so deep is the torpor it has
descended into. Noting the familiar signet ring on the small finger
of the right hand, Holmes gives chase to the accomplice instead. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
coachman charges along the streets, his cloak billowing. Foxborough
is abroad on the same streets still, hearing the sound of running
feet, he looks about; everywhere is deserted. Suddenly, he spots the
accomplice darting into a passageway and gives chase. The long blade
gleams wickedly in the man's hand as he turns, spots Holmes and
dashes away. Hurtling around a tall fence, he runs into Foxborough,
his outstretched blade running the Inspector through. Heaving up with
enormous strength, he pushes back to force the dying man through the
fence. Foxborough clings to life, but the arrival of Holmes prompts
the coachman to resume his flight. Finding the radical infiltrator
close to death, Holmes stops, unable to help as he dies. A Constable
hurries up and blows his whistle, summoning help. The call is soon
taken up by other officers in the area and the fleeing man finds
himself surrounded by whistles from all sides, pursued once more by
Holmes. </span></span>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-1grXiOOqBxt4UPJieM1L1OWEWkL855bxofXFfvaz_5T1HZH_9GwOzOqkPezkStJ5nHkdwfwDsTIry5tAk5YUt3vMMEcekrYew7DFUtcbHvqIvItS1d_Vj3zOrpd2gqGt6tSFwxiWdrQ/s1600/needs+crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-1grXiOOqBxt4UPJieM1L1OWEWkL855bxofXFfvaz_5T1HZH_9GwOzOqkPezkStJ5nHkdwfwDsTIry5tAk5YUt3vMMEcekrYew7DFUtcbHvqIvItS1d_Vj3zOrpd2gqGt6tSFwxiWdrQ/s320/needs+crop.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Holmes is too late to save the treacherous Foxborough.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Running
down to the riverside, Foxborough's killer finds himself at a wharf,
taking refuge among the packing crates and other impedimenta of a
Bonded Warehouse. Holmes pauses at the entrance to the wharf, well
aware the man is armed and he is not. The coachman holds his
sword-stick ready to draw the blade, the head a carven devil's head
of jet black, with pyrope eyes that flash and glare in the light.
Remembering his scarf with it's thuggee adaptation, Holmes wraps it
around his arm and fist, ready to use. Dashing forward, Holmes slows
his pace again, realising that at any second he could encounter the
long blade that so recently eviscerated Foxborough. Spotting the
corner behind which the man is hiding, Holmes moves in, the coachman
drawing his blade ready to kill. Holmes falls back as the killer
leaps from the shadows and thrusts the blade downwards, missing the
detective by a fraction of an inch. Holmes retaliates, swinging his
scarf to stunning effect, knocking his assailant backwards, his
frantically slashing blade cleaving the air between them. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">With
no stomach to face an opponent who fights back, the coward runs –
an able-bodied man is not a defenceless woman!. Holmes is upon him,
and, losing his sword-stick, the man grabs hold of some hanging
chains. Once, again Holmes throws out his weighted scarf, but the
killer dodges the blows. Swinging the chain, he splits a barrel,
ducks Holmes' renewed attack and, in a well-timed move, strikes the
detective a heavy blow with the heavy chain. Falling heavily, Holmes
is defenceless for what must follow... but as the chain descends he
wraps it around his arm – padded as it is with the scarf. Pulling
the murderous accomplice around, Holmes uses the chain to hurl him
off the wharf and onto a hanging cargo net. Entangled, struggling
only makes the net sway more and, while Holmes lies fighting both for
breath and recovery, the fiendish coachman is slowly strangled, hung
before his trial. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
arrival of Lestrade and a number of Constables comes too late for the
coachman, as, with finality, the net drops a few feet on it's pulley,
the drop crushing his windpipe. Holmes points, desperately trying to
speak, only to collapse in Lestrade's arms. Typically, even in his
parlous condition, Holmes' first thought is for his comrade;
'Watson... help Watson.' </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Dawn
is upon the great city that is the hub of empire. The coach carrying
Sherlock Holmes passes Buckingham Palace, causing him to reflect on
just how high this scandalous conspiracy has reached. Could it be
possibly true?. His freshly-scarred face is sombre indeed. Crossing
West to the North side of the Thames over Westminster Bridge, the
imposing facade of the Palace of Westminster, seat of British
democracy and government since the Middle Ages. Sir. Charles Barry's
Palace – rebuilt after the fire of 1843 – is, of course,
instantly recognisable. (Which should make Holmes question his
Cabby's 'knowledge', as both Palaces are actually <i>on the same side
of the river!.</i>) Pulling into Dean's Yard, Holmes alights, arm in
a sling and no sooner does he shut the door than the coach rattles
and rolls off. Steeling himself for what must come, he enters one of
the ancient buildings. </span></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip9C9Ke0SLvGBGmdfpaar65ezjKlcreil1Hjf127ZpWIMojRVgSofLjKx6JhyphenhyphenuK-i0yU0MeI4y_g0upArfv2O-vrB2dBVU9h6MdAhRXgLQyqSY6p_96ga0ON_R8peJsg7KVInpNkY3bJc/s1600/27+MASONIC+HALL.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip9C9Ke0SLvGBGmdfpaar65ezjKlcreil1Hjf127ZpWIMojRVgSofLjKx6JhyphenhyphenuK-i0yU0MeI4y_g0upArfv2O-vrB2dBVU9h6MdAhRXgLQyqSY6p_96ga0ON_R8peJsg7KVInpNkY3bJc/s320/27+MASONIC+HALL.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">A
Freemason's lodge hall, the instantly familiar chequered floor and
the <i>accoutrements</i> of the masons, the four lecterns providing
the physical bounds to the theoretical 'Royal City' of Solomon the
Wise. One lectern is unoccupied, the others by Sir. Henry Matthews,
the Home Secretary, Sir. Charles Warren and in the position of
Worshipful Master is none other than the Prime Minister, Lord
Salisbury!. Behind him an opaque window is bounded by a mural
depicting the two pillars of wisdom. Ironically, the Prime Minister
declares he felt it best to meet here, as privacy is assured. Holmes
is in no mood for deference, however, replying; 'Secrecy, would
perhaps be the more appropriate word.' Diplomatically, Lord Salisbury
responds with an alternative suggestion – <i>Discretion</i>. </span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Prime
Minister – 'I have summoned you here because you have made
statements </i></span></span>
</div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>which
affect the very existence of the social order of this country. </i></span></span>
</div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Let
me make it plain what is at stake, </i></span></span>
</div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>we'll
not permit unconsidered actions, nor injudicious statements... </i></span></span>
</div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>we
shall take action if we must – </i></span></span>
</div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>and
I can assure you that action will be effective.' </i></span></span>
</div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Holmes
– 'The sequence of events, Prime Minister, convinced me of your
ability to take 'effective action.' </i></span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Moderating
his tone somewhat, the Prime Minister suggests Holmes tells his story
and lets him be the judge of it's veracity. Holmes insists he may
take it to be true, taking the seat indicated to him. The faces of
Great Britain's most powerful upon him, Holmes begins outlining his
case with Annie Crook. By the Home Secretary's unguarded reaction,
Holmes astutely observes the name is known to him. Scolded for his
injudiciousness, Holmes defers graciously to the Prime Minister's
unspoken authority. As Sir. Charles squirms, Holmes reveals that he
found her and she told the story of how she met her lover at the
household in which she was employed. He returned her love with a
brief infatuation, going through a form of marriage after which,
tiring of her he left. She bore him a child, </span></span>
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<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">but
when the existence of the child along with it's catholic religion
became known, the government suddenly became concerned.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
Prime Minister fails to see how such a story could affect the
government. Holmes' reply?, he reveals the name of her lover,
husband, seducer. His Grace the Duke of Clarence and Avondale, Albert
Victor Christian Edward, Earl of Athlone, the Heir Presumptive to the
throne of England, known to his close confidants as 'Eddy'. An
indiscretion, not a crime, insists the Prime Minister – Warren's
shifty gaze suggests otherwise. Holmes persists; an inconvenience,
yet the Prime Minister himself let it be known it would be preferable
if the woman, indeed the problem itself did not exist. One man among
the many privy to the Prince's indiscretions took it upon himself to
conduct the filthy work. This same drew another into the conspiracy,
by convincing him they had the sanction of the highest in the land.
They sought out Annie, deceiving her with a promise to take her to
her beloved Eddy. Taken to a hospital, from there she was removed to
another place, distant and secure. Alone in the asylum where Holmes
found her, she was forced to reveal she had given her child to a
friend... Mary Kelly. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
search for Mary – and the plot to dispose of her began. The search
relentless, a terrified Kelly shared the secret of the Royal baby
with her friends, unwittingly condemning them as herself. They
murdered anyone who might have known of the child; thus was born the
myth of 'Jack the Ripper'. Polly Nichols, Annie Chapman, Liz Stride
and Catherine Eddowes were slaughtered, their deaths disguised as the
work of a madman... and to his everlasting regret, Holmes led the
murderers straight to Mary Kelly. She died, terribly, suffering
agonies beyond imagining, without revealing where the child was. And
so the victims... but what of the criminals?. </span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
Prime Minister reminds Holmes of his requirement to prove these
crimes. Holmes obliges; beginning with the man who died at the wharf;
William Slade, prime mover in these atrocious crimes, under some
misguided loyalty to the Royal family he served – or as a hidden
agent in their cause?. Then, Sir. Thomas Spivey, the celebrated
physician, who took Annie into his hospital and drove her mad. A man
who prescribes eternal incarceration for a woman simply because she
was seduced, made pregnant and delivered of a child. Who, according
to archaic ritual butchered his victims. Holmes accuses this man who
has 'no place in this world or the next'. Lord Salisbury has heard
enough, demanding proof. Blustering, Warren asserts Holmes has no
proof, only surmise, wild conjecture. Assessing the situation,
Holmes' resolve stiffens; 'I have proof.' Striding across to Warren's
lectern he lays down the marriage certificate, the child's birth
certificate, a document showing Annie's committal by the same Spivey,
he also has proof of suppression of evidence by Sir. Charles,
evidence pointing to the same order to which all here belong. Sir.
Thomas Spivey is also a Freemason – and in discovering the criminal
enterprise of a fellow mason they were all sworn to protect him in
his intent. </span></span>
</div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Prime
Minister - 'Then you accuse us?.' </i></span></span>
</div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Holmes
- Of complicity and murder? - No, Prime Minister.</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Your
suggestion was enough to prompt these men to action; </i></span></span>
</div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>what
was done was all done in your name.</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Prime
Minister – 'I shall not debate that with you – </i></span></span>
</div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>but
there are larger issues here than you can understand.'</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Sir.
Charles - 'Don't presume to judge us Holmes -</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>I
know where my duty lies - </i></span></span>
</div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>in
the protection of the Monarchy.'</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Raising
an admonishing finger, Holmes states boldly that there never has been
a threat to the Monarchy, such threat existed only in the minds of
the three worthies in the room. 'Your intrigue simply served the
disaffected radicals, whom you fear' he tells Lord Salisbury, the
Prime Minister replies 'Very well, Mister Holmes', before adding
Slade is dead, Spivey insane. Sir. Charles' career is in ruins.
Holmes doubts he faces any serious ruin; he supported Brother Masons
who will undoubtedly return the favour. Lord Salisbury asks what
should he tell the Queen; surely Holmes cannot suspect Her Majesty in
any way involved. Visibly quailing at such thoughts, the Detective
admits he cannot believe that with ease, turning away. Staggered at
the inference, the Prime Minister gasps that he has his word on it,
but an angry Holmes says he would prefer a more reliable authority.
Faced with such insubordination, the Prime Minister decides he shall,
in the circumstances, ignore this offensive attitude. </span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHuJ7OKdvFXWJ7W5dx6CToQmtSpyzICYL1tdFIeFxrtUzHGKuPfn0XQaFxF5iKkjwYKAQCtNBtiZcvw5i_0auWyiWQS_bFMU63pxI1K-6YDUNUcoVvEr5tycUYY2XQLOuiypbYNucF7nc/s1600/s-l1600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHuJ7OKdvFXWJ7W5dx6CToQmtSpyzICYL1tdFIeFxrtUzHGKuPfn0XQaFxF5iKkjwYKAQCtNBtiZcvw5i_0auWyiWQS_bFMU63pxI1K-6YDUNUcoVvEr5tycUYY2XQLOuiypbYNucF7nc/s320/s-l1600.jpg" width="149" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The poster.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Perhaps
realising he has overstepped the bounds, Holmes retorts that if he
seems offensive it is because he <i>is </i>offended. Should I
resign?, is the Prime Minister's question. 'Yes resign!, and if I had
the means I would compel you. Fighting hard for composure, Lord
Salisbury pleads with Holmes; he is risking our very society, to be
substituted with anarchy. Wearily, Sherlock Holmes has reached the
end of his tether; he cares nothing about that, they (politicians)
are all the same to him. Wishing he had proof of the extent of
government complicity, Holmes regrets he was not privy to their
secretive meetings. It is now that Holmes plays his trump card;
stepping forward valiantly, he offers a deal. As long as the child
remains unharmed, he will say nothing of this matter. Salisbury
responds that the whereabouts of said child are unknown; he is
satisfied this should remain the case. One further proviso - Annie
Crook must also be set free. Unhappily, she is already free; the
Prime Minister claims that the night after her meeting with Holmes,
she died...</span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Shocked
at this awful news, Holmes utters the words; 'How, died?' 'She took
her own life' comes Salisbury's reply. How can he convince Holmes?.
Even if he could, says Holmes, it is too late. Retrieving his
documentary evidence, he is in despair. It is too late for Annie
Crook, separated from her child, driven to despair – and death. </span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Holmes
– 'You create allegiance, </i></span></span>
</div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>above
your sworn allegiance to humanity...</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>You
will not feel for them - </i></span></span>
</div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>or
acknowledge their pain...</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>There
lies the madness.'</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Re-asserting
some measure of authority, the Prime Minister reminds Holmes of his
promise of silence and considers their business finished. For them
perhaps; Holmes will always have the death of Mary Kelly on his
conscience – and the Prime Minister will have the deaths of Annie
and all those tragic women, of their agony on his...</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">221b
Baker Street. Holmes plays a mournful dirge on his violin, scarping
the bow across the strings while the instrument is at rest. He sits,
at the sill, lost to melancholia. Looking across from his book,
Watson urges him to come and sit. Disturbed, Holmes comments that
they have unmasked madmen, </span></span>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">wielding
sceptres – reason run riot. Staunch as his nature, Watson tells him
he did much more than other men could have attempted. He reminds him
that Annie and Mary died to protect a child – that there is still
decency. Smiling, Sherlock realises Watson is right, that there is
still decency. Playfully he knuckles his friend's chest, remarking
there is decency in that battered breast. Flexing his hands, much
recovered, he asks Watson's indulgence for him to play a while.
Cheerfully for once, the Doctor acquiesces. It is only as the
sorrowful, lamenting notes sound that we see Watson's heart fill as
the horror of the recent past threatens to overwhelm him. No man ever
had a nobler companion than this steadfast fellow. As soon as the
moment arrives, he forces it to flee to the shadows of memory as he
returns to his reading. </span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-M3LKIStiziwOEMHLanjaAajffnxMO8tite55JDlIe0R4Ifwg4L16bBg9LLWJA8kSrrRaZ9hmJu1zCqqLWvNxJNGR0swTl5STLooTv5W_07krAaGXkd08PeCJ89k59RJXdjwKov3L5Hk/s1600/28+THE+ROYAL+CHILD.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-M3LKIStiziwOEMHLanjaAajffnxMO8tite55JDlIe0R4Ifwg4L16bBg9LLWJA8kSrrRaZ9hmJu1zCqqLWvNxJNGR0swTl5STLooTv5W_07krAaGXkd08PeCJ89k59RJXdjwKov3L5Hk/s320/28+THE+ROYAL+CHILD.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="left" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>The
Sister watches as, gay and carefree, the girl runs barefoot across
the lawn, golden locks flowing, her pet terrier trotting and barking
on its lead, happy to chase along to the statue of Jesus and back
again. </i></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i> </i></span></span>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">So
ends the most remarkable film; fact blended with fiction blended
again with speculation as to the nature of the facts. That 'Eddy' –
Queen Victoria's grandson was a playboy is beyond dispute. Certainly,
had this buffoon been born to a lesser household he would have been
hard pressed to tie his own shoelaces, riddled with venereal disease
and all the hallmarks of in-breeding. Did he marry Annie Crook?,
there are letters written by him to his Doctor showing clearly he had
Gonorrhoea. One theory is that he turned insane as a result and
started murdering women himself. I doubt this; the intellect at work
behind the Ripper murders was of a cunning and decisive nature, one
certainly not possessed by the Royal dullard. Nor do I buy any of the
'Royal Baby' plot; Royals have always had illegitimate offspring, but
never resorted to murder. Gold is the weapon of choice for that
family; silence is easier bought with coin than a knife. </span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwzLwqxDt3ilaxAKpG3wd_FM1KqLoe1raNl5vu_RlPzVstxzEb5io7uUhZiPBPUJFqScf9LYvp3Wz0Ws2aDiQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div style="background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;">
<b>ABOVE: The original trailer for the film.</b></div>
<div align="left" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Two
of the characters have, for some reason, been fictionalised; I don't
include Holmes and Watson, rather Sir. Thomas Spivey and William
Slade are thinly-veiled analogues of Sir. William Gull, the Royal
Physician and coachman John Netley. Gull and Netley are named as
killer and accomplice in the 1988 Michael Caine television movie <i>Jack
the Ripper.</i> So, having ridiculed the plot, what of the film?. It
is fantastic, Christopher Plummer's Holmes is aloof and rather hard
to warm to. Gradually, however, he reveals human qualities rarely
seen in the literary character. Plummer plays an impossible role
here; the Detective of genius who is usually always a step ahead has
to fail – without re-writing history to have him save Mary Kelly
there is little the writing team could have done. Holmes as failure
is a rarity, yet more than one film has him defeated. Perhaps
screenwriters just like to make an unapproachable character more
human by introducing fallibility. At any rate, Plummer's performance
– while not a favourite of mine, is certainly first class and
credible. Incidentally, he is apparently a cousin of Nigel Bruce, the
legendary Watson of Basil Rathbone days. James Mason as Watson is
affable, likeable and reveals himself to be an intelligent ally; far
from the Nigel Bruce portrayal of a bumbling sidekick. Lestrade is
played by Frank Finlay, reprising the role from <i>A Study in Terror
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">(1965). Finlay plays the part
well enough, but is under-used. More of an impact, however comes from
David Hemmings as Inspector Foxborough; he gives the impression of a
dry, solid Detective who is slightly amused by his superiors'
shortcomings, yet – as we have seen, is an ardent anarchist and not
far from abject madness. A memorable role. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> </span></span></span>
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxCIn_vpe4LXS0dGu_qTYOx0FyCySeLd-xCf11UQM_er2FrgUxdr0c7jUFOc2ofQAuR2BcPWSmvQOaHpOUZkmtGrhPKUqhlvQA2s4mQv8FNyc6W92xFgL5nrT0KdUypl0__jEHlwmrnEY/s1600/tumblr_mzm56mjkrs1t1g01wo2_1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxCIn_vpe4LXS0dGu_qTYOx0FyCySeLd-xCf11UQM_er2FrgUxdr0c7jUFOc2ofQAuR2BcPWSmvQOaHpOUZkmtGrhPKUqhlvQA2s4mQv8FNyc6W92xFgL5nrT0KdUypl0__jEHlwmrnEY/s320/tumblr_mzm56mjkrs1t1g01wo2_1280.jpg" width="248" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Poster Art.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Bringing
in a heavyweight such as Gielgud to play Lord Salisbury, the Prime
Minister pays off magnificently; on screen for a single scene, the
legendary actor imbues the part with, by turn authority,
vulnerability and affronted dignity. Anthony Quayle (Doctor Murray in
the aforementioned </span><i>A Study in Terror</i><span style="font-style: normal;">)
plays Sir. Charles Warren as a shifty incompetent; perhaps a tad
unfair, although to be certain the original was so far out of his
depth as Commissioner you wonder why </span><span style="font-style: normal;">he
didn't stick to his passion; Masonic research. Donald Sutherland
gives his performance as the visionary medium Robert Lees his
trademark stillness and soft-spoken manner. This works flawlessly –
compare this with Armand Assante's frenetic Lees in </span><i>Jack
the Ripper </i><span style="font-style: normal;">(The Michael Caine TV
version from 1988 mentioned above) and you see two masters at work
portraying the same character at polar opposites. Much as I love
Assante's work, Sutherland's Victorian look is so perfect you can't
fault him here. </span></span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Geneviève
Bujold spent twelve long years in a convent – she brings something
of the flavour of this to her role as Annie Crook. Vulnerable, noble,
it is no wonder she played Joan of Arc. A splendid, award-winning
performance and rightly so. Susan Clark is Mary Kelly, the ripper's
last victim. She plays her role with convincing dread – she went on
to play in a 1981 episode of <i>'Standing Room Only' </i><span style="font-style: normal;">titled
'Sherlock Holmes' opposite Frank Langella's Holmes. Peter Jonfield's
first role saw him play the murderous William Slade – the part
involves no dialogue at all that I can recall, but he wields a
sword-stick with relish and he gives the part his all. He makes an
appearance as Toller in the 1985 episode of </span><i>'The Adventures
of Sherlock Holmes – The Copper Beeches.' </i><span style="font-style: normal;">Roy
Lansford's Sir. Thomas Spivey is evil incarnate – as the Ripper he
is horrifying, a sated, numb zombie killing in a haze. </span>Fans of
TV's <i>Eastenders</i> – of which I do not number myself, may care
to know June Brown (Dot Cotton in the TV show) is Annie Chapman, Ann
Mitchell (Cora Cross) is Jane, a prostitute. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span>
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5UJtKUkWLCgNsJIdbJme4kuCnmhLB0BMjbLBcLS4bxdzssYVSBU5TPZQfk7EcPACq-Yt5EYnNkWLE5BGgjeMipA0Z7oF-P2mPxRpCiAfYdt42GXk3_b6sgHPWoIxXId5WYxwtzRTAftQ/s1600/o%252Cemn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5UJtKUkWLCgNsJIdbJme4kuCnmhLB0BMjbLBcLS4bxdzssYVSBU5TPZQfk7EcPACq-Yt5EYnNkWLE5BGgjeMipA0Z7oF-P2mPxRpCiAfYdt42GXk3_b6sgHPWoIxXId5WYxwtzRTAftQ/s320/o%252Cemn.jpg" width="255" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Another PR shot.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Director
Bob Clark brought us <i>Porky's –</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
and for that we should be grateful enough, but he also made the
seminal slasher movie </span><i>Black Christmas </i><span style="font-style: normal;">(1974),
the perennial Yuletide favourite </span><i>A Christmas Story </i><span style="font-style: normal;">(1983)
as well as the wonderfully obscure </span><i>Turk 182! </i><span style="font-style: normal;">(1985).
In </span><i>Murder by Decree </i><span style="font-style: normal;">,
Clark gives solid direction, with a good feel for the subject
material. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">With a screenplay
from John Hopkins (</span><span style="font-style: normal;">Co-writer
of 1965's Thunderball) based on the book </span><i>The Ripper File,
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">the themes of the movie were
used for the Johnny Depp hit </span><i>From Hell </i><span style="font-style: normal;">(2001).
</span><span style="font-style: normal;">The film does suffer somewhat
from over-exposition; we know what's going on, yet Holmes has to take
us through it all in painstaking and excruciating detail. Just
setting down the climactic scene at the Masonic hall had me pulling
my hair out. Niggles include the final shot of the girl running being
so short as to seem unbalanced, while the </span><span style="font-style: normal;">plot
has holes – why, for instance wasn't Mary Kelly simply interrogated
and murdered on being kidnapped?</span><span style="font-style: normal;">.
</span><span style="font-style: normal;">Also, Holmes giving the
wounded Watson his revolver back, </span><i>just </i><span style="font-style: normal;">when
he's most likely to need it; clearly a lazy plot device to make it a
fairer fight at the wharf in a few minutes. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">The
wharf set took months to create and is a cinematic treat, yet the
miniature models of London, though undoubtedly well-crafted, are so
clearly fake you have to grit your teeth. At one point a horse-drawn
van crosses the river so jerkily you wonder if the miniature team
were making a protest. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> </span></span></span>
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmy_9LqvwYG_hCCEzQd41LtQzf-EWxbtZCeUGmkK3uNLZdZQX4OQC4S2X6wR_dTd9lJ5fo09q7m-o0vcA01Gjs6aBjQNag1R6ZWefj094aUtuPWffJxTYO9jVgCDpAgHWqjzI-t0Lz3nk/s1600/s-l1600Ax.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmy_9LqvwYG_hCCEzQd41LtQzf-EWxbtZCeUGmkK3uNLZdZQX4OQC4S2X6wR_dTd9lJ5fo09q7m-o0vcA01Gjs6aBjQNag1R6ZWefj094aUtuPWffJxTYO9jVgCDpAgHWqjzI-t0Lz3nk/s320/s-l1600Ax.jpg" width="179" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The US VHS sleeve.</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Other
issues, niggles perhaps; we see Tower Bridge some six years before it
should be there, Prince Albert Victor wasn't </span><span style="font-style: normal;">yet
</span><span style="font-style: normal;">the </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Duke
of Clarence and Avondale in 1888 and Mary Kelly is seen being
tortured by the Ripper. Although germane to the plot, the Ripper
killed his victims before mutilation. (Laughably I have read this
qualified him as a 'humane' killer in a book I shan't stoop to name
by a Police expert). Finally, the poster advertising Donizetti at the
opera house is misspelt 'Donnizetti'. </span></span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Locations;
</span><span style="font-style: normal;">The Royal Opera House scene
was filmed at the Royal Academy of Arts, Piccadilly, interiors at
Wyndhams Theatre on the Charing Cross Road, while Barton Street, SW1
became Baker Street. Robert Lees' magnificent villa still stands at
The Elms, Duck's Walk, Twickenham, while the Royal Naval College at
Greenwich was used for several scenes. Sir. Thomas Spivey's home can
be found at Carlton Gardens, SW1, while the funeral of poor </span>Catherine
Eddowes took place at Southwark Cathedral. </span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Time
for a score, wouldn't you say?. On careful consideration of the
evidence, the verdict of this court shall be;</span></span></div>
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Volcano Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14372941500458681755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555240865021461020.post-15815541917534065692016-05-25T17:31:00.000-07:002016-05-25T17:39:49.194-07:00Without A Clue - Holmes with a twist...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">An
ornate French <i>ormolu </i>clock chimes the hour. It is four
o'clock. Marble statues look on mutely as a door opens, whining on
its hinges. Two burglars enter, one setting down a sledgehammer. The
harsh sound of breaking glass and gloved hands grasp a trophy of
solid gold. One of the blackguards assesses its value at over ten
thousand pounds!. They will be rich... but a shadow steps forward, a
man with a pipe in his mouth. 'Not this time, gentlemen.' It is
Sherlock Holmes!.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Striking a match on the wall, the Great Detective
reveals himself with a wry smile. Calling for Watson, his able
assistant steps forth with a resolute 'Right you are, Holmes.'
Throwing a switch, Watson illuminates the marbled halls of the Royal
Gallery with the harsh, electric light so much in favour recently.
The two villains make a run for it, but – of course! - Holmes has
enlisted the aid of several burly constables who rush from their
hiding place to apprehend the crooks. Here too, Inspector Lestrade,
watching on as the housebreakers fight the Police in a desperate,
vicious struggle. </span></span></span>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Michael Caine and Ben Kingsley are Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson.</span></b></td></tr>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
Inspector steps forward to arrest the principal burglar... and is
felled by a sharp left. The purloiner then makes to leave by the way
he came, only to be halted in his tracks by the calm authority of the
World's first Consulting Detective. Holmes tells the man that there
is no escape, but the felon then snatches up an ancient crossbow,
aiming the still-deadly barb at Holmes. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Constables, who have the
man's accomplice in their grasp, stop in their tracks, powerless to
intervene. Watson, however, has concealed himself behind a suit of
armour and at the critical moment, sends it crashing down on the
thief, the bolt firing into a display dummy with lethal finality.
Taking a puff on his famous meerschaum calabash, Holmes assures his
friend and colleague he is none the worse for his ordeal, before
turning his attention to John Clay, one of London's <i>least
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">notorious thieves. Having paid
this back-handed compliment, Holmes calls for Lestrade and the cuffs
are fitted for Clay's wrists. All that remains is a polite exchange
of complimentary nature, in which amateur and professional indulge.
Holmes declares the case closed as Lestrade departs, trying to hide
his </span><i>chagrin</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> at being
out-done once more.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">N</span><span style="font-style: normal;">o
sooner than both are alone, Watson berates Holmes, raising his cane
in fury; 'You idiot!, confound you!.' Holmes is put back and
confused; he did everything Watson told him to do after all... the
titles play, a rather delightful series of hand-tinted photographs
the background to the credits. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">The
film proper begins with Holmes and Watson in a carriage. What did he
do wrong?, Watson tells him; </span><i>never </i><span style="font-style: normal;">declare
a case closed until </span><i>he </i><span style="font-style: normal;">says
it's closed!. The carriage rolls up outside 221b Baker Street and the
waiting gentlemen of the press. As Sherlock Holmes greets them the
questions start; how did he know the thieves were tunnelling into the
Royal Gallery?. Watson tries to field this one, but is rudely pulled
aside so the Great Detective can be photographed. It was, he tells
them, an elementary deduction based on the clues at hand. Didn't
Scotland Yard have access to these very same clues? - Holmes sees </span><i>and
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">observes. An impertinent fellow
ventures this to be redundant thinking, at which the cold gaze of the
finest intellect in Criminology is turned upon him. Holmes then
challenges the impudent reporter to describe the front of 221,
without first looking. He fails, miserably and a triumphant Holmes
takes his leave to retire to the famed lodgings which have, in
themselves become part of legend. </span></span></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">O</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">nce
inside, Holmes crows; he put that reporter in his place. Exasperated,
patience wearing thin, Watson asks; </span></span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>'Just
for the record...<br />..how many windows are there<br />in the front of
this building?'<br />Holmes - 'I haven't the foggiest idea.'<br />Watson
- 'There are fifteen windows, you fool!.<br />Fifteen!' </i></span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Unable
to contain himself, Watson pursues the matter as Holmes peruses the
new copy of <i>The Strand magazine. </i>He informs him the reporter
he embarrassed knows how to type – is near-sighted and recently
returned from Holiday. And how does Watson know that?. Elementary –
from the creases on his wrist where a typist presses the table...
Holmes interrupts the terse lecture to ask his friend's opinion on
the likeness on the cover of the magazine.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">At his wits end with this
imbecile, Watson takes to his room. Discarding his image, Holmes
saunters over to a table filled with chemical apparatus, all rubber
tubes and glass phials containing bubbling solutions. Taking up two
of the beakers, he examines them with the curiosity of the
unschooled. One is deep blue and inert, the other a lustrous green
and bubbling ominously. He decides to mix them. In his room, Watson
exclaims that something's afoot, just as a tremendous explosion
blasts his door open with a crack of thunder and a cloud of smoke.
Mortified, Watson inspects the carnage, yelling across to where
Holmes is seated, concealed by the newspaper he is affecting to read.
How many times has he told him to stay away from his experiments?.
Lowering the paper, Holmes asks if something's wrong – his face
blackened and hair on end. Watson is spending an increasing amount of
time correcting Holmes' blunders...</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Watson
- May I remind you, for your information, sir,<br />- that your
opinions are my opinions.<br />Holmes - Oh piffle!<br />Watson - I
created the character of Sherlock Holmes, (Violin music)<br />and hired
you merely to play the part,<br />snatching you, as it were, from the
gutter.<br />Holmes (Apparently playing the violin) - Hardly the
gutter, old boy.<br />- After all, I was once an actor of note.<br />Watson
- Whose last play, I believe,<br />ran a total of one half of one
performance.<br />Holmes (Stops 'playing', but music continues) - I'll
have you know,<br />Shadow Of Death with Reginald Kincaid was a
towering work<br />decades ahead of its time. </i></span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Gramophone
voice – Lesson Two, Advanced Bowing.</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Holmes
removes needle from record.</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">This,
then the basis for the story; if you hadn't already guessed before
that last piece of dialogue, Holmes is, in fact a sham. Dr. John
Watson is the <i>real</i> genius, using a destitute Actor named
Kincaid to act the part of a great detective, allowing him to avoid
the limelight and pursue both a medical career and chronicle his own
cases, with Holmes the hero. Now we have exposed the twist, we shall
return to 221b...</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Holmes
feels slighted; Watson has underestimated his own native deductive
abilities. As the sound of feet on stairs comes, he estimates the
visitor to be a woman, five feet five, weight about twelve and a half
stone, age fifty-four. Opening the door reveals a pack of street
urchins, the Baker Street Irregulars, no less. Well aware 'Holmes' is
no towering intellect, Wiggins, the leader asks if Holmes has blown
himself up again. Holmes then notices his pocket watch missing and
Wiggins hands it back sanguinely as the fraud retires to his room,
pausing only to hoist out the smallest of the Irregulars who had been
in there. Turning to business, Watson tells the assemblage that there
is trouble concerning the break-in at the Royal Gallery. Wiggins
heard Holmes had closed the case – to mocking laughter from the
rest of the lads. Watson explains he will correct the error in the
telling of the story, intending to make 'Holmes'' gaffe appear a
cunning ruse. No, something is not right; John Clay does not deal in
objets d'art. He needs the boys to look around, <i>'Eyes sharp, ears
quick – a copper for your trouble and a shilling for what you
learn.' </i>Holmes re-appears and shoos the Irregulars out, only to
get his watch lifted again. </span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Holmes/Kincaid
berates Watson for be-littling him, how is he expected to maintain a
character when he be-littles him?. After some banter regarding
handwriting and excrement, a knock; Mrs. Hudson, holding aloft a
bottle of cheap whisky. He's been 'at it' again. The actor maintains
an occasional libation helps him to stiffen his resolve, but the
landlady retorts his resolve should be pickled by now. Fraught with
emotion – possibly not entirely shammed – Holmes cries of the
pressure of committing to memory endless streams of data; clues and
deductions to be parroted back for Lestrade and the press. Endless
twaddle!. 'Twaddle!' ejaculates Watson (Well, he ejaculated for
Arthur Doyle on occasion.) Does he refer to the systematic gathering
of evidence and the logical deductions based thereon?. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Holmes
- I am referring to twaddle!<br />And you would be well served to
include fewer<br />of these dreary details in future chronicles,<br />and
place greater emphasis on me.<br />I am, after all, the one<br />the
public really cares about. </i></span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Those
of you familiar with Arthur Doyle's works will appreciate the joke;
the reversal of Holmes' oft-stated preference for Watson to include
more of the forensic data and dry facts than to dwell on the
sensational and romantic aspects of the cases. Nicely done, but I
digress... </span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">All
this talk of twaddle has proven the last straw, Watson throwing
Kincaid bodily from the house followed by his belongings. Mrs. Hudson
expresses her approval in her soft Scots burr. As he takes his leave,
Kincaid says that once he was a figment of Watson's imagination, but
now Sherlock Holmes belongs to the whole World. Behind closed doors,
Watson and Mrs. Hudson are jubilant; they are free of 'that
ungrateful baggage'. </span></span></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUXRFhzzlivrl2r0f-JN1ASKXTiz8t_DTYrcFXDOiklubnf39Ie2P_Zxsiq5nqUano1GEEevxEr5GSFwm3CFxR92Rx1v6cr7yqnY3phZnSYm9iADP97r7VjlJDmBKReoCl04F1jOaUq9I/s1600/WAC00009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUXRFhzzlivrl2r0f-JN1ASKXTiz8t_DTYrcFXDOiklubnf39Ie2P_Zxsiq5nqUano1GEEevxEr5GSFwm3CFxR92Rx1v6cr7yqnY3phZnSYm9iADP97r7VjlJDmBKReoCl04F1jOaUq9I/s320/WAC00009.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>The Publisher Greenhough is played by the late, great Peter Cook.</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">At
the offices of The Strand Magazine, the editorial staff are startled
by a bellow of outrage from the offices of their boss. Norman
Greenhough, Publisher emerges from his office to assure the staff
nothing is amiss. The late Peter Cook, that titan of comedic wit
plays Greenhough – the name itself a reference to the actual editor
of <i>The Strand, </i>Herbert Greenhough Smith. Cook delivers his
standard performance; i.e. he is simply unsurpassable. As he only
gets one scene let us enjoy it...</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span>
</div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Seated,
Watson explains himself to his Publisher. About nine years ago, a
patient of his, a Scotland Yard Inspector was investigating a murder.
Watson solved the case, attributing this success to a non-existent
detective. Why?; at the time, he was anticipating appointment to the
staff of a conservative and stuffy medical college. Had they known of
his sideline, his hopes would be dashed. </span></span></span>
</div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Greenhough
- So you hired this Reginald Kincaid?<br />Watson - He was an
actor.<br />Unfortunately, he was also a gambler,<br />a womaniser and a
drunkard.<br />Greenhough (Standing by a bookshelf) - John, you have
jeopardised<br />the integrity of English literature. (Opens hidden
panel in bookcase revealing it to be a drinks cabinet.)</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Unsurpassable!.
Pouring a stiff one, Greenhough laments that he should have known,
'Holmes' was always borrowing large sums and not paying them back.
Watson is appalled, but the Publisher assures him they simply
deducted these from his royalties. Standing, the Doctor is determined
the public should now know the truth. The truth!. Appalled,
Greenhough stands aghast, hands shaking as he takes a pull of his
whisky while Watson unveils his latest creation; The Crime Doctor!.
This simply won't do and Greenhough explains the obvious. People buy
<i>The Strand </i>expecting <i>Sherlock Holmes</i> to solve the case.
He is on the verge of using underhand tactics to force Watson to
continue, when the noisy arrival of Wiggins interrupts the
proceedings. Hurrying out to the editorial floor, Greenhough demands
an explanation, the street arab bumping up against him in his
excitement. They've found something by the Docks!. Cheeky as ever,
Wiggins then tries to chat up a pretty secretary. Watson leaves, deaf
to his Publisher's threats to sue him for everything he's got. We
leave Norman Greenhough wondering where his watch has gone.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Wiggins
leads Watson to the burnt-out shell of the Camden paper mill, burned
down at the same time as the Clay robbery, four this morning (The
Irregular saucily consults Greenhough's pilfered watch.) Going to
inspect the scene, Watson is stopped by a constable* who is
distinctly unimpressed by the 'Crime Doctor.' When Watson reluctantly
mentions his authorship of the Holmes mysteries, the constable lights
up, in awe of the legendary Detective. Did he send Watson?. He most
certainly did not – and hearing this, the Constable refuses entry
to the smouldering ruins. </span></span></span>
</div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">*Played
by Gregor Fisher, of Rab C.Nesbitt fame. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Gregor Fisher plays a Constable.</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">221b
and Watson is using the cover of <i>The Strand</i> as a dart board.
In loud despair, he berates the stupidity of mankind when the
landlady arrives and pleads for him to lower his voice – he has
visitors. As the visitors ascend the stair, Watson tries various
poses before suddenly remembering the makeshift dart board. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">He just
manages to remove it and leap onto the sofa as Lord Smithwick of the
Treasury and Inspector Lestrade enter. The Chancellor of the
Exchequer has come to consult Holmes, Watson offering the services of
the Crime Doctor. Lord Smithwick is not amused and makes to leave. In
desperation, Watson stalls by claiming Holmes will be back this
evening. The Chancellor shall return at seven. </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqvzjoAr0a8c9XQInlDGtRCEDPJt8-wxMN449I6F62JJ4eqAzSZHjlpg-VoJjMSfDLAxQ0rEmo2m2m1v-ow6dam_cCAmYHnIuTbViHEN2TFUxdMI_1VWt8BGimaAoAI-YUXmZRAmQIWi0/s1600/WAC00014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqvzjoAr0a8c9XQInlDGtRCEDPJt8-wxMN449I6F62JJ4eqAzSZHjlpg-VoJjMSfDLAxQ0rEmo2m2m1v-ow6dam_cCAmYHnIuTbViHEN2TFUxdMI_1VWt8BGimaAoAI-YUXmZRAmQIWi0/s320/WAC00014.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Caroline Milmoe plays Connie, victim of Holmes' bottom-pinching.</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
Criterion is a rather bawdy establishment. A chanteuse is singing
'Where did you get that hat?' to the general amusement of the
patronage. Connie, a pretty young woman arrives and has her backside
pinched. Fuming, she demands to know who did it. Fairly stewed,
Kincaid introduces himself as Sherlock Holmes. Putting his arm around
her protectively the 'detective' offers an assessment of her
predicament. By careful observation of the patrons of the premises,
he has deduced the identity of the fiend who pinched her.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Pinching
her bottom, he admits his guilt. Just then, Watson's carriage drops
him off outside and he arrives to find Kincaid's credit has run out
at the bar. (The barman is played by Steven O'Donnell, none other
than 'Spudgun' from the legendary tv comedy series <i>Bottom</i>)
Standing his drink, Watson asks Kincaid to return. Forced to admit he
needs the actor, Watson states he needs him for one final case. </span></span></span>
</div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Well
into his cups, Kincaid states he doesn't need Watson and claims he
has been honing his own powers of deduction. Stopping a gentleman,
Kincaid guesses him to be a reporter, recently returned from the
Indian subcontinent. The man is a barrister – and has never seen
India. Without missing a beat, Kincaid comes back with 'But you do
read the Times?.' Of course, the man does. While Watson sighs and
rolls his eyes Kincaid produces a playing card from his hand with a
magician's flourish and hands it to the startled barrister. 'My
card.' At the end of his tether, Watson asks if Kincaid will come
with him; he would rather waltz naked through the fires of Hell. At
this, Watson stalks off and two burly thugs approach Kincaid.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Kincaid
- Ah, gentlemen! And what can I do for you?<br />A mystery to be
solved?<br />Thug One - You might say that.<br />There's a little matter
of a gambling debt...<br />and the mystery is why you ain't paid
it.<br />Kincaid - Gentlemen, you are dealing with Sherlock Holmes. </i></span></span></span>
</div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>A
man of honour and character beyond reproach.<br />Constance Payton -
There he is.<br />That's the bloke who pinched my bum </i></span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Kincaid
then makes a hasty departure, hotly pursued by the two thugs. By the
time Watson has returned to 221b, Lord Smithwick and Lestrade are
waiting impatiently. Watson claims Holmes has asked him to take down
the details and begin the investigation without him. </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCV8pgxFwLxqwDEe7l9Pb_bJcBr5_7waRklvTn7ixU7eMcOPGZHGxnAI0a7HDno0Pz1Jm_UgxM6_PXDYKlWCfTOPXqeUONp_KHEb2FQtNgvHWi5PZBcd54nrRPcnD9XcVGdeKoSsu5rLA/s1600/WAC00017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCV8pgxFwLxqwDEe7l9Pb_bJcBr5_7waRklvTn7ixU7eMcOPGZHGxnAI0a7HDno0Pz1Jm_UgxM6_PXDYKlWCfTOPXqeUONp_KHEb2FQtNgvHWi5PZBcd54nrRPcnD9XcVGdeKoSsu5rLA/s320/WAC00017.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Jeffrey Jones is Lestrade, Lord Smithwick is portrayed by Nigel Davenport.</b></span></td></tr>
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</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Chancellor
isn't having any of this, nor Watson's attempt to convince him he is
Holmes' equal in deduction. He observes that Smithwick recently
recovered from illness, has spent time in China and smokes a rosewood
pipe. Lestrade has no time for these 'parlour games'. 'Doctor, this
is a matter for professionals.' No sooner the words than he gets the
door slammed open into his face, a frantic Kincaid bursting in
appealing for help, there's two big men... 'Holmes, you're back!.'
Watson welcomes him warmly and bundles him away into his old room,
asserting this is one of Holmes' brilliant disguises, that of a
drunken lout. As the door slams shut the sound of banging and
slapping can be heard. </span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">In
no more than ten seconds the door opens for Watson to announce Mr.
Sherlock Holmes, who enters – rather oddly – in Inverness cape
and Deerstalker to welcome his client with a sober, pithy quip aimed
at Lestrade. Lord Smithwick is delighted and when Holmes infers
trouble at the Treasury the old duffer is mystified. How did he
know?. The same way he can tell he's recently recovered from an
illness, smokes a pipe, probably rosewood and has spent time in –
Watson gently prompts him here – China. Amazing!. When Watson said
it the credulous old fart couldn't have been <i>less </i>impressed.
Lestrade seems to be trying to stave off apoplexy, clearly
unimpressed (And possibly still concussed) by the fraud. Holmes
wonders if a sherry is in order, but the Chancellor asserts the
matter imperils the fate of the Empire. A whisky then?. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">'Watson,
pay close attention.' The case opens to reveal two printing plates,
for the Bank of England's Five Pound notes. Got any ink?. They are
clever forgeries – and while Holmes goes to tear through his room
Watson correctly adduces the Empire is indeed imperilled from
forgery. Holmes finally emerges with a bottle in hand. Lord Smithwick
fears the Kingdom could find itself awash with counterfeit notes –
and he doesn't have to tell Holmes what that would mean. Yes, he
does; economic ruin for England as no-one would know which notes to
trust. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Watson, meanwhile, has been examining a forged plate and gives
his mountebank sleuth the wink; In his best 'Holmes' manner, Kincaid
accepts the case. His fee will be five hundred pounds, payable in £10
notes. That would be the gambling debt paid, then...</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">The
Chancellors</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">'</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">
Hansom takes him and Lestrade from Baker Street, Lestrade voicing his
misgivings about Holmes and the old fool enraptured by him. As they
depart, we see a carriage waiting farther up the street. Inside,
</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Sebastian
Moran</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">
asks 'Do you suppose he took the case, Professor?.' Leaning forward,
Professor Moriarty!. His saturnine features suggestive of a
latter-day Mephistopheles, the Professor's face is positively
beatific as he replies </span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">to
his henchman</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">;
'Watson?, my dear boy, how could he resist?.' </span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Moriarty
raps up with his cane and the carriage departs. </span></span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt1dVa_cNGSAnsW-KSrFbe8YgNy2MKpoBrp_4J4nhAS-ElOBnn0xDZuY0z-TPeBsMorLYahefCGNuafTRrvVEp7F8TYsShyphenhyphenbwhbFoblacsk4qJpUT-jOIoLUYZcHNVjORSU_touuWNTO4/s1600/WAC00020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt1dVa_cNGSAnsW-KSrFbe8YgNy2MKpoBrp_4J4nhAS-ElOBnn0xDZuY0z-TPeBsMorLYahefCGNuafTRrvVEp7F8TYsShyphenhyphenbwhbFoblacsk4qJpUT-jOIoLUYZcHNVjORSU_touuWNTO4/s320/WAC00020.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Paul Freeman is Professor Moriarty.</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
hallowed halls of Blenheim Pa... I mean, the Royal Mint. Ahem. The
massive door is opened by liveried flunkies to admit Holmes and
Watson. The Chancellor greets them warmly, introducing an employee,
whose name escapes him. The man, Hadlers is then questioned ineptly
by Lestrade, much to his alarm. The Chancellor informs the Inspector
that Mr. Holmes will take over and Holmes promptly snubs the official
of the police by having him assist... in holding his hat and coat. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Inspecting the vault, Holmes asks who had access to it. The
Chancellor, the Commissioner for Seals and Engravings and the
printing supervisor, one Peter Giles. Prompted deftly by Watson,
Holmes asks to see this third person, to be informed he failed to
appear for work. Aha!. Lestrade has done his homework and states
Giles to be a widower and father to one child, Lesley. Hadlers adds
she is a pretty girl and the lecherous instincts of 'Holmes' are
aroused. The Chancellor will have none of it – Giles has worked at
the Mint for over thirty years and is a man of religion. He was
always quoting from the Psalms, informs the obsequious Hadlers. </span></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span style="color: black;">Holmes
- </span><span style="color: black;">The Psalms? One of my favourite
books.<br />The Bible, wasn't it? </span></i></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>(Lord
Smithwick looks confused and somewhat aghast.)</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black;">Another
prompt and Holmes declares he will investigate </span><span style="color: black;"><i>both
</i></span><span style="color: black;">Giles' thoroughly, leaving to the
rapt admiration of the Chancellor. Lestrade dashes for his own
carriage and arrives at the house of the Giles family just as Holmes
is about to break down the door – which Watson demonstrates to be
unlocked with a gesture of withering contempt. The Inspector halts
the two amateurs, telling them they can't just go into someone's
residence, poking about and disturbing their privacy... that's for
Scotland Yard.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black;">Clumsy as ever, Lestrade
nearly wipes his feet on the post, which Watson takes and examines.
After a gag about French postcards, Holmes reads the message on a
postcard, signed 'L'. Who could this be?. Drily, Lestrade states the
obvious; Lesl</span><span style="color: black;">ey</span><span style="color: black;">
Giles. Watson asks Holmes to go about his sleuthing routine to
bamboozle the Inspector, leaving him free to do the </span><span style="color: black;"><i>real</i></span><span style="color: black;">
sleuthing. </span><span style="color: black;">Flourishing his magnifying
glass, Holmes then goes upstairs, followed dutifully by Lestrade. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black;">Watson sets about finding clues while Holmes hums and ha's and
'My-word's around the bedroom. Lestrade goes to examine an open bible
and Holmes stops him with a shout of caution; picking the good book
up he riffles through it while stating 'There may be fingerprints.'
(!) The book of Psalms, as Holmes anticipated – the Bible. Lestrade
is trying to see the connections, by this point his facial
expressions have more than a passing resemblance to Marty Feldman. </span></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black;">While
Lestrade jumps around at every false clue, Watson's tweezers hold a
real one; a fragment of a map bearing the partial word 'ermere' over
a picture of a lake. Holmes comes in on hands and knees, with
Lestrade following suit. Watson is literally transfixed at the sight
of the 'Great Detective' examining patterns in the carpet, so much so
that he's caught holding the fragment by Lestrade, who declares it
possible evidence. You'd think a British lake ending in 'ermere'
would hold no mystery, but these are no ordinary sleuths, these are
</span><span style="color: black;"><i>moronic</i></span><span style="color: black;">
ones. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black;">Watson looks heavenwards for strength while the two dullest
minds in England compete for second place. Eventually, Lestrade comes
up with the dazzlingly obvious; Lake Windemere. </span><span style="color: black;">A
perfect place to hide at this time of year, opines Lestrade. He will
wire up to the Lake and have the case wrapped up in no time. Waiting
for the laughing Inspector to leave, Holmes vents his fury; imagine a
Sherlock Holmes mystery where Lestrade solves the bloomin' case!.
Chuckling to himself, Watson assures his friend there's a healthy
chunk of mystery yet to be solved. </span><span style="color: black;">They
are off to Windemere...</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Whistle
blowing and steam up, a rather pretty little steam locomotive conveys
two carriages along a rural line in that most picturesque of English
settings, the Lake District. Watson is at his pad, writing up this
latest adventure even as it unfolds. </span></span><span style="color: black;"><i>As
was his habit, Sherlock Holmes sat in the railway carriage lost in
thought. </i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Of
course, the </span></span><span style="color: black;"><i>Kincaid </i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">version
of Holmes is dancing what could pass for a Victorian cha-cha, singing
to himself. A pleasantly busty woman is coming the other way and the
carriageway narrow. Pressed bosom to chest as they pass, she asks if
he is indeed Holmes. When he answers in the affirmative, she
immediately sets about him with her bag. 'You put me old man in gaol,
you did!.' Holmes retreats from the attack as, oblivious, his
Chronicler continues his work. '</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">From
these moments of quiet, intense reflection would inevitably spring
some new...insight.</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">'</span></span>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Watson tests
his words aloud before committing them to paper. The insight
springing from this reflection?; 'Stop it you silly cow!.' After some
more comedic dialogue we arrive at Windemere station, where a civic
reception has been laid on, brass band and all. </span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Ever
the trouper, Holmes alights, trademark calabash in hand, to receive
his public. Or is that </span></span><span style="color: black;"><i>deceive</i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">?.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">A
worthy bustles up, his chain proclaiming him to be such. The Right
Honourable Gerald Fitzwalter Johnson, Lord Mayor no less, with his
daughter, Christabel. On a plate would be the expression today.</span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidNAtQwc34vgPhLLM_ZH5FDPGhTHBCge687Rjsoe-qyNLB627NJoi_q8niKB_iB6yYtrQPzJM4gXUh_0KKYJGKBL6MUrrbENf4MkchGUuSQFkfgsBdhjdvr-QvW2o1tatZ0s1EtB8nBjs/s1600/WAC00024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidNAtQwc34vgPhLLM_ZH5FDPGhTHBCge687Rjsoe-qyNLB627NJoi_q8niKB_iB6yYtrQPzJM4gXUh_0KKYJGKBL6MUrrbENf4MkchGUuSQFkfgsBdhjdvr-QvW2o1tatZ0s1EtB8nBjs/s320/WAC00024.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Jennifer Guy gives Holmes the eye; she plays Christabel, the daughter of the Lord Mayor.</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtY5dyZNLF1jb8vgcARro3yF4-1iuvShrGdmjcJi6_6n5A16r3ijbmZU8QWQDd9pXSiZQXBT-4TA6gjLfvid2k-_An3RR2wc4nfa1RMYBER0Xi2T2o1Xy5IIgcHTv9N-0KPHqwUfOlJis/s1600/kinopoisk.ru-Without-a-Clue-1843028.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtY5dyZNLF1jb8vgcARro3yF4-1iuvShrGdmjcJi6_6n5A16r3ijbmZU8QWQDd9pXSiZQXBT-4TA6gjLfvid2k-_An3RR2wc4nfa1RMYBER0Xi2T2o1Xy5IIgcHTv9N-0KPHqwUfOlJis/s320/kinopoisk.ru-Without-a-Clue-1843028.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ6UIS9sqzKdKuxYUCh62l4vJrdu-9F1d2IbO_eTQeh17ibRYn74717bfiCcChGjKGB2CD_b2gZ5LY9_LtYztTUKBfmn-dWyPfwMKpLvTLqa85Cic6shczMyyiQodd7m3aDNXApd9zT6c/s1600/8+WHAT+A+PICTURE.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ6UIS9sqzKdKuxYUCh62l4vJrdu-9F1d2IbO_eTQeh17ibRYn74717bfiCcChGjKGB2CD_b2gZ5LY9_LtYztTUKBfmn-dWyPfwMKpLvTLqa85Cic6shczMyyiQodd7m3aDNXApd9zT6c/s320/8+WHAT+A+PICTURE.gif" width="320" /></a></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">However, the flash powder flashes and as Christabel and Holmes
exchange glances that would light wet tinder, Watson whispers a
warning; don't even think about it. The Rt. Hon. Has news – namely
a man matching Peter Giles' description arrived two days previously.
The witness is a dock worker, Andrews, done up in his Sunday best, in
a ludicrously over-sized Bowler, clearly borrowed for the Great
Occasion. Stiff as a rabbit in headlights, Andrews recites his
evidence. The man arrived with a heavy suitcase, handcuffed to his
wrist. He hired a local boatman, Donald Ayres to take him across to a
cottage he had rented. Andrews tops this lot off with a bow
resembling an attempt at a head-butt. The crowd awaits the Great
Detective's next word, but so mesmerised by this performance is
Kincaid/Holmes, he is struck dumb. At a hiss from Watson, Holmes
orders him to make a note of this, to the applause of the throng. </span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
ubiquitous shepherd and dogs chivvy their sheep along the street as
an open carriage conveys the two detectives and Lord Mayor, who
informs them neither Giles or boatman has been seen since. It is his
belief the storm may have done them in. Storm?, they went out in a
storm?. Ah, here we are... our finest hotel.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggdweuY3TK43Uq48aBerXoDdg3Znf9DoxBkdKeDbcjtl3uIC1y8Y8oY5tOeUdGLqHtt05WE32gJEmpXOGUbVv81FvcF4BJzho5zVH46ADLLsGXKo-dvmboUPiozLPWskKDFINC9yx8h0c/s1600/WAC00028.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggdweuY3TK43Uq48aBerXoDdg3Znf9DoxBkdKeDbcjtl3uIC1y8Y8oY5tOeUdGLqHtt05WE32gJEmpXOGUbVv81FvcF4BJzho5zVH46ADLLsGXKo-dvmboUPiozLPWskKDFINC9yx8h0c/s320/WAC00028.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Right on cue, the sign
for the 'Shakespeare Arms' falls off its mount to swing forlornly.
The proprietress is delighted to see Holmes, as is her dog, 'The
Duke'. (A noble performance by Prince the Wonder Dog in his only
credited film role.) The Duke expresses his delight in what looks
suspiciously like an attempt to tear Holmes limb from limb. As the
potty old thing takes her guests upstairs, Holmes wrenches the pommel
from the newel post and throws it for the dog – cue comedy glass
smashing sound. The celebrated Detective gets the King Lear room,
Watson's is upstairs. The Hamlet room has a lovely view of the lake,
if the carpets are a bit poorer for the mice nibbling at them.
Watson's room, indeed has a splendid vista, the terrace even more so.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglfwkPuSyduSBvf7g8kXCKM-IPFNkkKC7xw4mX73U3YNUvCpnz8JbzkmN9Dn0PPa3XS5UbTyrbITak2vBq3bCTJvARA_0q1UdPN6r3xkOXjyGVqD4AUFnpXskVuCRDGhqaSQfPKb5acjI/s1600/WAC00029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglfwkPuSyduSBvf7g8kXCKM-IPFNkkKC7xw4mX73U3YNUvCpnz8JbzkmN9Dn0PPa3XS5UbTyrbITak2vBq3bCTJvARA_0q1UdPN6r3xkOXjyGVqD4AUFnpXskVuCRDGhqaSQfPKb5acjI/s320/WAC00029.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Enchanted, Watson strolls out to one of the finest scenes in all
England. Beneath a dramatic, roiling clouded sky the hills are lit
with the most exquisite range of auburns and russets, mossy green
fading to sage. The wooded islands of the lake issue their hidden
challenge to the explorer and the gunmetal expanse of the water its
warning. Watson's reverie is interrupted by a knocking, Holmes
beckoning him in. As the Doctor leaves the terrace, a familiar face
appears below. Sebastian Moran. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_cm0XZuR14zTKUmVnG6gd0qSksEpg9NrXH7YsXX6t67JrP-bNDrNEqnCL-pDKwvDUVgXO4dJS0DK2XOe3Qk7cDgCeU7a1PXaDGW_7-DRdwb8RykZ3km-umtPkvksVZcuiKMkff_9MxZk/s1600/WAC00030.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_cm0XZuR14zTKUmVnG6gd0qSksEpg9NrXH7YsXX6t67JrP-bNDrNEqnCL-pDKwvDUVgXO4dJS0DK2XOe3Qk7cDgCeU7a1PXaDGW_7-DRdwb8RykZ3km-umtPkvksVZcuiKMkff_9MxZk/s320/WAC00030.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sebastian Moran as played by Tim Killick</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Holmes asks a favour; as he played
Lear once, with unhappy memories, would Watson mind swapping?. He
agrees and the two exchange keys. </span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
Plough Inn, the yokel's local. Despairing of such dreariness, Holmes'
mood brightens when the villagers offer him a drink. While Holmes
indulges, Moran quietly saws through the railings of the Hamlet
room's terrace. Poor Watson can only watch from the wings as the
whisky flows and the thespian engages his audience. Things don't
improve when the serving girl, her gaze on the great man, scrapes his
left-overs onto Watson's meal and takes both. Holmes starts to regale
his admirers with the tale of the The Manchurian Mambo, until Watson
enlightens him; Mamba. Smooth as treacle, the old fraud goes back to
relate how he opened the door to a bunch of Manchurians all
performing a festive Caribbean dance. Patience exhausted once more,
Watson takes a stroll, consoling himself with the thought that it is
just this one more time, then he is rid of the fellow. Back in the
Plough, the story concludes with Holmes recounting how he dodged a
snake's strike – if it wasn't for his fancy footwork, he'd be
standing here a dead man. Offered another drink, he states me must be
up early. Perhaps one more...</span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgchj4MVhxnaxCFSUhZQ9OYuYslXJ6SU3DZH59Lz3KGfRnN-A9-VycUkr5-FdUHKkaRqxva85JNLf597xcKJxvHDnCnmEQSN6RHmu5AY608qvDiWeGzVczv_wuETjyd5agMFgUy5G08pHc/s1600/rQiq74u6OjrLffN22d8YhNwdB5q.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgchj4MVhxnaxCFSUhZQ9OYuYslXJ6SU3DZH59Lz3KGfRnN-A9-VycUkr5-FdUHKkaRqxva85JNLf597xcKJxvHDnCnmEQSN6RHmu5AY608qvDiWeGzVczv_wuETjyd5agMFgUy5G08pHc/s320/rQiq74u6OjrLffN22d8YhNwdB5q.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-YiprRQSXQ80FOkE86_ig2FFYPzBkJcZBBSAjcyNLElEqs9Z9e5La2Mj9icDRMEuR-ab3UIvw_VyhSLmq2FxnbVcokaSkD3C9S7STLpizjpqRFC9FIEEEmqBXiEypKPlWzNNi_qr7ROM/s1600/9+THE+DUKE+SAYS+HELLO.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-YiprRQSXQ80FOkE86_ig2FFYPzBkJcZBBSAjcyNLElEqs9Z9e5La2Mj9icDRMEuR-ab3UIvw_VyhSLmq2FxnbVcokaSkD3C9S7STLpizjpqRFC9FIEEEmqBXiEypKPlWzNNi_qr7ROM/s320/9+THE+DUKE+SAYS+HELLO.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Staggering
through the door of the Shakespeare Arms, Holmes is clearly three
sheets to the wind. Not to worry; The Duke has waited up specially,
showing his appreciation in his customary toothy manner and knocking
his guest clean out of the door. Battling his way back in to his
(exchanged) room, Holmes informs Duke he isn't the Hound of the
Baskervilles. Not a bad attempt, though. Fresh air is what's needed.
Predictably, he goes straight for the sawn-off section of railing and
is catapulted over, his fall saved by his cape, which snags on the
railing's spear-points. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Dangling perilously above more spear-points
he calls for help. Watson is asleep, however, waking to see the
unusual image of his creation hung outside his window screaming for
assistance. Dashing up to the Hamlet room and out to the terrace, the
Doctor manages to haul his friend to safety. Snarling and barking,
The Duke comes to help too – straight through the window pane and
at Holmes, knocking him onto his backside with a terrific crash and
clattering. 'Fascinating', Watson announces – the railing has
clearly been cut through. </span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
morning and the pair step from a steam-launch crewed by a boatman and
constable and onto a jetty. The water laps at the shore by a stone
cottage where Lord Mayor The Right Honourable Gerald Fitzwalter
Johnson awaits. The cottage is the one Mr. Giles leased through a
London company. The worthy goes forward, but is halted by a stern
admonition from Watson. Mr. Holmes must have a chance to inspect the
area for clues. Cheekily, Holmes adds he has trained Watson well and
they approach the cottage.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Holmes
(Looking up at the sky) - What am I looking for?<br />Watson -
Footprints.<br />Holmes – Right. (Looks down)<br />Have I found any
yet?<br />Watson - No, not yet.<br />Holmes - Right. Let me know when I
do. </i></span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Inside,
it is clear from all the dust that the place hasn't been occupied in
months. No sooner has Watson observed this than the Constable comes
rushing in; they've found Donald Ayres. 'Who?' asks Holmes. The body
of the boatman is brought ashore from the lake by two more
constables. As Watson and co. arrive, the first constable goes to
examine the corpse, but the Lord Mayor insists Holmes be the first to
do so. (Somewhat of an odd choice with a Doctor present.) Clearly, Holmes isn't happy about this, but a shake of the
head from Watson leaves him no choice.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">This examination consists of a
bit of kicking and poking with a stick. More eye rolling and sighing
from Watson as Sherlock Holmes delivers his verdict, it being his
opinion that the man is dead. He's a genius!. A recurring joke we've
already seen – whatever inanity Holmes offers in his 'official'
voice is received as the work of a master-mind. </span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">At
the railway station, Doctor Watson purchases two first-class tickets
for London, aware of the loitering presence of Moran. Moriarty's man
is clearly keeping tabs on the investigation. Signing autographs,
Holmes offers the Lord Mayor his opinion. Clearly Giles and Ayres
were caught in the storm and drowned. </span></span></span>
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<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Lord
Mayor - Yes, and with that heavy suitcase attached<br />to his wrist
and the lake being so deep...<br />Holmes - Quite. Pulled the poor
wretch to the bottom,<br />struggling futilely, flailing desperately,
as the cold, </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>black
water sealed his fate for ever...</i></span></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Well,
it's certainly been a lark. Thank you. </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh59tyHsN3CJ1z5QCJIns3ugjavE7skd-qs5u9Ejh_v-AUwVd6MewRtvgtaIGIxJC-F0ZZaSa22h7mm-gww4bRxZBmNP_k8uxJq1yOKYqMrvXU5baQBjI48cpSgoGpNofzHsMDr_S4PBi8/s1600/WAC00035.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh59tyHsN3CJ1z5QCJIns3ugjavE7skd-qs5u9Ejh_v-AUwVd6MewRtvgtaIGIxJC-F0ZZaSa22h7mm-gww4bRxZBmNP_k8uxJq1yOKYqMrvXU5baQBjI48cpSgoGpNofzHsMDr_S4PBi8/s320/WAC00035.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></span></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">As
the train takes the pair from Windermere, Holmes speculates on what
they know. Giles was on the boat. Watson corrects him - No, he
wasn't. He arrived in Windermere. No, he didn't. Ah – well, we know
Giles was behind the theft of the printing plates. No, he wasn't. Is
there anything we <i>do </i>know for a fact?. Only that there's an
evil mastermind behind all of it. Holmes pulls the communicating
cord, sending the train screeching to a halt. In an adjacent field,
Holmes is clearly panicked by the news Professor Moriarty is at the
centre of the plot. As the other passengers and train crew watch in
bemusement, Watson attempts to calm Holmes' nerves. He points out the
attempt on Holmes life was an attempt on his own; he being the
intended occupant of the room in question. Moriarty knows <i>Watson
</i>is the only match for his evil genius and knows Holmes is an
idiot!. </span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span>
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhraTCrPFCrHWbxtXKngnP2-AC0Jnj78rXve7pL5WnK8Wq5N4Wj7PzDFdKz76HfT_YwXJP-PlSG-PgvtVyNCim0uxcaEPEtvof6ES4831IArhktgN7ounIxkB46mTUTKsG3X1IxB8RSu1E/s1600/WAC00044.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhraTCrPFCrHWbxtXKngnP2-AC0Jnj78rXve7pL5WnK8Wq5N4Wj7PzDFdKz76HfT_YwXJP-PlSG-PgvtVyNCim0uxcaEPEtvof6ES4831IArhktgN7ounIxkB46mTUTKsG3X1IxB8RSu1E/s320/WAC00044.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="left" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">London,
night. The lamp-lighters go about their trade. A carriage drops a
pretty young lady off outside the home of Peter Giles.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzTvi327vrylocPWW3aQ-cPMum4hJyzPmgkgJVwH53JGToWZNYxEgoARfRajS_FPraDn5KAJbeoqSfMuFg8OXqghfl_P9Y_KnRdQB8vWtjs2CX__UyYHDiaQAMot_VxEZiHRnr5UZjmCo/s1600/WAC00039.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzTvi327vrylocPWW3aQ-cPMum4hJyzPmgkgJVwH53JGToWZNYxEgoARfRajS_FPraDn5KAJbeoqSfMuFg8OXqghfl_P9Y_KnRdQB8vWtjs2CX__UyYHDiaQAMot_VxEZiHRnr5UZjmCo/s320/WAC00039.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Miss Lesley
Giles? Watson introduces himself, along with a distinctly nervous
Holmes. In his 'working' voice, Holmes informs her of the
Government's suspicion against her Father and that he is at the
bottom of Lake Windermere, drowned like a rat. Watson <i>just</i>
fails to catch her as she faints. Reviving her with salts, Watson
complies with Holmes' directive to fetch water – which Holmes then
drinks. The Doctor states she fainted before Holmes could add his own
theory; that her Father is innocent, alive and well. He also believes
he has been abducted. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Showing
her up to Giles' room, Watson construes from the unmade bed in an
otherwise impeccable house, this was the scene of abduction. An
imposter went up to Windermere and staged a mock drowning,
unfortunately resulting in the death of the boatman by murder.
Forgetting himself, Holmes asks why. As Lesley turns to him in
surprise, he raises a finger and changes tone; 'Why, you ask... fill
in the details, Watson.' Clearly, the intent was to make everyone
believe both Printer and Plates were resting at the bottom of Lake
Windermere. Effortlessly, Holmes concludes that the fool Lestrade
would believe the case closed, leaving the villain free to wreak
havoc with the economy of the Empire. 'All quite elementary', states
Holmes, opening the door to two tough-looking stooges. The door is
thrown open, trapping Holmes behind as the thugs go for Lesley.
Gallantly, Watson leaps into the fray, but is hurled bodily over the
bed. Screaming for dear life, Lesley is being carried bodily
down-stairs. Finally free, Holmes rugby-tackles the second goon,
grabbing his foot and they crash down the stair case together. The
other smashes a vase over the detectives' head, knocking him
senseless. As Watson bounds down the stairs to resume the fight, the
two make a run for it, leaving Lesley behind. </span></span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrRmrssLkbnU-jtMgM24dNcPZWAE4joR6NJGFvuDSLn5U0702nHX6DtQk9XQbNptvs8wcuf2JQMgioCUl4IgeNavFl1_1Y5qWPnPlwQjGUM2EzNKVju-1IRL0QxnrhOM69IfpFIikvn20/s1600/WAC00040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrRmrssLkbnU-jtMgM24dNcPZWAE4joR6NJGFvuDSLn5U0702nHX6DtQk9XQbNptvs8wcuf2JQMgioCUl4IgeNavFl1_1Y5qWPnPlwQjGUM2EzNKVju-1IRL0QxnrhOM69IfpFIikvn20/s320/WAC00040.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Watson
ensures the two kidnappers have gone, returning to find Lesley
gushing over Holmes' bravery. The Doctor examines the shoe Holmes
tore from the villain's foot. Holmes gives her some old flannel about
danger being his trade and Watson agrees she should stay at Baker
Street. Once there, Watson sets to work examining the shoe, a patent
leather design from Italy, caked with mud from the vicinity of the
Thames.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyKdefFPayz27UCoxEjcfJwqpvfY8ybDEm3XPZQxpxgn4FmHx-KommzgCjN5RSZlmMrskwo_I-nILlLIkXNruP8pqN7k8QjBygeS8heBrLEwfAJdlmBS3t7_pCFMTAwwBiRt0V58SuRfc/s1600/kinopoisk.ru-Without-a-Clue-1843030.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyKdefFPayz27UCoxEjcfJwqpvfY8ybDEm3XPZQxpxgn4FmHx-KommzgCjN5RSZlmMrskwo_I-nILlLIkXNruP8pqN7k8QjBygeS8heBrLEwfAJdlmBS3t7_pCFMTAwwBiRt0V58SuRfc/s320/kinopoisk.ru-Without-a-Clue-1843030.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSpZ4cNi-5Krwfopd5lOJ_D2yjXI3T7okfMvKL5Ji9AgFDYNcmpIEQw4Cw8WAxejnkvXm3x17gd-4w3f_0NeJSqB7wkygUa10ZRkNCboqjcRhBfmvCD9yTwcI7zoCn-dPzb85DJj6n6VM/s1600/13+PEEPING+SHERLOCK.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSpZ4cNi-5Krwfopd5lOJ_D2yjXI3T7okfMvKL5Ji9AgFDYNcmpIEQw4Cw8WAxejnkvXm3x17gd-4w3f_0NeJSqB7wkygUa10ZRkNCboqjcRhBfmvCD9yTwcI7zoCn-dPzb85DJj6n6VM/s320/13+PEEPING+SHERLOCK.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYClDYUrcgrG2J6rbPXsQtSMTzxsvfOrL4sWuTfV62PK8Np4AHHoH7nb-ycpJ8Hz0mEUnNlp_pLZz5Sm4FGfbSDtY0stZxypNC9Yqa8tE7bVH0CoGdEXDdzJgWHmdd5W0DeplGhgqYwOw/s1600/genie-und-schnauze-7-rcm0x1920u.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYClDYUrcgrG2J6rbPXsQtSMTzxsvfOrL4sWuTfV62PK8Np4AHHoH7nb-ycpJ8Hz0mEUnNlp_pLZz5Sm4FGfbSDtY0stZxypNC9Yqa8tE7bVH0CoGdEXDdzJgWHmdd5W0DeplGhgqYwOw/s320/genie-und-schnauze-7-rcm0x1920u.jpg" width="208" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Lysette Anthony is Lesley Giles - or is she?.</span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Mud isn't the only dirt here as Holmes' nature re-asserts
itself with a sneak through the keyhole of his bedroom where Lesley
is undressing. As she removes a stocking, the pervy old git (A
British turn of phrase usually associated with Members of
Parliament.) lets out an involuntary whoop and as the startled girl
opens the door, Holmes makes a leap to sit on a chair, breaking
Watson's glass as he goes. Watson reassures her she will be
undisturbed, giving Holmes a knowing look as he does so. </span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm8kFumvBnb7o7DBI_DNjNUYPRHXXUUiV2LZUQJriQAMJlm4cujz2-z9M20L7sCgOYnNBoH18jq4k0yw1fOojjVcNswm7KuiGiDoDRFkb4dUWXzQRpo7D-x4N7nSt3ZuSrzolZ5zD65KU/s1600/kinopoisk.ru-Without-a-Clue-1843027.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm8kFumvBnb7o7DBI_DNjNUYPRHXXUUiV2LZUQJriQAMJlm4cujz2-z9M20L7sCgOYnNBoH18jq4k0yw1fOojjVcNswm7KuiGiDoDRFkb4dUWXzQRpo7D-x4N7nSt3ZuSrzolZ5zD65KU/s320/kinopoisk.ru-Without-a-Clue-1843027.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Morning
and the bell in the Westminster Clock Tower chimes for ten. Ok, Big
Ben chimes ten.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNqHOCnFm0FLlc_MH3bRSkFvv1CKo7Z18XSIzTx5eFbCe9Utp_8kLY9sRjGRnEEBEQNbiVE2uQVLg6JrW-IU6SZsvbsv54ufpe_TYaaGiiJR9bCYT4W8euMvBP0WdAZLLfsFXhijEoR0A/s1600/WAC00043.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNqHOCnFm0FLlc_MH3bRSkFvv1CKo7Z18XSIzTx5eFbCe9Utp_8kLY9sRjGRnEEBEQNbiVE2uQVLg6JrW-IU6SZsvbsv54ufpe_TYaaGiiJR9bCYT4W8euMvBP0WdAZLLfsFXhijEoR0A/s320/WAC00043.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Happy now?. Honestly... in 221b, the clock sounds
it's own version of the Westminster Chimes and Lesley emerges from
Holmes' room. Holmes himself is snoring away on the sofa, beneath a
tiger skin. She wakes Holmes, who is surprised to find Watson gone.
Ever the Lech, Holmes tries it on and, getting the picture, she
withdraws to finish dressing. As Holmes goes to the keyhole, a
scandalised Mrs. Hudson catches him <i>in flagrante.</i></span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM1oKgBZvSxX1bpX-HcOsSWnkoVLS2Tp2fGkAqldeedcEKGCBwyLh_KGXJsJJ5zKvJvpCj1zKsSqtBY4_3bfEp81RY2TyUALYfXG6zfyg1va87g4xdus2DiaVLmvMpp_M05bHVFzZVfxc/s1600/WAC00046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM1oKgBZvSxX1bpX-HcOsSWnkoVLS2Tp2fGkAqldeedcEKGCBwyLh_KGXJsJJ5zKvJvpCj1zKsSqtBY4_3bfEp81RY2TyUALYfXG6zfyg1va87g4xdus2DiaVLmvMpp_M05bHVFzZVfxc/s320/WAC00046.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Pat Keen is Mrs. Hudson.</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div align="left" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Manufacturing
his own outrage, the miscreant stands accusingly. How many times must
he tell her to knock?. Has she no respect for people's privacy?. The
indomitable landlady takes Lesley under her wing, inviting her down
to tea in the safety of her own quarters. As for Holmes, he has
visitors; Lord Smithwick and Lestrade. Though events did not turn out
as hoped, Her Majesty has insisted Holmes receive a reward. Two
constables bring in the reward – a portrait of Queen Victoria.
Holmes shams delight as only a professional can. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span>
</div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Lestrade
cannot resist a dig at Holmes' abilities; a pity he had to go all
that way to confirm the Inspector's theories. Lestrade's theories
were wrong, rejoins Holmes. The Inspector charges that Holmes refuses
to accept he solved the case first. Giles is dead and the plates
lost, case closed. Case OPEN, is Holmes' comeback; neither Giles nor
the plates were ever in Windermere. This last elicits a grimace from
Watson, who has entered the room. Lord Smithwick gestures animatedly
and the constables hurry out with the painting. Dropping Holmes right
in it, Watson states Holmes expects to solve the case within three
days... and leaves the clueless actor to fill in the details. He
bluffs that come Friday, the Chancellor will have his plates.
Overcome, the watery old buffoon urges the Detective to succeed,
before news of the theft leaks out and causes widespread panic.
Soothingly, Holmes states The Empire needs all of us to remain calm.
Closing the door, he explodes at Watson. Is he out of his bloody
mind?. </span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Doctor
Watson tells Holmes he'll need his coat; he's (Holmes) made some
excellent discoveries this morning. The Royal Mint purchased its
paper from the Camden paper mill. Miss Giles bustles out to ask if
the visitors concerned her Father. Is there any news?. Sadly, no,
replies Watson, adding that Holmes had an idea last night and they
are off to continue the investigation. Turning down Lesley's offer to
accompany them, the two leave by cab. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sadly, she watches them depart.
As the hansom conducts them from Baker Street, the Doctor emits a
short laugh as he reads the reply to a telegram he sent last night.
The joke? - all in due time. Wiggins, the irrepressible head of the
Irregulars is waiting and flags them down. The Doctor's theory was
right!; 'they' were sitting there, just waiting for customs. Wiggins
jumps in and they make for Southwark Docks (Presumably Surrey Docks). </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span>
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjixuJlLVL4cdhQAExwLx50IHXcV6oCUSu35o0l0GufkO__oEuTFkUr61pQO8hWMjskkODaLBdx_7qt3ackpIyptO37zfYBuV2WdhDkOgxTU3VlLO2_KxXQi1uTz9sYUq4nRca5bCmPwUg/s1600/WAC00050.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjixuJlLVL4cdhQAExwLx50IHXcV6oCUSu35o0l0GufkO__oEuTFkUr61pQO8hWMjskkODaLBdx_7qt3ackpIyptO37zfYBuV2WdhDkOgxTU3VlLO2_KxXQi1uTz9sYUq4nRca5bCmPwUg/s320/WAC00050.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Matthew Savage appears as Wiggins. These days, he's the keyboard player for The Levellers.</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
Docks are a hive of activity, cargo being busily loaded and unloaded,
sailors climbing the rigging of the tall ships in the background,
Wiggins stealing Holmes' watch. The urchin shows our heroes to a pile
of crates, filled with imported shoes stamped 'Made in Italy'.
Alongside, the <i>Kaskelot, </i>in this morning from Germany, two
days late. Watson is delighted with his protege and throws him a
weighty coin, receiving a jaunty salute in return. Wiggins then
departs, presumably to buy some gin. Watson invites Holmes to picture
it; Moriarty's henchmen, waiting under cover of night for the ship to
dock. The ship is delayed and being men of no moral fibre, they help
themselves to a new pair of shoes. Holmes wonders if they have them
in brown. </span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
Surr-<i>Southwark</i> Docks, Night. (The joke falls flat as they
filmed this in Gloucester anyway.) A small launch approaches and
Watson is ready. Holmes is trying out his new shoes when the Doctor
thrusts him back into the cover of the crates, cautioning silence.
Two ruffians alight, followed by Professor Moriarty.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">As the concealed
pair look on, the henchmen break open a crate containing cuckoo
clocks. Inside is a small barrel marked 'TINTE'. Watson explains this
is German for 'INK', Morairty already has the paper he needs, taken
from the paper mill, burned to the ground as cover for the theft. The
John Clay case was a mere diversion, staged to throw Watson off the
scent. Just then, a night watchman spots the illicit acticity and is
held fast by Moran and his accomplice. Moran's apology does not
diminish the Professor's ire, the latter stepping forward elegantly
in topper and cane to light a panatella. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Moriarty
- Sorry indeed.<br />I went to all this trouble<br />for the sake of
discretion...<br />..and then you allow this to happen.<br />Well? </i></span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>(Moran
produces a knife and slits the watchman's throat.)</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Watson
prepares his revolver, Holmes fumbles for his as Moriarty tips the
unfortunate watchman into the water with his cane. Generously, Watson
gives Holmes some bullets for his pistol, urging him to try not to
shoot himself – at least, not until he gives the signal. Holmes
appears petrified and as Watson sneaks forward manages to drop the
cartridges with a clatter. Moriarty and Moran spot the hunched figure
behind the crates and the Professor signals the boatman to cast off,
Moran to kill the interloper. As the killer raises his knife to throw
it, Watson spots the danger and shouts 'Holmes!' at which, Holmes
stands up presenting a perfect target for the blade!. Moran misses by
a whisker, Holmes panics and pulls his trigger, the round blasting
into the precious ink, some of which spurts up to blind the knifeman. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Watson opens his account with a few well-aimed shots at Moriarty, who
returns the favour with his own revolver. Using the ship as cover,
the Professor is in Holmes' line of sight and he aims carefully. 'Die
Moriarty.' The words come through clenched teeth as he pulls the
trigger – misses hopelessly, hitting the ships bell, the shot
ricochets to sever a rope above Holmes' head, depositing a heavy net
onto him, trapping him. Moriarty shoots and nearly kills him, before
making a break for it in his launch along the canal. </span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Watson
enters the water and swims out to the launch as a freed Holmes
wonders where he is. Hanging on to a fender line, Watson is carried
alongside the unsuspecting crooks, until Holmes stupidly alerts
Moriarty by calling across asking what he's up to. Releasing the
line, Watson swims clear, but Moriarty's pistol speaks four times in
quick succession. Thrashing around in apparent agony, Doctor John
Watson sinks below the surface. Divesting himself of outer garments,
Holmes jumps in, but of his friend and creator, there is no trace. </span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
sun is climbing over the yard-arm as a sergeant of police comes to
inform Holmes there has been no sign of a body. Blanketed, Holmes
sits by a brazier bedraggled and forlorn. Wordlessly, he rises, the
crowd of onlookers parting respectfully as he stands, his thoughts
his own. </span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
door of 221b opens and a weary Sherlock Holmes trudges the stairs.
Hearing his tread, Lesley and Mrs.Hudson hurry out to be told the
terrible news. Lesley's effort to console the distraught Landlady
with the thought Holmes is still alive backfires, but then a loud
thump and a shower of dust from the ceiling sends them rushing
upstairs. Holmes is on the floor, a noose around his neck.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Over-estimating the rope he would need to end his life the latest
thing he's botched. Miss Giles protests Holmes can avenge Watson's
death by catching Moriarty and rescuing her father. Holmes goes to
leave, Miss Giles following him.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Holmes
- Oh, what a good idea! While I'm at it,<br />I'll bring in the Loch
Ness Monster.<br />Lesley - Please, Mr. Holmes. I don't
understand.<br />Holmes - I am not a detective. I never solved
anything.<br />- Dr Watson did.<br />Lesley - Oh, nonsense. You're just
upset.<br />Holmes - I couldn't detect horse manure if I stepped in it.
</i></span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
bar at the Criterion. Propping the bar, Holmes is the only customer.
Henry, the barman asks if he wants another whisky. Perhaps not –
Holmes' grief has exceeded his resources. Henry pours the drink
anyway. On the House. Lord Smithwick and Lestrade appear, Mrs. Hudson
having tipped them off. Offering condolences, Smithwick trusts
Watson's death will have no bearing on the outcome of the case, which
he promised to solve by Friday. Holmes is at the point of confession
when Lestrade cuts in with his view that Watson made that promise,
not in full possession of the facts. He adds Her Majesty should rely
on trained criminologists such as himself. Though well-meant, the
doctor was no detective. Unsurprisingly, this irks Holmes, who slips
into 'official Holmes' stance to re-inforce his original promise to
The Chancellor; the plates will be in his hands come Friday.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Enervated
by the challenge, Holmes charges up the familiar stairs to his
lodgings and calls down to Mrs. Hudson; the game's afoot. As he sets
up blackboard on easel, Lesley and Mrs.Hudson watch. Watson always
said; start by listing what you know. Chalking the number '1' he
writes 'Moriarty'. Lesley is stricken by his genius; Isn't he
wonderful?. Number '2' is where is comes off the rails and, sensing a
long wait, Mrs. Hudson goes to make tea. </span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">A
half-printed Bank of England Five Pound note floats in the river at
Camden Lock. Who should happen by but Wiggins?. Spotting the
significance of the odd note, he rushes to Baker Street.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Baker
Street at night. Holmes is still stuck on '2', so erases it and goes
back to '1'. Perhaps the clue is in Moriarty's name. Both ladies are
asleep by this point. Waking them with a shout, Holmes declares he
has got it!; his real name is Arty Morty. Wiggins bursts in – was
the door unlocked? - and declares he has found a five pound note.
</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Holmes
replies; '</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Lucky
y</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">ou.'
to be told it's only half-printed. As Holmes shuts his door, his
answer to </span></span><span style="color: black;"><i>that </i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">is
'</span></span><span style="color: black;">I suppose it's only worth </span><span style="color: black;">£</span><span style="color: black;">2
10s, then.</span><span style="color: black;">' The penny – or note –
drops and the note comes under scrutiny. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black;">The normal Fiver carries a
six digit serial number, this one has but three; 234. Rounding on
Miss Giles, Holmes, Hudson and Wiggins demand to know the
significance. A measurement? Address? Amount? Page Number?. Did Mr.
Giles have a favourite book? - Holmes knows the answer there, and
hurries to fetch the Bible he has at his bedside. Rather, </span><span style="color: black;"><i>beneath
</i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">his
bedside as he's using it to level the bed out. </span></span></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Mrs.
Hudson asks Lesley if her Father had a favourite book of the Bible –
she doesn't recall, but Holmes does. Opening the Book of Psalms, he
reads from the </span></span><span style="color: black;"><i>t</i></span><span style="color: black;"><i>wenty-third</i></span><span style="color: black;">
Psalm, verse </span><span style="color: black;"><i>four</i></span><span style="color: black;">.</span><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span></i></span><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">'</span></i></span><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Yea,
though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death.</span></i></span><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">'</span></i></span><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span></i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Does
it mean anything? - it does to Holmes!. Going</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
to his mirror, he turns it to reveal the poster on the reverse. </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">The
Shadow of Death </span></i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">was
the last play staged at The Orpheum theatre, closing after one night.
A gripping drama, the review in the Telegram praised the performance
of Reginald Kincaid for providing some welcome laughter. In a drama?.
Never mind... </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Dressing
hurriedly, Holmes notes the Fleet river runs under that part of town,
below the Orpheum. Bundling Mrs.Hudson into a cab, Holmes tells
Wiggins to inform Scotland Yard. Helpfully, lesley offers to do this
– she will be listened to (more than a street urchin.) Agreeing,
Holmes and Wiggins climb onto the back. To the theatre!. </span></span></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">The
abandoned theatre sits unlit, unloved. A poster for </span></span><span style="color: black;"><i>The
Shadow of Death </i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">still
graces the front, with a hand-written critique reading </span></span><span style="color: black;"><i>THIS
STINKS. </i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Creeping
along, the singular trio duck as a carriage approaches. Sebastian
Moran and Professor Moriarty step down, the professor generously
paying the Cabbie with a five pound note. The driver cannot believe
his luck, but think nothing of it, says Moriarty – he prints his
own. The cabman dies laughing as Moran's blade finds his jugular.
Moran retrieves his Master's note and the latter sends the cab off by
tapping the reins with his cane. Unaware of the three loiterers a few
feet away, Moriarty and his henchman enter the Orpheum as Big Ben
sounds his chimes. </span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Going
through the hole knocked in a wall in the basement, the Professor
tells Moran they will move the barge out at high tide. Outside,
Holmes orders Wiggins back round to the front to keep an eye out for
the police when they arrive. Any bets when that might be?. </span></span></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Mrs.
Hudson is rather startled to find Holmes intends them both to climb a
metal ladder, but she follows him through an opened skylight,
climbing down to rest on his shoulders. Which is where </span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">it
goes awry; Holmes, beneath her skirts is blinded and staggers around,
into a fire bucket, which he sends clattering down the stairs with a
terrible racket. Inevitably, Moran hears this and goes to
investigate. </span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Searching
backstage, he looks around, but sees nothing. Had he looked </span></span><span style="color: black;"><i>upwards</i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">,
at the rafters he would have spotted Holmes and Hudson perched there.
A twist of the switch and the stage-lights flare into life, Moran
stepping out onto the stage to peer into the auditorium. Mrs. Hudson
leans forward to see better and accidentally overbalances, sending
herself and Holmes toppling from the catwalk, Holmes desperately
grabbing at a rope. With the landlady clinging on for dear life, he
swings the full length of the stage, Moran turning to see nothing out
of place. </span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">He
leaves and Holmes switches to another rope, which raises a piece of
scenery as the pair drop gently to the ground. </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> </span></span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">In
the tunnel below, Moran informs the Professor the noise was probably
rats. Above, the odd couple listen as noises carry up to them through
the boards. Holmes goes to centre-stage while, umbrella under her arm
she goes over to the wings and a large lever hung with a sign ;
DANGER – DO NOT TOUCH. Of course, it is a trap door and inevitably
she trips the lever with her brolly.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Down goes Sherlock – straight
into a drum-kit, cymbals and all. Mrs. Hudson's apologises, but
Holmes assures her they are making good progress. He urges her to be
quiet – and knocks over a cymbal, promptly getting his foot caught
in another. Freeing his foot, he blunders into some hanging cowbells.
So long as Moriarty and friends have suddenly gone stone-deaf, all
should be well. Holmes finally spots the hole in the wall and tells
the landlady of his find. Outside, the usually-plucky Wiggins
however, has run out of nerve and runs off. Through the wall goes
Holmes, to see what he can see.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Striding
in, Moriarty and Moran enter a gas-lit chamber where a printing press
is stamping out note after note, tended, of course by the captive
Peter Giles. Turning off the press, the Professor states his
satisfaction with Giles; the Queen herself couldn't tell the
difference. However – he unfolds a damp note – </span></span><span style="color: black;"><i>this
one </i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">appears
only half printed. Found on the bank of the river. </span></span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">A
reject, Giles assures his captor, nervously. Discarded to be carried
out on the tide. Suppose we examine this 'reject'? Asks the
Professor; oh yes, </span></span><span style="color: black;"><i>234...
</i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">clever.
Holmes opens a hatch to look down on the makeshift Mint as Moriarty
expresses his view it is a shame the only person capable of deducing
the clue is lying at the bottom of the Thames. Who should walk in,
then, but Lesley Giles?. Moriarty is irritated at her arrival; he
told her to keep an eye on 'that imbecile' – he may yet stumble
onto something. 'Oh he has.' states Lesley. They know all about this
place, luckily Holmes sent her to fetch Scotland Yard.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> </span></span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Hearing
all this, Sherlock Holmes decided he needs a plan of attack.
Selecting an oil lantern, he then rejects it. The Professor orders
his underlings to begin packing and as Moran grabs the hapless Mr.
Giles, knife at his throat Moriarty informs him despite his
'foolishness' he has done a good job and earned a quick death.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Watson
- Not so fast Moriarty<br />Moriarty - Watson.<br />Watson - I've been
waiting hours for your arrival...<br />..Professor. </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Yes,
Watson!; the Doctor – quite alive – steps out from behind some
crates, levelling his revolver. Lesley rushes forward, her 'Thank
God, you're here.' falling on deaf ears. Watson praises his adversary
for planting this spy in his camp – a cable to France revealed a
rather unique fact about the </span><i>real </i><span style="font-style: normal;">Lesley
Giles, somewhat of an embarrassment to the Giles family he would
consider. Hanging down from the hatchway, Holmes waves to get his old
friend's attention, giving 'Lesley' and a henchman the opportunity to
disarm </span><span style="font-style: normal;">and overpower </span><span style="font-style: normal;">the
Doctor. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">The Professor then
asks if Watson would like to meet the </span><i>real </i><span style="font-style: normal;">Leslie
Giles. (Yes, Les- with a 'lie', not a 'ley'.) A brutish henchman then
leads in a blindfolded woman. Forcing Leslie to her knees, Moriarty
draws his revolver and, as he won't see the Empire forced to her
knees, offers Watson the chance to see his captives murdered instead.
</span></span></span></span>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">At
the last possible instant, Holmes charges, trips on the discarded
lantern he placed by the hatch and hurtles down onto the barge with a
heavy thump, sending forged fivers flying. Clutching the now-broken
lantern in one hand, he strikes a match. If anybody moves, there'll
be a roasting. Unimpressed, the Napoleon of Crime strolls forward.
Has it occurred to Holmes that if he sets fire to the money, he will
burn to death?. </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPYzzYx2WXi38kqTiiy5qol-PlgYBLficEIQSBVu8fNQ_hoXJogr_7js_r_lwZZFiFGIyNYdY_K1Gq8PQZpAuQeNkQEz3l4mmZZkgah4CMaCr9X7azTv6eAZjytK4FYFVSMeAeydc50Gc/s1600/22+HOT+MONEY.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPYzzYx2WXi38kqTiiy5qol-PlgYBLficEIQSBVu8fNQ_hoXJogr_7js_r_lwZZFiFGIyNYdY_K1Gq8PQZpAuQeNkQEz3l4mmZZkgah4CMaCr9X7azTv6eAZjytK4FYFVSMeAeydc50Gc/s320/22+HOT+MONEY.gif" width="320" /></a></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Erm... of course it has!. Burning his fingers with
the match, the butter-fingered buffoon drops it, the money erupting
into flame. Frantically, Moriarty orders the flames be extinguished –
and watson takes advantage of the confusion to deliver </span><span style="font-style: normal;">a
well-placed elbow and a right cross to the goon holding him. Holmes
swings free of the conflagration, Moriarty's shot coming close.
Watson fires, hitting a large vat of solvent next to some jugs of
kerosene, sending the inflammable liquid jetting out in a stream. </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> </span></span></span></span>
</div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Joining
Watson and Mr. Giles Holmes informs the Doctor he had thought him
dead. He may well be right. A burning note then ignites the pooled
solvent. Humming </span><i>Rock of Ages </i><span style="font-style: normal;">and
quite unaware of the impending firestorm, Mrs. Hudson brings a
theatrical throne over to sit by the open trap-door. The fire is out
of control, Moriarty's goons making a run for it to his disgust.
</span><span style="font-style: normal;">Moran hurries up to warn his
employer of the danger; the gas mains are heating up, </span><span style="font-style: normal;">a
(rather convenient) pressure gauge rising already</span><span style="font-style: normal;">.
Moriarty runs to get the printing plates and 'Lesley' takes over,
shooting at watson and co. to keep them pinned. Holmes releases the
real Leslie from 'her' bonds, the blindfold slipping off with </span><i>his
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">wig. Leslie Giles is, of course,
a transvestite.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg44P-YDRhvkYMXMFC0oEe3g7Rd29Xodj5GRmYTLMFOVhe0BhjJUA57ywSBx6ZIcvRZlemc0YcpFJmiHq_e2_87BWId_gIQd-j5gYC0cU9smoiPdrlP1Zjr25MED3VinyZPiOUeyhurLD8/s1600/WAC00088.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg44P-YDRhvkYMXMFC0oEe3g7Rd29Xodj5GRmYTLMFOVhe0BhjJUA57ywSBx6ZIcvRZlemc0YcpFJmiHq_e2_87BWId_gIQd-j5gYC0cU9smoiPdrlP1Zjr25MED3VinyZPiOUeyhurLD8/s320/WAC00088.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Leslie Giles is portrayed by Matthew Sim.</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;">A well-aimed shot by Watson, then, which causes the
Professor to drop the case containing the precious plates. Although
Watson has him cold, he makes a run for it. Finding herself
abandoned, the false Lesley is not impressed, hurrying after the
fleeing felons. Holmes asks Watson why he didn't shoot Moriarty, with
a smile the Doctor pulls the trigger, revealing his revolver empty of
bullets.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> </span></span></span></span>
</div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">To
her surprise, Mrs. Hudson watches as a ladder is put against the
trap-door for a bunch of villainous ruffians to make their escape,
not one of them noticing the rather plump Scottish lady sat
incongruously in the throne behind them. Deciding her umbrella
decidedly lacking in menace, she goes over to a rack containing
swords and selects one as, outside, two Police carriages arrive. The
defecting goons are swiftly rounded up, with liberal use of
truncheons. Next to emerge from the stage is Moran, who pronounces it
to be safe. With a mighty swing, the landlady discovers stage sabres
are blunt as she tries, fails to cut a rope holding a sandbag aloft.
She starts sawing, as Moriarty and Moran make their exit. Annoyed at
her co-conspirators' lack of decorum to a lady, the bogus Lesley is
then felled by the falling bag. Appalled, Mrs. Hudson goes to her aid
– not yet realising her duplicity.</span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Wiggins
watches the stooges being rounded up for the marias, when he suddenly
spots Moriarty and Moran. The Irregular's cry of 'There he is!'
alerts the constables and, treacherously, the Professor ducks back
inside, telling his subordinate to hold them off as he seals the door
from within. Dazed 'Lesley' comes partially to in the arms of Mrs.
Hudson, who then drops her with a thud as she spots Doctor Watson,
whom she had, of course, believed dead. </span></span></span>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Watson
- It became necessary for me to stage my death,<br />so I might work
unobserved for a few days.<br />Holmes - And I must say, you've caused
quite a bit of grief.<br />You needn't bother with her. (Points at the
imposter.)<br />She's an imposter.<br />Mrs. Hudson - She's not Lesley
Giles? Then who is?<br />Leslie Giles - (Seated on edge of trap-door.)
I am. </i></span></span></span>
</div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>In
shock, Mrs. Hudson drops the imposter (Falls back down with a thump.)</i></span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
villainous Moriarty enters the auditorium, observing the assemblage
is blocking his exit. He asks them to kindly step aside, pulling at
the pommel of his cane to reveal a concealed sword.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Nobly, Holmes
instructs Watson to 'Remove these people from the stage.' He prepares
himself for combat as, outside Lestrade pulls impotently at the
barred door. On stage, Moriarty informs Holmes ordinarily, he doesn't
bother with buffoons and half-wits. 'Buffoons, is it?' rejoinders
Holmes, drawing his landlady's brolly from the rack and opening it.
Ignoring this mishap, he selects a rapier and battle is commenced.
Mrs. Hudson fears for her tenant's life, but Watson bolsters her
spirits; Holmes is, after all in his element now. The two take seats
for the performance. </span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib7pCE-PDLdT-233-1EUnusMgpJkUKVhy-UKs6hc-hlLFdBdhp_l88ZWS3zuH7KPORPC8oR-tZHqUQLvdlxYW1BTCIpo5THskIE_TxHO4XffLRYVBROPUeD_fy6rH9kmd74iTLjozMY8Y/s1600/WAC00093.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib7pCE-PDLdT-233-1EUnusMgpJkUKVhy-UKs6hc-hlLFdBdhp_l88ZWS3zuH7KPORPC8oR-tZHqUQLvdlxYW1BTCIpo5THskIE_TxHO4XffLRYVBROPUeD_fy6rH9kmd74iTLjozMY8Y/s320/WAC00093.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Holmes is, indeed, a veteran of many stage
fights, managing to swipe his opponent's hat from his head to the
applause of his audience. As Holmes taunts Moriarty with details of
his reviews as a stage-blade, he gets a vicious kick to the groin,
sending him over a table. Meanwhile, with Moran in custody Lestrade
has finally made a decision; knock the door down. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnY7qYGdGXbZPay1i688dkIivPxMhQsLWta7_nXTDkqzrCfFU_erglFYO3cdY0S4CO8rSuFpq4fF7T9lFZ95-iwHTXaXloC5SkE_UQJQQhXkztuBthzqoWfVfslFS2DSCWLFMaZKG2jnc/s1600/WAC00094.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnY7qYGdGXbZPay1i688dkIivPxMhQsLWta7_nXTDkqzrCfFU_erglFYO3cdY0S4CO8rSuFpq4fF7T9lFZ95-iwHTXaXloC5SkE_UQJQQhXkztuBthzqoWfVfslFS2DSCWLFMaZKG2jnc/s320/WAC00094.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Standing
on the table, Holmes continues the duel, slicing and hacking at the
Professor, jumping onto the end, though, over-balances the table and
sends him sliding to the boards, losing his sword. In a mannish
voice, Leslie Giles remarks 'He really is quite good.' His father,
seated beside him, is not amused. The constables break through and
Lestrade leads them into the theatre. Regaining his sword, Holmes is
hidden behind a scenery painting of a circus lady with lions, dropped
by a slash of Moriarty's razor-sharp swordstick. Amusingly, he
thrusts his arm through at just the right spot to give the amusing illusion
of a circus-woman brandishing a sword. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiryd0XK-X4QqicvZ6FegQLBFemaZLhWP0Q2HQ6FYE-V21EVK33i0HgXWVyN_ho8OvEKpL1UlJWu5mnAMIKT3Ei32PXLBdJj2WxEWwp6yWR1xXq2qjQsOmtWnYMEfiyaH-HV17Dmq1QpHE/s1600/WAC00095.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiryd0XK-X4QqicvZ6FegQLBFemaZLhWP0Q2HQ6FYE-V21EVK33i0HgXWVyN_ho8OvEKpL1UlJWu5mnAMIKT3Ei32PXLBdJj2WxEWwp6yWR1xXq2qjQsOmtWnYMEfiyaH-HV17Dmq1QpHE/s320/WAC00095.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOqzFG9qixse9tUuSzvA4Ln0qZLEY_M_Xs-i3Ek-McVXuhLM_QsSY5Owwg8iFLk9Iurbr-IgUktnVfsOmWskF9BaKWu3aE7D4pxFfJ1dqZfeQxlRKQzat0nMHZE6D2wEx77PcriePg86s/s1600/WAC00096.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOqzFG9qixse9tUuSzvA4Ln0qZLEY_M_Xs-i3Ek-McVXuhLM_QsSY5Owwg8iFLk9Iurbr-IgUktnVfsOmWskF9BaKWu3aE7D4pxFfJ1dqZfeQxlRKQzat0nMHZE6D2wEx77PcriePg86s/s320/WAC00096.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The inept Lestrade and his
officers are stopped in their tracks by the counterfeit Lesley, who
holds them at gunpoint. She tells the cowering constables she has
killed before, with no compunction about doing so again. Of course,
another swipe and she's knocked out <i>again</i> by a sandbag. Seeing
his escape routes dwindling, Moriarty drops down the still-open
trap-door. Unwisely, Holmes then follows. The audience emerges from
their hiding places and Lestrade makes the astounding observation
that Watson is alive. The Doctor races after his friend and nemesis
and Leslie Giles, wig replaces, pops up and gives Lestrade a feminine
'Oh, hello.' </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span>
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicV2Qfx0s_UhbvIGyM2T_ZYrRqX_Y1AWsOQUijRZ4iZSdxvneQU7Bb7vRmVIhqwv6tfdJHK1MRvG8nMy6dqL1RutiRLRm0vmOY_7erNUwFqVAGR1Rky1mJZ5uVJIgz-mmF2xgiAAAi3MU/s1600/WAC00097.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicV2Qfx0s_UhbvIGyM2T_ZYrRqX_Y1AWsOQUijRZ4iZSdxvneQU7Bb7vRmVIhqwv6tfdJHK1MRvG8nMy6dqL1RutiRLRm0vmOY_7erNUwFqVAGR1Rky1mJZ5uVJIgz-mmF2xgiAAAi3MU/s320/WAC00097.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
duel continue in the tunnel below, Holmes receiving a hanging chain
to the teeth, which allows his opponent to dart into the makeshift
print room. The flames rise and the pressure gauge hits the red.
Watson gets ahold of his friend and manages to restrain him. His
blood up, Holmes cries he's about to bring the World's greatest
criminal to justice – and nothing will stop him. Has he forgotten
the gas mains?. Howling in terror, the two dash back down the tunnel.
Clambering into a small rowing boat, Moriarty looks up to see the
dial heading further into the red as the pipe buckles under the
pressure and heat. With a howl of terror, Moriarty is overtaken by
the fireball which erupts from the mouth of the archway to the river.
</span></span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
fire brigade pumps water onto the burning shell of the Orpheum, as a
delighted Chancellor pumps Holmes hand. Her Majesty is delighted at a
job well done. Peter Giles doubted anyone would understand the clue
he sent; both Holmes and Watson assumed it meant the 23<sup>rd</sup>
psalm, but in fact the Theatre stands – stood at <u>234</u> Beacon
street. Lord Smithwick finds this all... amazing!.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDs5H3UnY2LVgpg6XKE6UjSwzE68q8FCRF1TJMNk7Pc09mVsMDph71pGyuHN7TAyYzVRSP0FiGFtCwa2aIuVUF3L9VzeKdiyL5iVSwFRs9owCvqjT4cchquRPS-aur-esHa2bOc2jF8CQ/s1600/WAC00099.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDs5H3UnY2LVgpg6XKE6UjSwzE68q8FCRF1TJMNk7Pc09mVsMDph71pGyuHN7TAyYzVRSP0FiGFtCwa2aIuVUF3L9VzeKdiyL5iVSwFRs9owCvqjT4cchquRPS-aur-esHa2bOc2jF8CQ/s320/WAC00099.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Amazing! Peter Giles (Right) is played by John Warner.</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Lestrade is
blatantly chatting 'Miss Giles' up and as Holmes and Watson join them
he elucidates that, had it not been for the timely arival of Scotland
Yard, things might not have turned out as they did. Of course, he
would never expect Holmes to admit as such. Exchanging glances, the
pair attribute the success of the case entirely to Lestrade. It is to
him, adds Holmes that Miss Giles owes her deepest gratitude.
Impishly, Watson can't resist adding Miss Giles is on the stage in
Paris, in a revue going by the name <i>Les Femmes Faux. </i>Lestrade
is thoroughly bewitched, an actress!. 'Theres more surprises yet to
come.' adds Leslie, saucily. Surprises indeed...</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
assembled press are waiting outside 221b Baker Street the next
morning as the carriage conveying Holmes, Watson, Hudson and Wiggins
rolls up, a large painting tied to the back of the landau.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy6buDMlYX_0YoXuUFVxl3k4SeoPam5VQF9fByaPrLtxoXvh7qHnNqrveRyGk6sjKe0BAUiH-rmC5oiWT5b3HnjuoiuWraF2cSgot9AOWphEN03E9sKne71RNfyOONtabX5mlC7IYjg_A/s1600/WAC00107.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy6buDMlYX_0YoXuUFVxl3k4SeoPam5VQF9fByaPrLtxoXvh7qHnNqrveRyGk6sjKe0BAUiH-rmC5oiWT5b3HnjuoiuWraF2cSgot9AOWphEN03E9sKne71RNfyOONtabX5mlC7IYjg_A/s320/WAC00107.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Is it
true, they ask that Moriarty is dead?. Never assume, gentlemen, is
the reply. Holmes goes into his routine as Watson is pushed to the
rear of the throng. </span></span></span>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Reporter
- Mr. Holmes, how did you know<br />where Moriarty was hiding
out?<br />Holmes - It was an elementary deduction<br />based on the clues
at hand, I can assure you.<br />Reporter - But how is it that Scotland
Yard did not...?<br />Holmes – Perhaps... perhaps Scotland Yard<br />did
not have the invaluable assistance, the keen insight<br />and the
extraordinary patience of Dr John Watson.<br />My friend. </i></span></span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Visibly
touched by this tribute, Doctor Watson stands, smiling modestly as
the crowd applauds him. Holmes then announces his retirement. With
the safe return of the plates to the Royal Mint, this is his last
case. Sherlock holmes is retiring. The reporters and crowd are
appalled, shocked by this momentous news, but Watson strides forward
and states Holmes was pulling their leg. </span></span></span>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background: transparent; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Watson
- Sherlock Holmes retire when there is<br />murder and mayhem at every
turn?<br />Already several adventures have begun to take<br />shape which
can be solved by no-one else.<br />Right, Holmes?<br />Holmes - Right you
are, Watson.<br />And so, without further ado...<br />..I hereby declare
this case...<br />..closed. </i></span></span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
image of Holmes and Watson smiling at each other freezes into a
hand-tinted photograph and the credits roll...<i><br /></i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjZFsxAskTYVef5PvaHaumVRPDPFXiS_3SxIB4GI-Exyyb0UvGYmMLIbezB171sIBfZPh7ha_v2JBE2a_H5peFfyC-DE8iKcRZm4jFxuneIeVwOqTMUNJOJ9U8WB6tqAM498y66B-OgXI/s1600/1234.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjZFsxAskTYVef5PvaHaumVRPDPFXiS_3SxIB4GI-Exyyb0UvGYmMLIbezB171sIBfZPh7ha_v2JBE2a_H5peFfyC-DE8iKcRZm4jFxuneIeVwOqTMUNJOJ9U8WB6tqAM498y66B-OgXI/s320/1234.jpg" width="209" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">The Poster</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">So,
then, what are we to make of it?. Pastiche?, spoof?, certainly, but
the central twist holds up well enough. Watson the brains with a
bumbling actor playing Holmes shouldn't really work over 144 minutes,
but it does. The film is packed with gags, although by twenty minutes
in you can see most of them coming they still amuse and the plot is
decent. Michael Caine is an obvious choice for such a humorous role,
which he plays with understated gusto and plausibility. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ben
Kingsley's Watson, a less clear pick, nevertheless delivers a
delightfully indignant mastermind, the straight man to Caine's joker
in a tightly-wound and energetic performance.Paul Freeman's Moriarty
is particularly enjoyable, the right amount of menace and boo!-hiss!
Melodrama.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiondOQPryGfGmlvYsxhPJKnqe5zg1fJUk6a9cMp316WxlP89wYofi0SDQXPSLgSGodjv-C7zUxhZfi4KPA64uwIaSPyT2BPCttvkBxGN7sa1jG3OhkCBcq3ZgbP9_zGWLK20riDkhDAaw/s1600/WEFRTHJK.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiondOQPryGfGmlvYsxhPJKnqe5zg1fJUk6a9cMp316WxlP89wYofi0SDQXPSLgSGodjv-C7zUxhZfi4KPA64uwIaSPyT2BPCttvkBxGN7sa1jG3OhkCBcq3ZgbP9_zGWLK20riDkhDAaw/s320/WEFRTHJK.jpg" width="221" /></a></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">The supporting cast are all solid, Matthew Savage gives
Wiggins a likeable artful-dodger-esque character, Lysette Anthony is
good as the decoy Lesley. Anthony was to play Mary Kelly in the same
year in another Michael Caine film, <i>Jack the Ripper. </i>George
Sweeney, who plays burglar John Clay appears in the Ripper film as a
coachman. </span></span></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbFqqkNUHBulW8Qu4Fhk0482Hllq-aiSCftFuXnMBkA7x_gtDwNU_PJ8TbySnfLpyd0qrot-F6I_xsxfEjlWzCanz_1NUZS9sCCrdW8dOs0mHoAPKmElz_DZCKiewFXNqBRemnUBdSd3o/s1600/ff-eaa-de-df-2063370104.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbFqqkNUHBulW8Qu4Fhk0482Hllq-aiSCftFuXnMBkA7x_gtDwNU_PJ8TbySnfLpyd0qrot-F6I_xsxfEjlWzCanz_1NUZS9sCCrdW8dOs0mHoAPKmElz_DZCKiewFXNqBRemnUBdSd3o/s320/ff-eaa-de-df-2063370104.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>The Soundtrack Album.</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div align="left" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Filmed
on location in the Lake District, Blenheim Palace, Gloucestershire,
London and at Shepperton and Pinewood studios, the film also features
Syon House, Brentford and Corn Street, Bristol doubles as the front
of the Orpheum Theatre. The Hackney Empire does service as the
interior. Moriarty's waterfront hideout is at Camden Lock, the exact
same entrance was used for 2015's <i>SPECTRE, </i>as 'Q's new
workshop. There are goofs; but not many. The lantern Holmes selects
and leaves by the hatch jumps back onto the wall before he manages to
trip over it and there are WWII – style metal enamelled mugs on the
table at Moriarty's HQ. Holmes refers to the Loch Ness Monster some
years before the phenomenon was in the public domain and the postcard
of the Eiffel tower was of a type not yet introduced. Overall, the
film stands up well on the blooper front. </span></span></span>
</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfzJsleht7oxyGWoDs6xYGq2f3SP_lnbLvALcLe4kBFvyQ2Bm00z0aREroBIOuKlaiJf0yredJUky4sf4tu-k66LKoA45xs5nnUrswEeh78mKMzcUSrz2xGMe8feAPLSXXYztJx5hpIFQ/s1600/holmesidiot-without-clue-484986262.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfzJsleht7oxyGWoDs6xYGq2f3SP_lnbLvALcLe4kBFvyQ2Bm00z0aREroBIOuKlaiJf0yredJUky4sf4tu-k66LKoA45xs5nnUrswEeh78mKMzcUSrz2xGMe8feAPLSXXYztJx5hpIFQ/s320/holmesidiot-without-clue-484986262.jpg" width="195" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">An Audio-book was also released. </span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div align="left" style="background: transparent; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "paytone one";"><span style="font-size: medium;">All
of which brings us to the now-mandatory award. How many church-warden
pipes will <i>Without a Clue </i>be given?. </span></span></span>
</div>
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Volcano Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14372941500458681755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555240865021461020.post-39598656373250824102016-04-26T13:33:00.003-07:002017-01-16T11:58:23.176-08:00The Seven Percent Solution - The Forgotten Holmes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It was October 24<sup>th</sup>, 1891, that Dr. John Watson heard from
Sherlock Holmes for the first time in four months. At the urging of
Mrs. Hudson, in the form of a telegram, the Doctor returned to his
former lodgings at 221b Baker Street. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEPAjwI2Di-ASTiKx_AToEWHQE25i7Xw_FloHJp6eoN0g4laKYD6t9lxMOpyIfWNNqTLdMXDFO_L_aTRE2RrDW13N4HJCnDv054FBNGLwSpGnm4ndhWbwN9g0WOpxp1CU3s_v9vKO4tmA/s1600/7PERCENT00003.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEPAjwI2Di-ASTiKx_AToEWHQE25i7Xw_FloHJp6eoN0g4laKYD6t9lxMOpyIfWNNqTLdMXDFO_L_aTRE2RrDW13N4HJCnDv054FBNGLwSpGnm4ndhWbwN9g0WOpxp1CU3s_v9vKO4tmA/s320/7PERCENT00003.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alison Leggatt is Mrs. Hudson.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Delighted to see her former
tenant, the landlady informs him that Holmes has taken to his rooms,
refusing food and keeping the oddest of hours. A shout comes down;
Holmes is ranting about Moriarty, a name Watson has only heard when
his friend is in the grip of his habitual vice. Opening the door to
the chain, a frantic Holmes questions the identity of his caller.
Only the <i>true </i><span style="font-style: normal;">Watson* would
know... where does Holmes keep his tobacco?. (*And, of course, every
reader of </span><i>The Strand</i><span style="font-style: normal;">.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-style: normal;"></span></div>
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<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"></span><span style="font-style: normal;">On admission, Holmes
brandishes his revolver, and inquires whether Watson knows of
Moriarty. He does not. Undeterred, feverish, Sherlock rounds on the
Doctor – insisting it adds to the genius of the thing; the man
pervades London, the Western world even and no-one knows the name...
</span><span style="font-style: normal;">he is his nemesis, his evil
genius.</span></div>
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<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Holmes has a vision; a small child
climbs the stair in an old house. Shaking himself free of this
peculiar image, Holmes pulls open then rejects a drawer containing
several ominous small bottles. Clearly concerned for Holmes'
well-being and health, Watson accepts the offer of tea </span><span style="font-style: normal;">as
Holmes </span><span style="font-style: normal;">attempts normality
with a comment about the impending Spring. He cannot maintain the
facade of convention, however, exploding with 'He's the Napoleon of
crime, Watson!' smashing his pistol down into some hapless crockery. </span></div>
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<span style="font-style: normal;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDq_mn4Y3szZnu7v10k7XkrJbwKnqZsGyRiNAXWduvvEZoTJGQiiGYBPIANKe77uvK881xdkrjycZK8181VM9u3tNbV05slDxAsornSokOpZPgAu57nK01rrFk8W_3f-nZrU8gbKTbgXA/s1600/THE+NAPOLEON+OF+CRIME%2521.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDq_mn4Y3szZnu7v10k7XkrJbwKnqZsGyRiNAXWduvvEZoTJGQiiGYBPIANKe77uvK881xdkrjycZK8181VM9u3tNbV05slDxAsornSokOpZPgAu57nK01rrFk8W_3f-nZrU8gbKTbgXA/s320/THE+NAPOLEON+OF+CRIME%2521.gif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>'He's the Napoleon of crime, Watson!. He's the organiser of half that is evil and nearly all that is undetected in this great city in the annals of contemporary crime.'</b></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">The tirade continues; Moriarty is responsible for half that is evil
and nearly all that is undetected in this great city. Again, the
child takes the stair, knocking Holmes back somewhat. He insists
Moriarty is a genius, philosopher, abstract thinker, sat motionless
at the centre of a web, which has a thousand radiations, every quiver
of which are known to the master criminal. His agents? - they may be
caught, but he? - never so much as suspected!. Until now. Holmes
tells Watson he has learned of his arch-enemy's existence and
penetrated his perimeter, but Moriarty's agents are on his track. </span>
</div>
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<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Quite appalled at his friend's
descent into paranoia, Watson asks his intention. Sherlock replies he
will nap. As he departs for his bed, the Doctor finds his cocaine
needle resting on its open case. Watson returned to his consulting
rooms, to find a gentleman answering to the name of Moriarty awaiting
him there,</span><span style="font-style: normal;"> perusing a
lenticular print on the wall</span><span style="font-style: normal;">.
</span><span style="font-style: normal;"> </span></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisHno1xsHw0GHPfUk1WKoB8DBQCqY9hUsG1ID21xV2vt2BuA6U-NR1jmjPkaLGhpmAXFTo2RxN9YuH-X7gALARN8VnnOb5HY1orEOcuk6Uz0j0t6sG9dNyO8J9NJJkhS4wPQ7ezQZjE94/s1600/7PERCENT00015.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisHno1xsHw0GHPfUk1WKoB8DBQCqY9hUsG1ID21xV2vt2BuA6U-NR1jmjPkaLGhpmAXFTo2RxN9YuH-X7gALARN8VnnOb5HY1orEOcuk6Uz0j0t6sG9dNyO8J9NJJkhS4wPQ7ezQZjE94/s320/7PERCENT00015.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Laurence Olivier as Moriarty.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">An elderly man, Moriarty is
started by the arrival of Watson. He has called at this late hour as
discretion is important and his business urgent. Understanding Doctor
Watson is Sherlock Holmes' closest acquaintance, the elderly figure
wishes to avoid scandal. Holmes is persecuting him; following him
about London, waits for him outside the Roylott school where he
teaches Mathematics. Producing a sheaf of papers, he hands them to
Watson – all </span><span style="font-style: normal;">telegrams</span><span style="font-style: normal;">
from Holmes on the lines of '</span><span style="font-style: normal;">Moriarty,
your days are numbered.' The detective seems convinced he is a
criminal mastermind. Moriarty has brought this to the Doctor to avoid
involving his solicitor. Watson appeals to his better nature –
perhaps if he had known Holmes when he was in full possession of his
faculties?. He did! - Moriarty was tutor to both Holmes and his
brother Mycroft at Squire Holmes' estate in Sussex. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Brilliant
brothers, the Holmes brothers. Then came the tragedy...</span>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPiBb0s_qK7t1o-3CpEr8VOMacHdrFBq7YrME4lCLL25ZVGgJAfxtQ7cDke7vZi6yJAusIst2ysA7e1Mjcjw06vk95uDuG_8sM9DEOkVrf_DpwrnUvTn9T6TV0wXqh3JFDbGtKu93det4/s1600/ALTERNATIVE+POSTER+LANDSCAPE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPiBb0s_qK7t1o-3CpEr8VOMacHdrFBq7YrME4lCLL25ZVGgJAfxtQ7cDke7vZi6yJAusIst2ysA7e1Mjcjw06vk95uDuG_8sM9DEOkVrf_DpwrnUvTn9T6TV0wXqh3JFDbGtKu93det4/s320/ALTERNATIVE+POSTER+LANDSCAPE.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Shocked to find Watson unaware of this, the wizened Moriarty realises
he has been indiscreet and hurries to leave, not wishing to be the
one to divulge such family secrets. He makes his excuses and leaves a
thoughtful Watson to examine the card he left. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxUcwnmNnnwwsEpCNyhRHtftZhPb-d_FSRYYQ_X-9dghX73issB3Rxo6LdDGP_nOz-XtLfoocOBPWQ42oE_irThN8oOLcAkYPxYubZ0fPBTxL2-N_f9y-21N3_EVPqMnuX9zXcCsjXobI/s1600/7PERCENT00018.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxUcwnmNnnwwsEpCNyhRHtftZhPb-d_FSRYYQ_X-9dghX73issB3Rxo6LdDGP_nOz-XtLfoocOBPWQ42oE_irThN8oOLcAkYPxYubZ0fPBTxL2-N_f9y-21N3_EVPqMnuX9zXcCsjXobI/s320/7PERCENT00018.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyxWTgCCiR0HqgDrExKnAkfLBJJadkWrm5GL751w1vVxDJpA2Xin6MxS8ANGFXXOXy4BAhJk3mI5AzeabazIGVZ7ML9ZQBkIBp9gvg4dKEufI2Xpz66SLtaAf80BSHkm-HCTuMJel8lLI/s1600/MR+AND+MRS+WATSON.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyxWTgCCiR0HqgDrExKnAkfLBJJadkWrm5GL751w1vVxDJpA2Xin6MxS8ANGFXXOXy4BAhJk3mI5AzeabazIGVZ7ML9ZQBkIBp9gvg4dKEufI2Xpz66SLtaAf80BSHkm-HCTuMJel8lLI/s320/MR+AND+MRS+WATSON.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Robert Duvall is Watson. Samantha Eggar is Mary Morstan Watson.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">The maid lays out supper and Mary
Watson </span><span style="font-style: normal;">(</span><i>Nee
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">Morstan) </span><span style="font-style: normal;">asks
her Husband his intention. Closing the door after the servant, Watson
states that Holmes must be weaned of his cocaine addiction and only
one man can help. Laying out a copy of </span><i>The Lancet, </i><span style="font-style: normal;">John
states that a Viennese Doctor has the capacity to assist and has
agreed to so do. Mary points out that Holmes hates to leave London,
knowing that his absence excites the criminal classes. Knowing
Holmes' methods, John plans to leave a false trail to convince him
Moriarty has fled to the Continent. </span>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXc6HFoUzTyjNtvaDLuisrSuPGip5bY2aF7hFFOE_bTZpEsEHhCJ5ve3hUAjnoSlwteq1nGUDHz1ZszjJRjWP4GwXFUHNtV1l5dDORFEo3R-9oROPleyF3AeHg39LJBA6zUn9KijuzOpM/s1600/7PERCENT00020.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXc6HFoUzTyjNtvaDLuisrSuPGip5bY2aF7hFFOE_bTZpEsEHhCJ5ve3hUAjnoSlwteq1nGUDHz1ZszjJRjWP4GwXFUHNtV1l5dDORFEo3R-9oROPleyF3AeHg39LJBA6zUn9KijuzOpM/s320/7PERCENT00020.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">The silent marbled halls of the
Diogenes Club, Pall Mall. A </span><span style="font-style: normal;">porter</span><span style="font-style: normal;">
leads Doctor Watson across the expanse of opulen</span><span style="font-style: normal;">ce,
shushing him when he attempts to speak. Watson did not know Holmes
well, being astonished at learning of his existence some seven years
after becoming acquainted with Sherlock. Mycroft preferred an
eccentric bachelor's life, circumscribed by the walls of his Club,
beyond which he was rarely seen. Greeting Watson warmly, the elder
Holmes remarks he hasn't seen him since the affair of the Greek
interpreter. </span></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcdcpZS1tdCMfN3r-Xd8Zc47Zuw1L6mGUR8D84wZ8UcufPueadHkvv75Ya6tQ7riDJLVnRxJlhVEgWZpjJb3Bs4y0uHQdg1TEMb51PQNMiqo5DkDQ7cEfFCcXFevMT72NzE-e7qTB9Hzc/s1600/7PERCENT00025.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcdcpZS1tdCMfN3r-Xd8Zc47Zuw1L6mGUR8D84wZ8UcufPueadHkvv75Ya6tQ7riDJLVnRxJlhVEgWZpjJb3Bs4y0uHQdg1TEMb51PQNMiqo5DkDQ7cEfFCcXFevMT72NzE-e7qTB9Hzc/s320/7PERCENT00025.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charles Gray is Mycroft Holmes, the role he resumed for the Jeremy Brett TV series.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"></span><span style="font-style: normal;">Astute as ever,
Mycroft infers this visit is to do with Sherlock. Watson tells his
host of the condition plaguing his sibling and the promise offered in
Vienna. On mentioning Moriarty, the senior Holmes flushes
uncomfortably, </span><span style="font-style: normal;">but stills
further discussion with a gesture of finality. The Viennese doctor
has made a study of addiction, in addition to his work on hysteria in
children. Holmes remarks on the unusual range of interest there and
that the doctor sounds Jewish, at which Watson bristles with
impatience. At the rate Sherlock is using cocaine, he will be dead
within the year. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">How to get
Sherlock to the continent? - Mycroft tells Watson to leave it to him
– and Professor Moriarty. Ringing for Jenkins, the </span><span style="font-style: normal;">porter,
Mycroft astonishes him by ordering a cab for Watson... and himself!.
Mycroft Holmes, leaving the club!.</span></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The Hansom pulls up in a street some distance from the professor's
house and Mycroft asks the cabbie to wait. Discretion is rewarded as
Mycroft spots his brother, stood in a small graveyard keeping watch
on the Moriarty household. An opportunity presents itself as Holmes
relaxes his vigil and moves away. Quickly, the watching pair go to
the house and wake a nervous Moriarty. Mycroft insists he does not
adjust the gas, careful not to warn the vigilant Sherlock of his own
presence. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4HG_Q67lwVl8rNVJBXPiNfie0VTNUknSBz355ur7ZYpOZi2sx-MlNbugVHTAYJ30-ebJHohAVCWVYGPpVfGhOraHSBJ__QLZ2IiEPOqO9m5PebroUtySnAX3z5mmYT0CQodHJ88lHUgc/s1600/7PERCENT00028.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4HG_Q67lwVl8rNVJBXPiNfie0VTNUknSBz355ur7ZYpOZi2sx-MlNbugVHTAYJ30-ebJHohAVCWVYGPpVfGhOraHSBJ__QLZ2IiEPOqO9m5PebroUtySnAX3z5mmYT0CQodHJ88lHUgc/s320/7PERCENT00028.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Mycroft wants the professor to take a brief absence from
the Roylott school, no more than three days and to journey to the
address on the piece of paper Watson hands to him. The old man
protests – it's in France!. Once there, he is to disappear, then
return to re-assume his post. It is too much, complains Moriarty.
Drily, Mycroft states he has no wish to rake up the past, but he is
perfectly capable of it. With no choice, the professor asks when he
is to leave. Now.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYiko_ia6GzKWnFSDtgy9YpB0F0kTHwnHo4R1Z7_gAis8p6sg7h7XIKNbyDPpB_Kk8QT_nb7s6vVFR8jI6dQiw1d_a6AA0xSQ2sgNNLYC7Df3r0APfUaF6GQM8x8rijohVWPMtw0olXio/s1600/7PERCENT00030.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYiko_ia6GzKWnFSDtgy9YpB0F0kTHwnHo4R1Z7_gAis8p6sg7h7XIKNbyDPpB_Kk8QT_nb7s6vVFR8jI6dQiw1d_a6AA0xSQ2sgNNLYC7Df3r0APfUaF6GQM8x8rijohVWPMtw0olXio/s320/7PERCENT00030.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Mrs. Watson opens the doors to the dining room to find the Doctor at
the breakfast table. She hands him a telegram. He reads it, his
expression sombre. Mary asks if it has begun and the grave answer is
'yes.' He goes to pack, leaving her to read the message. Holmes asks
if Watson's Practice can spare him for a few days, instructing him to
bring Toby to 114 Munro road, Hammersmith and to take precautions.
Mary wonders at this last injunction, until John draws his revolver
from the dresser, stating he has always followed Holmes' instructions
to the letter. He asks Mary to have another doctor cover his rounds
and asks if she has any more questions. She does; who is Toby?.
</div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Toby the Bloodhound – familiar, of course to readers of <i>The Sign
of Four – </i><span style="font-style: normal;">sits awaiting his
work. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">In that adventure,
Holmes stated that he would </span>"rather have Toby's help than
that of the whole detective force in London.", such is the
creature's usefulness. Not only had he caught Jonathan Small and his
loathsome companion, but more recently helped Holmes pursue an
Orangutan through the sewers of Marseilles. Paying the cabman, Watson
takes Toby through the graveyard and calls for Holmes. All of a
sudden, an extraordinary sight; Holmes in the oddest of disguises,
ragged clothing, wild grey hair, bulbous nose and moustaches with
dark green glasses. As Watson knows all too well, Sherlock Holmes can
never resist a touch of the dramatic. Moriarty, he tells us, has
bolted – this his house on the corner. He has had the place under
watch, but last night relaxed his vigil to go to a nearby public
house. Watson says nothing of having been at the very house with
Mycroft. Sherlock brings him up short lest he step in a pool of
vanilla extract which he has placed there. The extract is a more
reliable agent than creosote for a dog to track and Sherlock
encourages Toby to sniff the aromatic liquid. Sure enough, the
reliable hound starts off after the scent laid down by both
Moriarty's shoe and the wheel of the carriage transporting the
Professor from his home. Watson limps off to fetch their bags (The
legacy of the wound he sustained in service of Queen and Country in
Afghanistan.) and they begin a trek across town.</div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Victoria station and the odd party arrives just too late for the
Continental Boat Express, a porter closing the gate as they rush up
to it. Holmes sighs as the train puffs and chuffs from view. Holmes
tells Watson to find out the time of the next train whilst he changes
from his tramp's guise, such being unsuited for travel. They will
take Toby along as his usefulness may continue. Once aboard the
train, they take occupancy of their carriage, but not before Holmes
takes himself and his gladstone to the WC. Watson sees no use in
remonstration; ironically, until they reach Austria he <i>depends </i><span style="font-style: normal;">on
Holmes' usage of cocaine. Patting Toby, he settles in for a long
journey. </span>
</div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdh2iLzeS3_h2r7Xg3Wej_5ODFf537Y-5c9lkwSMmjdf3eNiUqz-ivAq2mFaBYJpJwQiqWVtysZ1lWvA-s2OUKbC8wALXM_ArgIEmkrxPeJHkcJ65mz_z136JLzSnUtQHG5yHIo0K1EBY/s1600/ARRIVING+IN+VIENNA+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdh2iLzeS3_h2r7Xg3Wej_5ODFf537Y-5c9lkwSMmjdf3eNiUqz-ivAq2mFaBYJpJwQiqWVtysZ1lWvA-s2OUKbC8wALXM_ArgIEmkrxPeJHkcJ65mz_z136JLzSnUtQHG5yHIo0K1EBY/s320/ARRIVING+IN+VIENNA+.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Robert Duvall and Nicol Williamson as Watson and Holmes.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> A</span><span style="font-style: normal;">t
every stop, Holmes has Toby cast about for the vanilla scent. At Linz
station, an incident occurs that, although apparently of no import,
assumed significance later. Be-Fezzed flunkies unroll a red carpet to
a carriage from which steps an extraordinary figure. Bearded, a Pasha
stands, surveying the scene, in a heavy coat of fur, a cigarette in
holder between his teeth, a crescent of silver adorning his fez and
jewelled medals hanging from his breast and throat. </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyifU5zSFLisnTrrs2dSQkmVzbIjq_3IRjF1dEhbZMqOmLluFaepX1klDLTImzvZjRox1MjHkvD1TqNPA-9EhFeGFEq2uVp4ykEBNA4VHIAywltBSx73DGAC8llwGsC4BaRYbamRKyR4g/s1600/7PERCENT00038.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyifU5zSFLisnTrrs2dSQkmVzbIjq_3IRjF1dEhbZMqOmLluFaepX1klDLTImzvZjRox1MjHkvD1TqNPA-9EhFeGFEq2uVp4ykEBNA4VHIAywltBSx73DGAC8llwGsC4BaRYbamRKyR4g/s320/7PERCENT00038.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gertan Klauber appears as the Emin Pasha</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">To Holmes,
lounging there, he seems of no interest, until he stops to stare at a
poster hung there. It is of a beautiful singer, Lola Dever</span>eaux,
appearing at the <i>Linz Hof. </i><span style="font-style: normal;">The
Pasha seems enamoured, to say the least. Piqued, Holmes makes to go
after the exotic potentate, only to have his way barred with </span><span style="font-style: normal;">ottoman</span><span style="font-style: normal;">
daggers and shouts of warning. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">As
a stream of covered beauties – one presumes the latter – descend
from the carriage to follow their master, Holmes inquires of a porter
to whom does the private carriage and carpet belong, to be told 'The
Emin Pasha', the Premier of the entire Ottoman Empire. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">He
is the man who broke the bank at Monte Carlo. (He's not; Joseph
Jagger and Charles Wells were the two men entitled to this
soubriquet. However, for interrupting our narrative, I shall make an
offering to </span><span style="font-style: normal;">petition</span><span style="font-style: normal;">
your further patronage; <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gx1SWS1MFbU">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gx1SWS1MFbU</a>
) </span>
</div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Both train and occupants puff away heartily – as Holmes chided
Watson for lighting up earlier, this seems a tad inconsistent, the
two friends speculating on Toby's unmatched olfactory skills. They
arrive in Vienna, at the Westbahnhof. Bemused porters laden with
their baggage following, Toby tries the wheels of a few carriages.
Holmes remarks that cabs working stations return to them between
fares. Perhaps... no, it's hopeless. Toby seems to have lost the
scent. And yet!; canine nose sniffling, the superlative Hound lets
out a whimper, a bark!. He's onto something, dragging Holmes along to
a carriage into which he springs, whining in excitement. Questioning
the <i>Droschenkkutscher</i> as to his recent fare, Holmes
establishes that Moriarty did, indeed travel in the man's carriage
and makes the universal signal for renumeration to assist his memory
as to where. Suitably greased, the wheels turn and the singular party
is taken through one of the beautiful cities of old Europe, the
Europe before the motor car left it's tarmacadam slashes across the
continent.
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ_ik-idkw29qTvqqodJdHZ_TowIm6w4P9QerrtUFkYN5a1_M4coV2w1yeS-7q58XioaNS9OqFHmK_jXRQKQ8uqPR7PrP9HI6nKmJKKfyIHr-gCP7MMO57AU_Kw0nU3CkK6ThMHHALP2M/s1600/ARRIVING+IN+VIENNA+B.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ_ik-idkw29qTvqqodJdHZ_TowIm6w4P9QerrtUFkYN5a1_M4coV2w1yeS-7q58XioaNS9OqFHmK_jXRQKQ8uqPR7PrP9HI6nKmJKKfyIHr-gCP7MMO57AU_Kw0nU3CkK6ThMHHALP2M/s320/ARRIVING+IN+VIENNA+B.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
They enter the Alsergrund district, at the Berg alleyway. Holmes
wonders why Moriarty should suddenly choose to visit Austria. Warily,
Watson lies that he has no idea, his sudden pallor worrying Holmes.
They pull up at number 19, Berggasse. Taking the marble stairs of the
grand old house, the adventurers ascend to an apartment, Toby in the
lead. Conscience-pricked, Watson tries to tell Holmes of the true
purpose of their visit, but an eager Sherlock will have none of it in
the thrill of the moment. Number Six then, and the bell is answered
by a cheery <i>Dienstm</i><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><i>ä</i></span><i>dchen</i>
with a hearty <i>'</i><i>Grüß Gott, </i><i>ja?'. </i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">Rudely
barging past the</span></i><i> </i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">girl,
Holmes confuses her asking for Moriarty. When Watson introduces
Holmes it is clear he was expected. </span></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">Politeness
itself, the maid offers to give Toby something to eat, arousing
suspicion in Holmes which only subsides at Watson's melioration. </span></i>
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgur0x1ZVnIRBfP4ZecyavDsRRA2deAYF9Lo-X6l2gHGyl4TUSgj3zYgwBLFfHaU2k40NaRo-_rmwuHR5cee0RAvm9MiU0WXZrERk_cVeuinwCuBy9hSZ4kyFxdt7VgfA98r1wkLJoE3ps/s1600/7PERCENT00042.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgur0x1ZVnIRBfP4ZecyavDsRRA2deAYF9Lo-X6l2gHGyl4TUSgj3zYgwBLFfHaU2k40NaRo-_rmwuHR5cee0RAvm9MiU0WXZrERk_cVeuinwCuBy9hSZ4kyFxdt7VgfA98r1wkLJoE3ps/s320/7PERCENT00042.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alan Arkin is Freud.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-style: normal;">A door opens and a medium-sized,
compact man of fastidious appearance emerges to welcome the two to
his house, his tones that of a cultured Vienna professional, perhaps
the medical class. An animated Holmes insists the man remove his
ludicrous beard and drop the comic-opera accent, believing this to be
Professor Moriarty. </span></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">Solemnly,
the man gives his name as Sigmund Freud. The scales drop and Holmes
realises this is indeed not Moriarty goes through into the study,
suddenly uncertain of things. Freud explains he believes Moriarty is,
in fact in a Hotel. Turning on Watson, Holmes vents his outrage at
such deception, from the last man he thought capable of betraying him
to his enemies. Holmes has done his friend an injustice, Freud
explains, adding that Watson and Mycroft colluded to lead him to his
door in the hope that they could induce Holmes to see him. For what
purpose?. Freud answers question with like; who is </span></i><i><i>he
</i></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">that Holmes' friends
would wish him to see?. </span></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">The
Great Detective proves his powers not entirely dissipated. Beyond the
fact Freud is a brilliant jewish physician, born in Hungary and had
studied in Paris and that certain radical theories of his had
alienated the respectable medical community, so that he has severed
connexions with various hospitals and branches of the medical
fraternity... Beyond this Holmes can deduce little, save he is
married with a child of perhaps five, enjoys Shakespeare and is a man
of honour. </span></i>
</div>
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<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-style: normal;">Nervous and vexed, Holmes wants
his explanation. Sigmund Freud first wants to know how he guessed
these details of his life. 'I never guess. It is an appalling habit,
destructive to the logical faculty.' He expounds his observations;
that the study belongs to Freud exclusively is evident from the dust
– not even the maid is permitted. </span></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">Holmes
roams the room as he elucidates. </span></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">When
a man collects books he usually groups them, yet his religious tomes
are in a bookcase across from a Hebrew Bible and Talmud, a menorah
upon his desk confirms this. </span></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">That
he studied in Paris is to be inferred from the number of medical
texts in French. Where else for a German to study French textbooks?
Who, but a brilliant physician studies in a language that is not
their own?. The fondness for Shakespeare is inferred from the open
book laid face down as if intended to be resumed, the absence of dust
on cover adding to the hypothesis. That he is a physician is clear
from the fact he maintains a consulting room adjacent to the study,
the blank spaces on the wall surrounding his Diplomata testify to his
alienation from various medical societies. Pulling and twisting at
his hands in a compulsive fashion, the </span></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">heightened
Holmes clarifies this; what could impel a man to remove testaments to
his own success?. It is possible to become disillusioned with one or
two, hardly likely to be so with all. Rather, he postulates it was
</span></i><i><i>they </i></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">who
became disenchanted with Doctor Freud and asked him to resign.
Evidently some position which he has taken has discredited him, in
their eyes.</span></i>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-style: normal;">Wringing his hands in suppressed
frenzy, Sherlock continues. The wedding ring tells of marriage, his
Balkanised accent hints Hungary or Moravia, the toy soldier he plucks
from the floor ought to belong to a small boy of perhaps five...
again the vision of the boy climbing the stairs assails Holmes, who
loses track and asks if he has omitted anything. </span></i></div>
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<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-style: normal;">'My sense of honour'
is Freud's response. Holmes states it implied by his removal of the
plaques of the societies to which he no longer belongs. In his own
study, whom, but he would know of it?. Now, Holmes awaits his host's
explanation. Freud observes Holmes is less than candid, that it is
clear he suffers from an abominable addiction and that his maligned
</span></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">f</span></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">riend
and </span></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">b</span></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">rother
who have combined to help him throw off its yoke. </span></i>
</div>
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<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-style: normal;">Shrewdly, Freud insists Holmes
face his hypocrisy in refusing to acknowledge his illness and bl</span></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">a</span></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">ming
his friends. Heavy of heart, Holmes admits his guilt. He has summoned
all his will to the task, but no no use. His feet are on the
inexorable path to self-destruction. Doctor Freud suggests a man may
sometimes retrace his steps, but a defeated Holmes replies 'Not from
the fiendish coils of drug-addiction, no man can do it.' 'I have' is
the Austrian's simple answer. He has taken cocaine and is free from
it's power. It is now his intention to help others – if Holmes will
allow it. </span></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">It will
take time and it will not be pleasant. The Doctor has arranged for
both to remain as his guests for the duration. </span></i>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-style: normal;">At this point, Holmes is in the
grip of another attack, compelled by the needle. Removing his jacket,
Freud begins his work, with a session of hypnotism. Does he intend to
make Holmes bark like a dog?, no he intends to reduce the craving
artificially, until the chemistry of the body does it naturally.
Swinging his pocket-watch to and fro, the Doctor begins inducing a
state of hypnosis. </span></i>
</div>
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<i><span style="font-style: normal;"></span></i></div>
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<i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ8tC-Qv-BZHxxpDuhch1PAHByr6a6qZdkHIojiajXw2uwaSUU4n0WdheFtnIcCkT5RKGRRjG307nIBKq-JCWW1ya0_UX0xKs0nPizeCrzLocJrZUvQ5fHEkEynjjoWf5KednIDx8l93k/s1600/9+HYPNOSIS.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ8tC-Qv-BZHxxpDuhch1PAHByr6a6qZdkHIojiajXw2uwaSUU4n0WdheFtnIcCkT5RKGRRjG307nIBKq-JCWW1ya0_UX0xKs0nPizeCrzLocJrZUvQ5fHEkEynjjoWf5KednIDx8l93k/s320/9+HYPNOSIS.gif" width="320" /></a></i></div>
<br />
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-style: normal;">Lowering the blinds, Freud joins
Watson to search Holmes' possessions whilst the latter slumbers in
his hypnotised state. Doctor Freud goes through Holmes' case, whilst
Doctor Watson takes the gladstone. Freud finds what might be a small
bottle of the drug in solution, but it's water – a decoy inspired
by the artifice of the addicted. Emptied, however, the gladstone is
too heavy. Upending it, Watson discovers a false panel, which pops
open to reveal the tragic sight of the best part of </span></i><i><i>thirty
</i></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">bottles of the hellish
solution, along with the implements of self-destruction in their
cases. </span></i>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-style: normal;">When and where and why did
Holmes begin using cocaine?. </span></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">In
the salon, t</span></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">his is
the question Freud asks of Watson, who answers for as long as he's
known him. He takes </span></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">a
seven-percent solution </span></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">to
relieve the </span></i><i><i>ennui </i></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">between
cases. </span></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">The maid
leaves tea for the two and leaves </span></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">the
two men smoking</span></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">.
Freud's interest?; a friend of his died last year, he was partially
responsible. He closes the </span></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">(</span></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">exquisite</span></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">)</span></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">
sliding glass doors for more privacy. After this, he wrote a paper on
the subject, </span></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">which
Watson came across in </span></i><i><i>The Lancet. </i></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">Trained
in Neuro<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;">-P</span>athology, with a background in local diagnosis, there is no
formal designation for what Freud is now. He began with mapping the
nervous system, but became interested in charting the mind. He is
interested in the area of the brain he calls the </span></i><i><i>Un-Conscious.
</i></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">He's an Alienist,
suggests Watson; Freud is interested in hysterical cases, using
hypnosis to dig into their Un-Conscious mind where, he believes, the
hysterical symptoms originate. For example; </span></i><i><i>Herr
</i></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">Holmes reliance on
cocaine strikes him as being a symptom, not hysterical, but
nevertheless a </span></i><i><i>symptom</i></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">.
</span></i>
</div>
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<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-style: normal;">What makes him think this?, is
Watson's question. </span></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">'Elementary
my dear... fellow.' (Clearly, Freud is a fan of Watson's published
accounts, as this slip reveals.) Knowing something of drugs and
addiction, he refuses to believe a man would descend into such over
mere boredom. Suddenly, the feverish cries of 'A snake... a snake!'
sound from Holmes' room and the two medical men rush to his aid.
Concerned Mrs. Freud and their son come out, startled by the
hullabaloo. A curtailed, hurried introduction is all they have time
for as the anguished shrieking continues. Beside himself in terror, a
rabid Holmes insists a swamp adder is in the room – the deadliest
snake in India. </span></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">(This
is the snake from </span></i><i><i>The Adventure of the Speckled
Band,</i></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;"> a fictitious
creature possibly intended to be an Indian Cobra.) The room is in
disarray. Watson is forced to physically subdue his friend until the
attack subsides, leaving Holmes drenched in sweat, gasping for air
and trembling noticably. </span></i>
</div>
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<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-style: normal;">As Holmes' fever abates, he
tells Freud of the snake he saw – the case of a diabolical plot to
murder a youn</span></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">g</span></i><i><span style="font-style: normal;">
lady. Recounting the case, he tells of the snake coming down a bell
rope affixed to the side of the lady's bed. In his dream, however,
the viper turned into Professor Moriarty. Does the Doctor place much
stock in dreams?. He does not know what dreams tell, lately has been
toying with the idea that...but Holmes is seized anew, leaping from
the bed and babbling. Rushing from the room, the anguished genius is
stopped by Watson, angered that the latter does not see the snake and
calling him an insufferable cripple. At this last, Watson delivers a
finely judged blow, part upper-cut, part right-cross that knocks the
senses from Holmes. </span></i>
</div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b><i><i>Sherlock Holmes' attempt to escape the coils of the cocaine,
in which he was so deeply enmeshed, was perhaps the most harrowing
and heroic effort I have ever witnessed – </i></i><i><i>John
Watson, MD.</i></i></b></div>
<b>
</b>
<br />
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>
</b></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
From his bed, Holmes is be-seiged by the ghosts of the past; the
carrot-topped men of The Red-Headed League bow in unison, while
Doctors Watson and Freud seem to be gliding around the room. A
wardrobe begins to undulate and quiver, as if made of jelly, the door
bursting open to expel the ferocious Hound that so nearly ended the
life of Sir. Henry Baskerville some years past. These phantasms
disappear as they came, the room returned to normality. Holmes is in
a parlous state of near exhaustion. Ever the staunch ally, Watson
tends to his charge, applying a cold compress to the brow to assist
with the fever. Holmes' mind wrestles with colliding imagery; the boy
on the stairs, Freud's eternally-swinging watch, again he falls into
the somnolence of the hypnotised. As through a tunnel, Holmes
perceives the two medical men conferring as to the dangers of his
withdrawal process. Doctor Freud cautions Watson that Holmes could
die.
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
That bloody child!; again he treads that stair!. Then, a new terror;
the bed in which Holmes reposes seems to rise, floating upwards
towards the ceiling!. Surely he will be crushed... then, a kindly
face – it is Mrs. Freud, with a thin soup for the patient. As he
takes up his spoon, Holmes sees a bowl of worms, which he flings away
in disgust. Throwing back the bedclothes only reveals a next of
vipers, writhing and hissing. From reality, Mrs. Freud beseeches him
to return to bed, but Holmes cowers in a corner. The room spins like
a speeding carriage wheel as the Doctor's wife helps Holmes back to
bed. Even then, the horrors do not rescind their grip upon Holmes'
mind, as he sees insects crawling over Mrs. Freud's face. Once more,
the pendulum swings. It seems then that Toby enters the room to sniff
at Holmes, as if to revive him. Perhaps the Hound did, indeed visit
Holmes, perhaps. A bell-pull then appears at the head board by the
be-devilled patient – not surprisingly, his mind has conjured the
dreaded swamp adder as the next torment. But what's this?; fleeting
glimpses of a face – Moriarty?, yes! Moriarty. Younger perhaps, but
definitely it is he, interspersed with the snake. This last is too
much and Holmes sinks back into his pillow, collapsing into sleep.</div>
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The curtains are thrown open and the maid offers Holmes a cheery
'Good morning.' Awakening, Holmes looks around to see a seated
Watson, positively beEming, Mrs. Freud and the Doctor himself
announcing his fever is broken and his pulse is normal. How does
Holmes feel? - not well. Smiling, Doctor Freud disagrees, stating he
will try to force some food into him today. Does he remember
Professor Moriarty?. Indeed yes, Holmes knowing what is expected of
him. The only time he fitted the appellation of 'Nemesis' was when it
took him three weeks to unshroud the mysteries of elementary
calculus. Freud is intent; Holmes must <i>know </i><span style="font-style: normal;">this
to be true, not merely state it. He does. Calling Watson closer,
Sherlock tells him he cannot remember too much of the preceding
hours, or days, but he seems to recall shouting terrible things at
his closest friend. Did he?. Noble Watson!; he tells Holmes it was
imagined. Sherlock </span><span style="font-style: normal;">responds
that if he </span><i>did </i><span style="font-style: normal;">shout
these things he wants Watson to know that he did not mean it. Tired
by even such a mean exchange, Sherlock Holmes closes his eyes and his
staunch compatriot draws the bedding under his chin. The two medical
men retire, leaving him to rest.</span>
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Alone, Watson asks if Holmes will be all right. 'Perhaps. He will
need hypnosis periodically still.' Have they not been successful?.
'Perhaps.' Doctor Freud recalls the old maxim of the cure being worse
than the disease. Abruptly dismissing this thought, the Austrian
Doctor tells Doctor Watson they owe themselves an hour or two of
fresh air...</div>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="yui_3_17_2_2_1460939244650_1361"></a>
The two Doctors go to a <i>Turnhalle, </i><span style="font-style: normal;">or
gymnasium. Discussing Holmes' case, Doctor Freud speculates that to
complete a successful cure, it is necessary to trace the origin of
his compulsion; the reason for his use of cocaine. Until this is
accomplished, he will remain susceptible. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Watson
wonders how Doctor Freud intends to achieve this, unaware as yet of
the interest their visit has aroused. A man with </span><span style="font-style: normal;">a
mensur</span><span style="font-style: normal;"> </span><i>schmisse</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
and every </span><span style="font-style: normal;">appearance of </span><span style="font-style: normal;">being
</span><span style="font-style: normal;">a Prussian aristocrat - and
his lickspittles are regarding the Austrian Doctor with disdain.
Freud explains he will use the same methods as Holmes would in
solving a mystery – but then the Prussian steps forward and his
interest becomes both clear and repugnant in its very essence. In
loud tones, the 'aristocrat' reveals himself to be an anti-semite,
stating that the place has gone downhill since his last visit.
Calmly, Doctor Freud seats himself on the bench as he changes stating
it apparent the man has not been here for some time, the Jewish
membership up some fifty percent. When one of the thugs recognises
Freud, he whispers so to the Prussian, who </span><span style="font-style: normal;">refers
coarsely to the Doctor's Oedipal theorem. The bounder then asks if
Freud slept with his mother – and ends up wearing a glass of beer,
provided by an outraged Watson. </span>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWbgZVAkfV3hz-3qgLvfkWyjIQ70ATTGMbgVOY3mIWcXsCkQjw_ufyNsqC1nruWjYMFf8Lx_nHPEKQEDb4pSEY7dxZGJh5lghCivUEQqrksm0VebG3BbRrKqCaMwUxwJ6_JIf7xE8fE1k/s1600/7PERCENT00055.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWbgZVAkfV3hz-3qgLvfkWyjIQ70ATTGMbgVOY3mIWcXsCkQjw_ufyNsqC1nruWjYMFf8Lx_nHPEKQEDb4pSEY7dxZGJh5lghCivUEQqrksm0VebG3BbRrKqCaMwUxwJ6_JIf7xE8fE1k/s320/7PERCENT00055.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jeremy Kemp provides plenty of <i>Boo-Hiss </i>as Baron Karl Von Leinsdorf.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-style: normal;">The Prussian holds back his lackeys,
as </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Watson squares off into a
pugilist's stance. That is not the Prussian way, however. The cad
informs Watson his Seconds will call on him. Seeing the danger, Freud
insists Watson merely brought the challenge and the argument is with
him. Blood up, a furious Watson wants to challenge the dastard
himself, but Doctor Freud insists he will fight his own battles.
Accepting, the Prussian asks if he knows who he is. He does not know
who, but indeed Freud knows </span><i>what </i><span style="font-style: normal;">the
man is. He is the Baron Von Liensdorf. As the injured party, Doctor
Freud has the choice of weapons and the time is now. </span>
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<span style="font-style: normal;">Dressed for battle, Sigmund Freud
has armed himself with... a tennis racquet. Cleverly, he has chosen a
game of tennis; if he loses, it's only a game. Refusing a wager,
Freud faces his opponent across the net as the Baron spins for sides.
The umpire calls one set, the best of five games to polite applause
from the spectators. First service and the Baron sends the ball over
</span><span style="font-style: normal;">the Penthouse roof, a shot
returned by Doctor Freud. However, the Doctor faults </span><span style="font-style: normal;">on
the next return. It soon emerges that the Baron is a strong,
confident player and, despite his gallant efforts, Freud is left
trailing. However, as the game progresses, the Doctor's own improves,
winning back a game. During a pause, Watson offers encouragement </span><span style="font-style: normal;">and
the astute Freud comments on the terrible deficiency in the Baron's
game; he has an appalling back-hand. </span>
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<span style="font-style: normal;">N</span><span style="font-style: normal;">ow
serving, Freud exploits the weakness to the increased frustration of
his opponent. Watson watches with satisfaction a triumph of intellect
over brute strength. Ultimately, the Umpire calls it game, set and
match to Doctor Freud. Watson takes his hand, but when Freud asks the
Baron if honour is satisfied, he churlishly flings his racket away in
a display of unsportsmanlike behaviour. Shaking his head, the victor
leaves the court. </span>
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<span style="font-style: normal;">Dinner at the Freud household and
Holmes' own plate lies untouched. Concerned, Mrs. Freud offers
dessert, some strudel, but a far-off Holmes declines. As the maid
clears the table, Doctor Freud brings in a violin for Holmes to play.
It's not a Stradivarius, but it belonged to an Uncle and Freud offers
its use whilst his guest remains. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Inspecting
the violin, Sherlock Holmes thanks his host. The maid brings him a
plate of strudel, asking him to eat it. It is clear Holmes is far
from recuperated. That night, the old violin sings as it is played by
a masterly hand, whilst outside in the Alsergrund a dog barks in the
darkness.</span></div>
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Morning and a cycle messenger hurries up to the Freud residence.
Guests and Hosts are at breakfast, Holmes sat in a listless topor, a
vacant stare of lassitude alarming Doctor Watson, who insists he take
some nourishment. Doctor Freud has been summoned to an emergency, an
attempted suicide. Asking his wife for his coat, he stands regarding
Holmes, who assures him he is all right. Doubtful of this, Freud
observes that the craving could re-assert itself at any moment.
Better that Holmes and Watson accompany him.
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The courtyard of the <i>Allgemeines Krankenhaus</i> and a carriage
door is opened revealing the coat of arms of the Baron Von Liensdorf,
he tells the driver to wait, then changes his mind and orders the
driver to leave as he spots the party approaching. With Doctor freud
leading, the trio enter the hospital, taking the steps they are
unaware of the sinister Turk watching the building. He wears a fez
and is smoking a cigarette. As the visitors walk the corridor, a
Doctor Schultz discusses the case with Freud. The woman is lucky to
be alive, having leapt from the Augarten bridge into the canal. Her
sedation should be wearing off about now.
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<span style="font-style: normal;">E</span><span style="font-style: normal;">ntering
the room, </span><span style="font-style: normal;">a beautiful woman
lies sleeping fitfully, her striking red locks cascade over the
pillow. </span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk8mlhgAM9y8uK3DzfKxLpuxj1zSZd-8zwOqnlvjvCjJh0i3z6i0dvh9jFJfZmhvFRc88wGky2mXEB-qrpMNMVTnr9j3yJmSlfCZsTuzKXtzvYURbc5lr4FoZlpR7p9Q4KJ5Cs1EZZ8o0/s1600/7PERCENT00057.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk8mlhgAM9y8uK3DzfKxLpuxj1zSZd-8zwOqnlvjvCjJh0i3z6i0dvh9jFJfZmhvFRc88wGky2mXEB-qrpMNMVTnr9j3yJmSlfCZsTuzKXtzvYURbc5lr4FoZlpR7p9Q4KJ5Cs1EZZ8o0/s320/7PERCENT00057.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Miss Lola Deveraux is portrayed by Vanessa Redgrave.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-style: normal;">T</span><span style="font-style: normal;">he
Sister of Mercy takes </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Doctor
Freud's coat as he exEmines the patient. This is Lola Deveraux, whose
head of red hair was, until recently the toast of four continents.
Holmes startles his companions by observing the Lady was possessed of
a remarkable </span><i>Mezzo Soprano</i><span style="font-style: normal;">,
with a fondness for lilies. They were her passion, agrees Freud; she
surrounded herself with them. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">She
was, until recently a patient of his; does he see where the ravages
of cocaine lead?. He thought he had cured her. Holmes lifts the sheet
exposing the lady's feet; her ankles display numerous small
lacerations and clear marks of bruising, as of having been bound. He
states simply, 'You did.' Freud disagrees, she has had a terrible
relapse and attempted self-destruction. Holmes lets this statement
fall as he remarks he has never seen anything so fiendish; she did
</span><i>not </i><span style="font-style: normal;">relapse
voluntarily - the marks at her wrists and ankles indicate she was
bound and forcibly fed her drugs.</span>
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Doctor Freud cannot believe his ears as Holmes explains the method of
escape. Miss Deveraux smashed a window with her feet, then used a
shard to cut her bonds and escape from a second-storey window. Watson
asks how he deduces this last, Holmes shows her palms, which are
badly burned from a slide down something such as a drainpipe. Why
should she then attempt suicide? - <i>'Elementary, my Dear Freud.
Once free, her addiction began to re-assert itself. To satisfy it
meant returning to captivity. There's only one other method of
dealing with her dependence on the drug.' </i><span style="font-style: normal;">Watson
counsels Freud against taking Holmes too seriously, but Freud doubts
the evidence will sustain another interpretation. Besides, Holmes is
not that sick. Miss Deveraux regains consciousness with a start of
fear, Doctor Freud rushing to her side. Recognition in her sparks and
she clings to her former saviour. Upon seeing the wretched needle
marks upon her arm, she is in despair. </span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Jl9NYLT_F2CuvA08aoJg7t4nDyq3Ty7jF7FwRyaC6APmt0KiAuSvUNtsvfJ3_RNxxOj3Fni1G99_qX8v0A74E_o33ACldmBGJMZXoYt58Ti0GvJPJ3R1UrONiRHbc25CsFOMiX5yXTg/s1600/MISS+DEVERAUX+IN+HOSPITAL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Jl9NYLT_F2CuvA08aoJg7t4nDyq3Ty7jF7FwRyaC6APmt0KiAuSvUNtsvfJ3_RNxxOj3Fni1G99_qX8v0A74E_o33ACldmBGJMZXoYt58Ti0GvJPJ3R1UrONiRHbc25CsFOMiX5yXTg/s320/MISS+DEVERAUX+IN+HOSPITAL.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-style: normal;">Holmes addresses the woman, who
turns to face the owner of the strange voice, Freud introducing him.
She has indeed heard the name, gallantly offering a British 'How do
you do?'. Touched, Holmes asks what she can recall of her abduction.
She was on the station </span><i>en route </i><span style="font-style: normal;">for
Monte Carlo when a message arrived for her. Perhaps sensing
reticence, Holmes reassures her by confessing he, too is an addict.
The message came from her friend, the Baron Von Liensdorf. He was
planning to join her on the Riviera, but the message was </span><i>not</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
from the Baron, merely being a ruse to get her from the station. She
was bundled into a landau, the blinds closed. Gagged, tied and
blindfolded, </span><span style="font-style: normal;">she does not
know where she was taken or why. Asking a description of the
messenger, she details a little, dark-haired man wearing a bowler.
His skin was very burnt and pockmarked, his teeth bad too. He walked
with little nervous jumps and dressed like a tradesman. Clearly
suffering a terrible ordeal, Mme. Deveraux turns to her protector and
Doctor Freud asks for a few minutes alone with his patient. Holmes
praises her on her strength and leaves with Watson. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Alone,
the singer tells Doctor Freud they will have to start again. Is she
not afraid?. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">A woman as
beautiful as she has seen everything fearful by seventeen. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Afraid,
no, just tired...</span>
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At one of the caf<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;">é</span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;">s
for which Vienna is so justifiably famed, the gentlemen sit and
discuss matters. Doctor Freud invites Holmes to assist, but the
detective demurs. Watson agrees with his medical colleague that work
is the very thing. Sweating, Holmes puts it that his own condition
may affect Miss Deveraux's, that he is under constant need for
supervision. Better to turn the affair over to the Viennese police. A
man who believed his own mathematics tutor to be the serpent from
Eden... Freud leaps upon this, but Holmes is again subject to visions
of the boy on the stair. Trying not to let his frustration show,
Doctor Freud states the Vienna police no better than Scotland Yard –
what would he do if he </span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><i>had
</i></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">taken
the case?. </span></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">In
the grip of a panic attack, Holmes begs to be taken home to be
hypnotised. Watson makes to rise, but Freud's hand on his shoulder
stills the movement. The Doctor offers hypnosis here and now if
Holmes answers his question. </span></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjHcd7Nj3N779xrJDIRTm3Jb1ak-JtIAPAccyEk-uAznSuZY0W7LxYkwx7bim7DP64JtP3pZR1sI5AZmJNcb9dM9TFU0_6nF9wTX6wW_vVbrhpTj49lDuZjqfmPz9KxT6lVi4SN-DBtlA/s1600/7PERCENT00061.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjHcd7Nj3N779xrJDIRTm3Jb1ak-JtIAPAccyEk-uAznSuZY0W7LxYkwx7bim7DP64JtP3pZR1sI5AZmJNcb9dM9TFU0_6nF9wTX6wW_vVbrhpTj49lDuZjqfmPz9KxT6lVi4SN-DBtlA/s320/7PERCENT00061.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Joel Grey plays Lowenstein. Oily, slimy and wretched.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Left
without choice, Holmes accedes; his first move would be to follow
that man there – he indicates a sallow type seated at a nearby
booth conspicuously and ostentatiously reading his </span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Neue
Freie Presse. </span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">But
why?, he seems to be waiting for someone. Sherlock Holmes tells his
companions the man is waiting for </span></span><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">them,
</span></i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">having
followed them from the hospital. Freud asks why the man should be
concerned with them. </span></span>
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<div align="justify" style="background: #ffffff; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Holmes – (Clutching handkerchief) 'Doctor Freud, you see, but
you do not observe – a faculty you must cultivate. Describe that
man to me.'</i></div>
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<i>Watson – 'You can see him yourself.' </i>
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<div align="justify" style="background: #ffffff; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Holmes – 'Yes. Describe him.'</i></div>
<div align="justify" style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Dr.</span><span style="font-weight: normal;">
Freud – 'He's wearing a bowler, (The Man is dressing hurriedly as
if to leave) dressed as a tradesman, long ragged coat, black shoes,
scarred face...' </span></i>
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<i>Freud turns to face Holmes, the light of recognition in his eyes. </i>
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<div align="justify" style="background: #ffffff; font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Dr. Freud – 'Himmel!, it's the man who abducted Fraulein
Deveraux'.</i></div>
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<i>Holmes – (Nodding) 'Now, will you keep your promise?'.</i></div>
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<i>Dr. Freud – 'Ja.' </i>
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<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Freud
reaches for his watch, but the man is leaving – there's no time to
treat Holmes now. Hurrying after the fellow – who indeed walks with
nervous jumps – just time for Freud to pay and grab a last bite of
pastry. They follow the man to a chemist's shop, Holmes explaining
drugs were used by Miss Deveraux's abductor, to re-establish her
dependence. When, by some miracle, the addict is cured, the addiction
is relegated to the position of a secret in their past. Whoever did
this was intimately acquainted with the soprano. Stumbling, Holmes
falls to the paving stones, Freud offering to take him home.
Resolute, Holmes rejects the offer and the three rush off in pursuit
</span></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">to
the </span></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><i>Hof-Bibliotek</i>,
</span></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">(Now
the Austrian State Library and surely the finest library in Europe.)
where, from one of the galleries, he looks down on his followers. As
they stand, awaiting his next movement, he comes down, blows his nose
rather loudly and touches his hat to them as he passes, evidently
seeing this as some sort of game!. </span></span>
</div>
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<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The singular pursuit continues through Vienna, the pock-marked little
man hippety-hopping along and poor Watson limping along in the wake
of Holmes and Freud. Holmes thinks this odd fellow merely a
supernumerary, hired by one of the principals. Discussion turns to
the Baron and his lack of backhand. Pock-marked Hippety-hop darts
into a building, but on following the three find themselves in a dark
chamber the size of two tennis courts. The gate behind them is closed
suddenly by their quarry and, of all times, Sherlock has an attack.
Kneeling in the sawdust, Doctor Freud tries to hypnotise him, placing
him under. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The gates swing open and with a whinny, six horses from
the <i>Lipizzaner</i> stables roar into what is suddenly revealed as
a practice arena. Dragging the comatose Holmes to the precarious
safety afforded by some barrels, Watson shouts that they are only
horses – the most intelligent in the World, is Freud's retort –
and trained to kill. Needing more time to bring Holmes back, he
commands Watson to divert the horses away.</div>
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<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Bravely, Watson goes into the fray, going as fast as he can, hindered
by his old wound and desperately using his stick to propel himself,
the charging horses gaining with every step. Desperately, he hurls
himself clear at the last possible moment, the flailing hooves
missing him by a fraction. Regaining stick and hat, Watson turns to
face the stampede as it turns for the next pass. In an act that
would, on the battlefield merit a gallantry medal, he calls the
horses attention solely to him, taking cover behind some barrels <i>just
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">as several tons of horse-flesh
carom off them. Frantically, meanwhile, Freud is trying everything to
awaken Holmes without his craving for cocaine. Coming to, Holmes asks
what has happened, to be told the predicament they are in. Instantly,
Holmes removes his deerstalker (An odd choice for the city) and
dashes to the centre of the arena with the Viennese doctor. As the
</span><i>Lipizzaner </i><span style="font-style: normal;">hurtle past
Watson, their attention falls on the two men in front of the gates.
With death closing rapidly, Holmes and Freud run back towards the
gates, throwing themselves to either side at the critical moment. The
horses crash through and Holmes goes to see how Watson fared. They
must get to the hospital – why? - Freud sees that the pock-marked
hopping man was merely used to lead them astray. The purpose?...</span>
</div>
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<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Miss Deveraux sits combing her
legendary locks. The Baron calls on her with a large bouquet of
lillies. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">She is delighted to
see her old beau, they embrace warmly. He tells her Doctor Freud told
him of her convalescence and the two kiss. He has come to take her
away. But Doctor Freud?. The cad claims that he made the Doctor
change his mind. Fetching her robe, the Baron tells her after her
imprisonment in that warehouse, the last thing she needs is a cold,
impersonal hospital. Her face drops as she realises the terrible
truth. </span><i>How could he know about the warehouse?. </i><span style="font-style: normal;">The
ignoble nobleman is interrupted by the arrival of a Sister. He tells
the nurse that she must accompany the patient and, unaware of the
danger, she agrees. </span>
</div>
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<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">The Baron's carriage leaves, watched
by the ever-vigilant Turk, his eternal cigarette in his lips. He
hurries into a carriage bearing the coat of arms of the Emin Pasha to
follow the Baron. The next second, Holmes and co. come sprinting into
the courtyard, to the singer's room. Finding it vacant confirms
Holmes' worst fears. Anger then, as Holmes berates Freud for forcing
him to take this case. He's bungled it!. Why, why did he listen to
Freud?. Freud, of course has his own perspective; why does Holmes
insist on taking all the blame?, what egocentric streak prevents
others from sharing in his triumphs or disasters?. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Furious,
Sherlock shouts 'I followed the wrong man!'. Watson the peacemaker
now; beseeching both gentlemen to hold themselves, he points out this
is hardly the time to apportion blame. A woman is in danger. 'Women
are always in danger' the reply. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Freud
accedes. Where can they have taken her?. Not her original prison;
they have no idea what she may have ascertained of it's location or
revealed. The detective goes on – we know its location and that
prevents their return. Watson questions this, to Holmes' annoyance.
She leapt from the Augarten bridge after a harrowing escape down a
drainpipe. As an addict, how much strength could she have had?. From
how far off could she have come?. Then, the germ of an idea. Holmes
asks Doctor Freud what buildings front the Danube canal by the
bridge?. Despondently, Freud answers; 'Warehouses.' </span>
</div>
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<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The time for ratiocination has past, Holmes requires Toby, asking
Freud to go to fetch him. The Doctor thinks it better Holmes
accompanies him, but Sherlock sallies that Doctor Watson will prevent
his stealing Hospital supplies of cocaine; besides, (He draws his
magnifying glass) he is on the case and Freud has placed him there.
Now he is under <i>Holmes' </i><span style="font-style: normal;">instructions...
as afterthought, Holmes asks for Watson's revolver as well. As the
Doctor departs, a thought has come to him. Meanwhile, Holmes observes
no sign of a struggle, but spots a single lilly on the floor of the
corridor outside the door. Along the hallway, another!. Miss Deveraux
has left a trail!. Running out to the courtyard, more lilies await
discovery. The trail stops at a door from which two drunken gentlemen
have just spilled out from. Holmes bangs on the door, which is
answered by a be-turbanned boy. Inside, a sumptuous bordello is
revealed, patrons and </span><span style="font-style: normal;">courtesans
alike delight in a chanteuse's risqu</span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">é</span></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">
song. Finding</span></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">
themselves among the </span></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><i>demi-monde</i></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">,
Holmes and Watson stand, awkwardly (In Watson's case rather less so)
as the </span></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><i>madame</i></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">
finishes her song. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Posing
as customers, Holmes and Watson order something with red hair... her
own russet tresses will not do. She goes off in search of another
redhead, while a girl offers the pair a view at a stereoscope; Holmes
is disgusted and says as much. Watson, however, shows no such
reticence, more than willing to peruse the </span></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">three-dimensional
image. Doubtless not family viewing. </span></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">The
madame brings a redhead in, but it is not Miss Deveraux. Moving about
Holmes casts his eye around, then hurries through into a </span></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><i>salon
prive</i></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><i>é, </i></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">finding
a man cavorting with two 'ladies'. Covering Watson's eyes, Holmes
goes across to another salon to find... Doctor Sigmund Freud, sat on
the bed, smoking a cigar. At this, madame calls off her man,
remarking that for this sort of entertainment they need not come to
her establishment. </span></span>
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<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
How did Doctor Freud arrive at this place?. He tried to think where
they would hide Fr<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;">ä</span>ulein
Deveraux next. Knowing something of her less than salubrious past, he
thought where better to hide a <i>demi-mondaine </i><span style="font-style: normal;">than
amongst a bevy of the type. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Impressed,
Holmes remarks the Doctor is beginning to think as he does. Holmes is
embarrassed when Watson reveals their method and places the lillies
aside. They have not found Fr</span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">ä</span></span><span style="font-style: normal;">ulein
Deveraux, however they </span><i>have</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
found the body of the unfortunate sister, revealed by Freud pulling
the bed-covers back. Her throat has been slashed. His face darkening,
Holmes instructs the Doctor to rise carefully and step to one side,
Watson to lock the door so he can better exEmine the scene of this
latest crime. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Doctor Freud
speculates she was probably abducted to prevent her describing the
abductors. Holmes offers praise for the Doctor's insight, but adds
that there was only the one abductor, as there was no sign of a
struggle and both women clearly went willingly. Freud asks why, to
receive that immortal line; </span><i>'Eliminate the impossible, my
Dear Doctor and whatever remains, however improbable, must be the
truth.' </i><span style="font-style: normal;">Pondering this, Freud
uncertainly comes up with a name; The Baron?. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Congratulating
him on his insight, Holmes clarifies it – the Baron being the only
person intimately acquainted with her past.</span>
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<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Examining the dresser, Holmes finds
a bottle of cocaine solution. The Baron planned to use this to keep
his victim tractable. Freud wonders why he would have to abduct his
own mistress. The exEmination continues, with the Great Detective
scrutinising the corpse. Throat slit, left to right. A ritual
slaying, common in Moslem* practice. The Sharp curved blade, body
still warm, rigor not set in. Watson does not think this a matter of
religious difference. Spotting a partially smoked cigarette on the
carpet, Holmes shows it to his glass. </span><i>La Turkia, </i><span style="font-style: normal;">a
brand only smoked by Turks. Further inspection of the floor reveals a
tiny strand of red carpet, also Turkish. (*Of course, the proper
spelling would be 'Muslim', but in the Nineteenth Century 'Moslem'
was used. The spelling changed largely due to the wider knowledge
that 'Moslem' is, in fact a deadly insult to adherents of Islam.) </span>
</div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Holmes has a theory, only such, but
it fits the facts. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">It is his
theory that the Emin Pasha was an ardent admirer of Miss Deveraux. As
he recalls, red hair exercises a peculiar fascination for the
potentate. No doubt he met her at Monte </span><span style="font-style: normal;">C</span><span style="font-style: normal;">arlo
in the company of the Baron and... his train of thought is derailed
as he becomes distracted by the bottle of cocaine he is still
holding. Watson removes the offending article, reminding Holmes the
lady is still in danger – he mustn't succumb. Reassuring his old
friend, he declares that he won't. Ever. Freud gives a nod of
satisfaction at this. An insistent rapping at the door, which is
opened to admit our old friend Mister Pock-Marked Hippety-Hop, into
the strong arms of Watson. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Holmes
covers the wretched little man with Watson's revolver, ordering him
to empty his pockets of cocaine. Watson propels him across the room
onto the bed. On seeing the murdered Sister, he lets out a shriek. </span>
</div>
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<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">As the loathsome fellow hands over
his illicit cargo, Holmes tells him he will make a series of
statements and to agree or disagree, dependant on accuracy. Is that
understood?. Getting no reply from the terrified villain, Holmes
advances on him, at which Freud suddenly springs to his feet and
startles everyone as he announces 'I see everything.' He continues to
say the whole thing turns on two psycho-logical points; The baron's
compulsion for gambling and the Pasha's fascination for red-headed
women. Bravo!, Holmes </span><span style="font-style: normal;">professes
that</span><span style="font-style: normal;"> his powers of
observation and inference would make him a great detective, </span><span style="font-style: normal;">but
Freud turns to the rapscallion and puts these points to him;</span>
</div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Dr. Freud – Ze Baron is a compulsive gambler.</i></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Lowenstein – (Terrified) Yes.</i></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Dr. Freud – He lost a fortune this season at Monte Carlo.</i></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Lowenstein – (Nods)</i></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Dr. Freud – The Emin Pasha bought up all his outstanding notes
in order to control him completely.</i></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Lowenstein – (Nods)</i></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Holmes – Really Doctor, you positively scintillate, what next?.</i></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Dr. Freud – He offered to tear up the notes in exchange for
Fr<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;">ä</span>ulein Deveraux... </i>
</div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Holmes – Whom he wished to add to his seraglio.</i></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Lowenstein (Not understanding) Se...?.</i></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Holmes – (Tuts) His harem.</i></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Lowenstein – Hmm yes.</i></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Dr. Freud – Ze Baron agreed and hired you to abduct his
mistress.</i></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Lowenstein – Yes.</i></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Dr. Freud – Knowing of her former narcotic addiction, you were
instructed to revive it, in order to render her pliant and dependent.
</i>
</div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Lowenstein (Sobbing) Yes. </i>
</div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Dr. Freud is at a loss to explain the next steps, so Holmes suggests
they combine methods. Seating themselves comfortably, the trio ignore
the snuffling creature in the corner as Holmes expounds his theory
further. The Baron's plan is clear. In another day or so he could
have turned a docile woman over to his creditor, but she foiled his
plans with her escape. It was then a race to recover her; without
her, the Baron was lost. He discovered she was at the hospital
somehow and was on the point of spiriting her away – it was his
black carriage they passed entering, but something stopped him.
Holmes speculates that the Baron recognised Freud from their tennis
match. It was essential to get Holmes and cohorts out of the way,
which this gentleman (Lowenstein) accomplished... but the wily crook
has slipped out of the room.
</div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Watson grabs the repulsive little man and veritably hurls him back
into the room. Continuing, Sherlock states that this time the Baron
kidnapped Miss Deveraux in person. Something aroused her suspicion,
however and she left the trail of lillies. The Baron left her at this
very house of assignation whilst he went to fetch the Pasha. A slap
from Watson's walking stick elicits a 'Ja' from the cowering wretch.
This, however, was where the Pasha's men came in, having dogged the
Baron's footsteps from the beginning. It was <i>they</i> who took
Miss Deveraux. As Holmes remarks that the ladies do seem to cause
trouble, the vision, this time the boy nears the door at the top of
the stairs. Watson has heard enough; tiring of inactivity, he hauls
the pock-marked blackguard to his feet and demands to know the
Pasha's whereabouts. The foul creature says the Pasha is going to
Istanbul for a government conference. Galvanised, Holmes and friends
rush from the room.</div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
At the train yard, the Station Master explains the Emin Pasha
commissioned a special train, using his own cars. He put together the
Pasha's train himself, which left three hours ago for Istanbul.
Holmes declares they also will commission a special, pointing at a
locomotive which is pulling in. The detective tells Doctor Freud
there is no need to accompany himself and Watson, if he'd sooner
depart. Gamely, the Doctor replies Miss Deveraux is his patient,
earning a clap on the back from Watson and a handshake from Holmes.
They go to board the locomotive, to the protests of the Station
Master; it takes time to commission a special – and money. They
must telegraph ahead to clear points. Watson asks where the train was
originally heading. The reply; it is the Dresden Local. Drawing his
revolver, Watson corrects him; it is now the Orient Express. With a
'Huh', the Station Master climbs aboard. Holmes rushes to change the
points and the 'Orient Express Special' is under way. Holmes and
Freud take turns shovelling coal, whilst Watson keeps their captive
Station Master and the Engineer covered.
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh72AY4WAzCQwqAdmCN_FD9yJG8kKuHW3-IwygK1PLK326nDi9jpod4nejYO03x6peCksyx7KOwTdyPJJV9g6iW9l4sxKyduB_H7NRQHl6t5LIoptCImSXWQf_em5UiAiThJb97OiNGT6g/s1600/24+CHOO+CHOO.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh72AY4WAzCQwqAdmCN_FD9yJG8kKuHW3-IwygK1PLK326nDi9jpod4nejYO03x6peCksyx7KOwTdyPJJV9g6iW9l4sxKyduB_H7NRQHl6t5LIoptCImSXWQf_em5UiAiThJb97OiNGT6g/s320/24+CHOO+CHOO.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The 'Orient Express' thunders through the darkness, with an
impressive head of steam. With only the tender and a single carriage
to pull, it glides along the tracks. Exhausted, Freud is relieved by
Watson, who hands him the revolver, much to his discomfort. They need
more steam, Holmes tries to enlist the Station Master, who refuses –
they are stealing railway property. Freud seizes the man and explains
the Pasha is stealing a woman and transporting her out of the
country. Are they the police?. As so often, the name of Sherlock
Holmes is enough to sway opinion. Taking up shovel, the Station
Master works feverishly to produce the required pressure and the
locomotive gains vital speed. Wheels sparking, the train thunders off
into the night.
</div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The first light of dawn sees the commandeered 'Special' still gamely
pursuing the Emin Pasha's train. However, the supply of coal has
expired. With a gesture of disgust, Watson tosses the last piece into
the fire box. Grimacing in despair, Holmes admits defeat; Miss
Deveraux is forfeit. But then!. His eyes fall on the single carriage,
an axe conveniently affixed to its front. Clambering over the tender,
Holmes takes up the axe and, entering the carriage, sets to work
procuring fuel for the fire, much to the dismay of the Station Master
and the Engineer. Enthusiastically, the Doctors take up tools and
begin helping to destroy the carriage. Realising there is no saving
it, the Station Master sends the Engineer back to his controls and
goes to help. An over-enthusiastic Watson knocks several planks clear
onto the track, to be chastised by Doctor Freud. The train begins to
regain rapidity and momentum, Doctor Watson now on the roof knocking
it through, Doctor Freud beneath and Holmes passing the precious wood
to the Station Master.
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgn06WjCdO8GH8jFkqRrm3H2874NP9iDhsvEwnm3sS-4k628m_MPO-phPUvXNc5IIuZYw0DF5RXKwCY4hnXzSG7nQR7DB_3p5vwt9e4hBLBFQMZQCusJ3U_Mq6kakoAMpaIh38hQ91U0Y/s1600/FIREWOOD.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgn06WjCdO8GH8jFkqRrm3H2874NP9iDhsvEwnm3sS-4k628m_MPO-phPUvXNc5IIuZYw0DF5RXKwCY4hnXzSG7nQR7DB_3p5vwt9e4hBLBFQMZQCusJ3U_Mq6kakoAMpaIh38hQ91U0Y/s320/FIREWOOD.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZg7r1QYZ4g3BfklG78yay13aw2rSWZn_3C09vB4XyvzX-G4XwTpq9NRYyUXQ8jRtCKObJUkwpdY6Lk2DnbVQafPE1W3KEfFx-tIoccQmfdQ5nKaiyvEDLHAdc59NztYX-jXrZW2_sxKg/s1600/27+GAINING.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZg7r1QYZ4g3BfklG78yay13aw2rSWZn_3C09vB4XyvzX-G4XwTpq9NRYyUXQ8jRtCKObJUkwpdY6Lk2DnbVQafPE1W3KEfFx-tIoccQmfdQ5nKaiyvEDLHAdc59NztYX-jXrZW2_sxKg/s320/27+GAINING.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The Station Master points out a train running on a converging set of
tracks. 'Berger! Berger! You're a Wizard!.*' Exclaims Holmes,
jubilant. They are right behind them, with no more points to switch.
Calling for all the steam available, Holmes observes they must catch
them before they cross the Danube. Inexorably, the two trains are
drawn together by the convention of the rails, the Pasha's train
ahead by perhaps a carriage-length. Both trains blow their whistles,
which alerts the Baron Von Liensdorf, who steps out onto the back
porch to investigate, locking with Holmes for a moment before he
darts back into the carriage. A trains length ahead, the Pasha's
train races ahead, Holmes' train closing. As both trains flash past a
signal box, the signal-man hurriedly changes the points and
</div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
winds the telephone to call ahead. Crossing a viaduct into the border
with Hungary, the barriers drop behind the Potentate's train, to the
alarm of the Station-Master. Resolute, Holmes orders the Engineer to
ram them. Whistle shrieking in warning, the 'Orient Express Special'
smashes the barrier into matchwood, the border guards shrinking back
from the juggernaut. Watson cries out an enthusiastic, if insincere
'Sorry!' as the guards regain their wits and begin firing, one
particular optimistic soul running after the train waving a red flag.
(*One assumes Holmes uses 'Berger' in the proper sense, as German for
'Citizen' rather than the man's name.)</div>
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<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
If the Emin Pasha's train has lost none of it's pace, neither has the
following; the two trains fly across an iron bridge one after the
other. The Baron re-appears brandishing a revolver, Holmes ducking
back inside the cab just as the bullet crashes through the
windscreen. Foolishly, the Station Master cannot resist a peek at the
Baron, receiving the next bullet to the arm. Doctors Watson and Freud
attend the wounded man. Doubtless the fiend is ensuring his cargo
arrives as promised. Urgently, Holmes asks how they can gain more
speed. The injured Station Master responds; 'Release what we're
pulling.' Holmes does just this, uncoupling the threadbare carriage
with a wave. Meanwhile, the Baron, it would seem, has a similar idea,
ordering two of the Pasha's turks to release the trailer wagon.
Seeing the danger, Watson calls to Holmes, who comes to see for
himself. Ordering Fritz (The group is evidently on friendly terms
with the Engineer by this stage.) to operate the brake, they brace
for the impact, which is much reduced by both deceleration and the
spring-loaded buffers in use on both wagon and locomotive.</div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Exuberant, Holmes reports that the Pasha has made a fatal mistake, he
needs as much speed as possible and Watson's service revolver. Freud
asks what will he do? - he answers 'What I can.' Climbing out, he
traverses the ironwork towards the front of the locomotive, an
oncoming train hooting in greeting and, doubtless warning against
such foolhardiness. Yelling back to his companions, he calls for more
speed. </div>
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<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Finally at the smoke box door, Holmes leaps onto the Pasha's
discarded wagon. Precariously, he picks his way along the Pasha's
luggage under its tarpaulin, watched by Freud, Fritz and Watson. The
distance is too far; he cannot bridge the gap. 'Closer!' is his cry.
Fritz lays on all the speed his engine has and Holmes leaps across
the gap, drawing the revolver. The locked door is unlocked by a
bullet and he has gained entry, to find the Baron trying to load a
pistol from the sumptuously-furnished carriage, ornate panelwork
along either side laden with weapons of all kinds; <i>katar
</i>push-daggers from India vying for space with fowling pieces and
sabres.
</div>
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<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
With a wave of his pistol barrel, Holmes commands the Baron away from
his revolver. Arrogantly, the Prussian remarks Holmes is very brave
with a revolver; is he so confident with a sabre?. Taking two such
weapons from their mounts, he offers to fight for Miss Deveraux,
tossing one to try to catch Holmes off-guard. Thus, the duel begins.
It is clear from the outset the Baron learnt well when he earned his
duelling scar. Holmes is clearly out of his depth in a swordfight
with an experienced blade, slashing wildly then losing his own when
it sticks in a chair held as a shield by the Baron. Snatching up
another sabre, Holmes resumes the fray, parrying and thrusting, but
suddenly the train hurtles into a tunnel, plunging the carriage into
darkness. As it exits, both combatants abandon the field, rather
sensibly leaving the carriage, each man now hanging on to the roof
rail.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Once on the roof, the duellists re-engage. Holmes proves himself an
honourable man; he still retains his revolver in his left hand and
could easily shoot the Baron to settle affairs. Not Holmes! -
heroically he exchanges blows, swords clashing with the ring of steel
as from some devilish blacksmith's shop. Battle continues along the
roof, the Baron's skill inevitably forcing Holmes onto the defensive.
Doctor Freud, however, has decided to investigate, going forward
himself, as the Fr<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;">ä</span>ulein
may need him. Watson makes to go after him, but Freud insists his
wounded leg will not bear it. Following Sherlock's steps, the
Viennese Doctor makes his way to the wagon and then onto the porch of
the Pasha's train. He bursts into the rear carriage with a shout, but
of course it is empty.
</div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The unusual convoy passes through a station as Freud selects an
Arabian musket as his weapon. Cocking the antique, he goes forward
bravely.</div>
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<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A slash from the Baron's sabre, meanwhile has wounded Holmes in the
hand, forcing him to drop Watson's revolver. His effort to recover it
foiled by the sabre thrust into the roof between his fingers, Holmes
stands, helpless as the Baron reveals that, unlike Sherlock Holmes,
he has <i>no </i>honour; he draws a revolver and pulls the trigger.
Nothing – the weapon is unloaded. Holmes recovers the service
revolver and has the wicked scoundrel at his mercy. Facing forwards,
the Baron can see what Holmes cannot, namely that the train is fast
approaching a low brick-work bridge. From his vantage point behind,
Watson shouts to Holmes to shoot. Holmes cannot, it simply is not in
his blood to commit cold-blooded murder. The Baron ducks, at which
Holmes turns to see a certain death rushing towards him. Ducking
down, Holmes cheats fate by inches. Once through the tunnel, the
fight resumes, even prone the two hack and slash at each other.
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
In the forward carriage the Pasha's Harem scream in terror as a
wild-eyed Freud bursts in, musket aimed at the Emin Pasha, who stands
there resplendent in formal attire, a dagger at his waist. His
bodyguard stand, their daggers poised to strike the Doctor down. Two
more men stand behind the Pasha, also armed.
</div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Dr. Freud – 'Stop!'</i></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>The Emin Pasha – (Snarls) 'Throw it down, infidel!.' </i>
</div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>'They will die to reach you!.'</i></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Dr. Freud – 'Not before you do!.'</i></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>'I do not believe in this manner of solving
problems, but you leave me no choice. Call them off.'</i></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Emin Pasha – (Snarling) 'You haven't the nerve!.'</i></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Dr. Freud – (Triumphant) 'I'm finding it.'</i></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The Pasha, sweating, gives the word and his men throw down their
knives. A whimper from beside the Doctor is revealed to come from
Miss Deveraux, who is clearly drugged. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXbbuwRcxL85924w0Xdq0N98YtSbOO0HTXtPSLLcRvvD1YC9lbfS5hq4dKkk0gNE5QGgPWbdu5loJEK-KnReZEV9INxdkCbJDaw12Gv9Z3CBGRQJFp598srV6RS4xRudOYBetA_hN8F8U/s1600/34+UNVEILED.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXbbuwRcxL85924w0Xdq0N98YtSbOO0HTXtPSLLcRvvD1YC9lbfS5hq4dKkk0gNE5QGgPWbdu5loJEK-KnReZEV9INxdkCbJDaw12Gv9Z3CBGRQJFp598srV6RS4xRudOYBetA_hN8F8U/s320/34+UNVEILED.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
As Doctor Freud removes the
chiffon veil covering her, one of the wily turks grabs a dagger to
lung at Freud, who fires the musket, killing the man. Smiling, he
pulls a revolver from his waistband and covers the remaining cohort.
The train takes another viaduct, across a picturesque river. Any
locals watching could be forgiven for wondering why two men stand on
the rear carriage engaged in mortal combat. The Baron has a few
tricks up his sleeve yet; turning into Holmes sword, he uses his left
arm to check Holmes at the wrist, he continues to twist at the waist,
to drive his elbow hard into the detective. This unexpected move
sends Sherlock toppling over the side, clutching at the roof rail
with his free hand he uses his sword to fend off the murderous attack
that follows.
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOn8B2qaMHFKCqqmy3NqCw1BBeO1Jwf_8-ghOvgA22fdspjEi-MB9GmgUYOuh2WvAEjqplQMVUC_i89gSo7nDrtY_B2MUZeViHQMMP3uklyHbzzoxNLqlgoQpd2IDTsRoBxRjh_59o7E4/s1600/35+DUEL+A+LA+MORTE.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOn8B2qaMHFKCqqmy3NqCw1BBeO1Jwf_8-ghOvgA22fdspjEi-MB9GmgUYOuh2WvAEjqplQMVUC_i89gSo7nDrtY_B2MUZeViHQMMP3uklyHbzzoxNLqlgoQpd2IDTsRoBxRjh_59o7E4/s320/35+DUEL+A+LA+MORTE.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAjS2IAXcJwXCm3eUJj_cEID5poulsv-4j_cDjvAdv3Denx096cIXtwa_x6feBJ3xN1C_uHaKgpwvLc6cIqYmAZmA5MKWH3DQwgjJbaBupqt8Yqo4w_DV3mome7-My2w9rkOJOVSne9nU/s1600/HOLMES+KNOCKED+OFF+TRAIN.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAjS2IAXcJwXCm3eUJj_cEID5poulsv-4j_cDjvAdv3Denx096cIXtwa_x6feBJ3xN1C_uHaKgpwvLc6cIqYmAZmA5MKWH3DQwgjJbaBupqt8Yqo4w_DV3mome7-My2w9rkOJOVSne9nU/s320/HOLMES+KNOCKED+OFF+TRAIN.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Standing on Holmes blade to trap it, the Baron is unbalanced when
Holmes twists it. The villain then leaps across to the rear
carriage*, hotly pursued by Holmes. The two men circle each
other**. As Doctor Watson looks on, helpless to intervene, Holmes is
backed towards the end of the carriage. Watson calls for more wood,
the Station Master obliging. Despite the hindrance of his leg, Watson
goes to his friend's aid, clambering along the locomotive as Holmes
teeters on the brink. Abruptly, the Baron disarms Holmes with a
circular sweep, sending his blade high into the air to land on the
covered Wagon. There is nothing for it, but to leap after the sabre,
the Baron jumping down after to press his attack. 'No backhand,
Holmes!, no backhand!' Watson calls this to Holmes with a gesture as
if playing tennis. Reminded of the Baron's deficiency, Holmes
re-enters the fray,
</div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
forcing the Baron into a backhand stance from which he makes a wild,
hopelessly high swing of his sabre. Holmes drives his own blade
through the cad, who is done for. Watson congratulates Holmes on his
victory. (*This is a continuity error; they were <i>already </i>on
the rear carriage. **This is an assumption; if wrong this marks a
second error of continuity following the first.)</div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
At Doctor Freud's home once more, the Doctor tells a bandaged Holmes
life will seem very quiet after his departure. Holmes is sure they
will meet again. Sincerely, he tells Freud that his therapy has saved
him from addiction. Beyond that, his judgement saved his life – his
and Watson's. Placing his good hand on his companion's shoulder, he
avers that there will be a lifetime to repay the debt... what can he
do for Doctor Freud?. The Doctor asks to hypnotise Holmes one last
time. But he is cured!. Freud explains there is a part of his mind to
which he would also like to say farewell. Soon, Sherlock Holmes is
under hypnosis. Doctor Freud asks when he started using cocaine, he
answers when he was twenty. In the university. Why?. The boy climbs
the stair in Holmes' mind. He tells Freud he was unhappy. Why did he
become a detective?; to punish the wicked and see justice done.
Watson watches silently as the session continues.
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzxI3PE9AgdXuPHOdk2vapEFeB7GwGsjdfC7SdgO3hPPqhCo2KgLZsldrCFOeaER207R_rR_wDvLfpZUi8U24aVuqmkHyL0lS29EYt7kJ-jnOV0Vs6jLmHTwGLor9i7UylSt9URvRNwCA/s1600/7PERCENT00124.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzxI3PE9AgdXuPHOdk2vapEFeB7GwGsjdfC7SdgO3hPPqhCo2KgLZsldrCFOeaER207R_rR_wDvLfpZUi8U24aVuqmkHyL0lS29EYt7kJ-jnOV0Vs6jLmHTwGLor9i7UylSt9URvRNwCA/s320/7PERCENT00124.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Dr. Freud – 'Have you ever known wickedness personally?.'</i>
</div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>(The boy climbs the stair and we can see a
resemblance to a young Holmes.)</i></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>'Have you?.'</i></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Holmes - (A tear running down his face) 'Yes.' </i>
</div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Dr. Freud – 'What was this wickedness?.'</i></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>(The boy reaches the top of the stairs and
looks into a bedroom where a couple writhe
</i>
</div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>in ecstasy on the bed. One is Holmes' mother.)</i></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Holmes – 'My mother deceived my father.'</i></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Dr Freud – 'She had a lover?.'</i></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>(Holmes sees the pair embracing.)</i></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Holmes - (Hesitant) 'Yes.'</i></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Dr. Freud – 'And what was the injustice?.'</i></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>'What was the injustice?.'</i></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>(We see the young Holmes face turn as his
father, Squire Holmes dashes into the room. </i>
</div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Holmes' Mother shouts 'No!' twice.)</i></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Holmes – He shot her.</i></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHtHKVtF-TKenjkPfBeG0gyDMZGEjYKSJmGwWrNGmyHlipZimEG7BgxXFl_Fmtc4rlwFxWY4ynSV_NlKQeaBYijAqbXmqJtCezARGjp71KcYysJAfePlG5ofd-2naPyNENme0fHiX8RLg/s1600/38+A+TERRIBLE+MEMORY.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHtHKVtF-TKenjkPfBeG0gyDMZGEjYKSJmGwWrNGmyHlipZimEG7BgxXFl_Fmtc4rlwFxWY4ynSV_NlKQeaBYijAqbXmqJtCezARGjp71KcYysJAfePlG5ofd-2naPyNENme0fHiX8RLg/s320/38+A+TERRIBLE+MEMORY.gif" width="320" /></a></i></div>
<br />
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Holmes revisits his Mother's murder by his father, who killed her
with a shotgun, leaving the young Sherlock spattered with her blood.
With the magnitude of this revelation, Doctor Freud leans back, hand
over his mouth as he considers the effect such a trauma must have had
on the young boy. Watson rises to his feet, his expression grim.
Eventually, Freud returns to his patient to enquire about the lover.
What became of him? - He fled, answers the recumbent Holmes. Who was
he?. Doctor Freud must ask the question twice, before Holmes answers,
gripped by the spectre of his forgotten past. Covering himself with
the now bloodied sheets, the face of Holmes' tutor, Professor
Moriarty is revealed, the young Holmes recoiling in horror. Freud
need not look to Watson; the association is now clear to both men.
Doctor Freud instructs his patient to sleep and remember nothing.
Disgusted at the suffering his friend endured as a child, Watson
utters; 'The Napoleon of crime. Holmes was right about him from the
very beginning.'</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Enmeshing his fingers, Doctor Freud brings his patient's case to a
resolution; we understand not only the origin of his addiction, the
hatred of Professor Moriarty, but also his suspicion of Women and his
choice of profession – detector of wickedness, punisher of
injustice. Generously, Watson claps his back, declaring Freud the
greatest detective of them all. Doctor Freud explains he is a
physician whose province is the troubled mind, by borrowing some of
Holmes' techniques he applied them to the man himself. Freud reminds
Watson of their discussion of the Un-Conscious, Holmes led him there.
But how?. Freud refers to the English playwright Holmes deduced he
was so fond of reading; 'We are such stuff as dreams are made on.'
The Doctor awakens his patient, who only has the dimmest recollection
of being asked some questions. Kindly, Doctor Freud tells him he did
not reveal anything interesting. They must hurry as their train
leaves in under an hour and Mrs. Freud wishes to say farewell –
also their son on whom Holmes has made a distinct impression. Indeed,
the Junior Freud wishes to study the violin. The Doctor makes Holmes
a gift of his Uncles' violin as souvenir of his time in Vienna.
Holmes is literally struck dumb by this altruistic act.
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Taking their carriage to the station, Watson wonders what will become
of Miss Deveraux. Petting Toby, the Bloodhound, Holmes observes women
are like cats, invariably landing on their feet. Watson feels this
unfair; she has been through a great deal, but Holmes responds; 'And
not so much as thanked us, from saving her from a deal worse, to say
nothing of enquiring after any hurts we may have suffered in her
behalf.'
</div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifauoJastVdHH_Aj9kNHpBEPwg0EGbufWhJ9Q39O6Vbb6KQ78wx0cW-FmQ0EvtvHJO5fd-nLs1M3pzYFEAWuluHEK714WDRAJso0FstyCJLpbUbUaD673O7GdQAdBzvt7k8sW_f5z1PjI/s1600/END+HOLMES+FAREWELL+TO+WATSON.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifauoJastVdHH_Aj9kNHpBEPwg0EGbufWhJ9Q39O6Vbb6KQ78wx0cW-FmQ0EvtvHJO5fd-nLs1M3pzYFEAWuluHEK714WDRAJso0FstyCJLpbUbUaD673O7GdQAdBzvt7k8sW_f5z1PjI/s320/END+HOLMES+FAREWELL+TO+WATSON.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Friends forever: Holmes bids Watson farewell.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
At the Nussdorf paddle steamer embarkation point, Watson reveals he
has a theory about Miss Deveraux, based on study of Doctor Freud's
techniques. No woman of her calibre – a lady – would descend to a
life of shame without valid cause. Perceptive as ever, Watson remarks
that the paddle steamer is not a train. Holmes agrees, with a smile.
But they are going to return to London?. Watson is, Holmes is not,
for the time being. Requiring some time alone, he is taking a
holiday. He asks his friend to inform Mycroft of this and to tell
Mrs. Hudson not to touch his rooms. Watson clearly fears relapse, but
Holmes re-assures him he merely needs to complete his recovery.
Offering his regards to Mrs. Watson, he pets Toby and boards. As the
engines start up, Watson asks how he will live – he calls back when
his arm has recovered to follow the career of a concert violinist
named 'Sigerson'. And what shall he tell his readers? - 'Anything you
like' comes the reply, with the supplemental 'Tell them I was
murdered by my mathematics tutor.*' The two staunch friends wave each
other good-bye and the boat pulls out into the Danube.
</div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
(*Which is, of course, exactly what Watson did, in 'The final
problem'.)</div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The End?</div>
<div align="center" style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Not quite; there is one final surprise. A crewman shows Holmes to a
comfortable seat and he sits back, looking across to the passenger
next to him then relaxing. Opening his eyes again, he looks back in
disbelief – it is none other than Miss Deveraux!. Giving Holmes a
long, lingering look that speaks of love, gratitude and uncertainty,
she asks if he is surprised. Sherlock confesses that he is. He was
not aware she was bound for Budapest, or contemplating going abroad.
It is an odd co-incidence, but she is not sorry for it. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuD21mfzb7Xv-aqT4eq0OTIWAL1bbSkG_qN15Qp3v8iP75HIzP_OeN7MaUyvKKNBxJZrX80mXeeE-GwXgLW62tyh8OCNrMl27Gy8ZtocJ9RlTHP8XSiuAkN6n96t2skdHvxhP_G868NR8/s1600/END+RIVER+DANUBE+TRIP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuD21mfzb7Xv-aqT4eq0OTIWAL1bbSkG_qN15Qp3v8iP75HIzP_OeN7MaUyvKKNBxJZrX80mXeeE-GwXgLW62tyh8OCNrMl27Gy8ZtocJ9RlTHP8XSiuAkN6n96t2skdHvxhP_G868NR8/s320/END+RIVER+DANUBE+TRIP.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="left" style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Marvelling at
this extraordinary woman, Holmes' thoughts are plain from his face.
Journeys alone are so tedious, she remarks, especially when they are
long. Will this be a long journey? Asks Holmes – that all depends,
but she does think it will seem shorter, if there are the two of
them. Clearly won over, Sherlock Holmes reply is; 'I hope it will not
seem too short.' The boat continues on its way down the mighty and
beautiful river.
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikJCxhaM-R8xAR0fPpJQVCfUeEQlPq7cZNaZ2lRKq0_LaF8CvlPKLqwDY2v3y9AcH6xZ5JaNdRVuECr51pYcnTA49qAKMIJOiHbgUs5K0K-u2CndIO9GnrmGWnnQrbUWtM9zS-VAvmMO4/s1600/DUVALL+AND+WILLIAMSON.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikJCxhaM-R8xAR0fPpJQVCfUeEQlPq7cZNaZ2lRKq0_LaF8CvlPKLqwDY2v3y9AcH6xZ5JaNdRVuECr51pYcnTA49qAKMIJOiHbgUs5K0K-u2CndIO9GnrmGWnnQrbUWtM9zS-VAvmMO4/s320/DUVALL+AND+WILLIAMSON.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Relaxing between takes. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div align="left" style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
So, that is the film; at 11,552 words that has to be my longest
description of any. I doubt many of you will read it. I hope you do –
or better yet, find a copy of this remarkable – no, <i>singular
</i>film. Nicholas Meyer wrote the screenplay along the lines of his best-selling book of the same name. Yet to read the book, I have read that the film follows
fairly closely in its premise, but added the Emin Pasha character,
the hypnotic revelations at the end of the film were also added, as
was Miss Deveraux appearing on the paddle steamer. Further, Holmes'
character was altered for the production, being more amenable to the
female sex than usual. Sigmund Freud never had a son – his Daughter
– still alive at the time of production - refused to be
fictionalised. All of which brings us to the vexed question; is it a
'good' Sherlock Holmes film?.
</div>
<div align="left" style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj87yQ-LtCad6s_TrhlMKLZMu4r2UQ5iNYVmc4VgE23osHf84ZrO5H_CHWMCoCUZDKshyphenhyphen10ApPKAkCaR9mhOk45NhrqBmqXqGHL2i4KFAEXvGc1UJpzgBYclbkleScmkBY8uarAT6y1GhE/s1600/CAST+SHOT+ON+PASHAS+TRAIN.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj87yQ-LtCad6s_TrhlMKLZMu4r2UQ5iNYVmc4VgE23osHf84ZrO5H_CHWMCoCUZDKshyphenhyphen10ApPKAkCaR9mhOk45NhrqBmqXqGHL2i4KFAEXvGc1UJpzgBYclbkleScmkBY8uarAT6y1GhE/s320/CAST+SHOT+ON+PASHAS+TRAIN.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Redgrave, Duvall, Williamson and Arkin pose aboard the Pasha's train set. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div align="left" style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Yes, very much so; Nicol Williamson is magnificent, easily the match
of all, but Brett and not far from his (highly - distinguished) heels
at that. His performance in <i>Excalibur</i> first alerted me to his
talent, he stole that film with consummate skill mixed with sheer
talent. Williamson portrays the Detective as flawed and human,
susceptible to vice and damaged from his addiction. A rare talent.
The actress playing the ill-fated Mrs. Holmes, Jill Townsend was
Williamson's wife at the time of production. Casting Robert Duvall as
Watson was, apparently a 'conscious revolt' against the bumbling,
stumbling characterisation of actors such as Nigel Bruce. Sadly, his
British accent is atrocious – it makes Dick van Dyke sound
authentic, making it hard to take the character seriously. He sounds
like he's trying to retain a suppository after a coughing fit. In all
other respects he plays the perfect Watson – the intelligent,
staunch and brave friend we knew from the Doyle originals. Alan
Arkin's Freud is inspired – perhaps the accent a touch heavy, but
close enough to be believable. He plays the Viennese Doctor with
aplomb in a great supporting role.
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRTX-YqDQ1sVv7qgNTLodz49ug5x2jvQOzsNifPmDv5KSmKk6AA5ddxlJ2xJUHRe8KhPZM2_BalPJ9K6i23wrVI2cwf35iwWrS6QYBsQL-TKRi6mUW6GvIdxAMpM3oRT5vo3gBLcF_PBA/s1600/1+POSTER.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRTX-YqDQ1sVv7qgNTLodz49ug5x2jvQOzsNifPmDv5KSmKk6AA5ddxlJ2xJUHRe8KhPZM2_BalPJ9K6i23wrVI2cwf35iwWrS6QYBsQL-TKRi6mUW6GvIdxAMpM3oRT5vo3gBLcF_PBA/s320/1+POSTER.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Olivier's Moriarty is watchable, but you wonder what the great man
would have done with the orthodox evil Professor. Had he played him
in earnest it might have been the role of the century!. Dear old
Charles Gray is wonderful as Mycroft Holmes – the role he reprised
later for the Jeremy Brett series. Jeremy Kemp is a thoroughly bad
baddie – unlikable, arrogant and an utter s**t; a nicely-handled
performance. Kemp later played Dr. Grimesby Roylott in the Brett
episode 'The Speckled Band.' Vanessa Redgrave's Lola Deveraux is
perhaps the only performance to match Williamson's. She shines
throughout, giving Williamson a credible woman for which his Sherlock
falls. Satirist John Bird makes an appearance as Berger, the
Station-Master. Joel Grey gives Lowenstein such a thoroughly nasty
sheen of slime that you might forget he is the very same that played
the Master of Ceremonies in <i>Cabaret.</i> Solid supporting acts all
round.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOR9Icje_Mp36bK5aFToavyZqnPk-JyvqElgQkJc_1EPUiYTorJo_K58EJCb4G4xWSlA7nBkaQTmLEfHJeGico32XSjqLAJUUEDsudCvunGI_do0b5Yl5ESzDi-hooMVOGaakyXZEVpeg/s1600/FREUD+HOLMES+WATSON+PR+SHOT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOR9Icje_Mp36bK5aFToavyZqnPk-JyvqElgQkJc_1EPUiYTorJo_K58EJCb4G4xWSlA7nBkaQTmLEfHJeGico32XSjqLAJUUEDsudCvunGI_do0b5Yl5ESzDi-hooMVOGaakyXZEVpeg/s320/FREUD+HOLMES+WATSON+PR+SHOT.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The actors in character for a publicity shot.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div align="left" style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Director Herbert Ross went on to make such films as <i>California
Suite, Steel Magnolias </i>and <i>The Secret of My Success. </i>Starting
as an actor-choreographer, his record of stage and screen hits is
enviable. He does a fine job keeping this film on the rails, as it
were, but the pace will seem slow to modern viewers. Further, the
over-statement of plot points gets tedious – especially Freud
telling us what we already know. The production, however, is
first-rate – with <i>James Bond </i>designer Ken Adam on board this
won't be too much of a shock. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaY4vpgFt7TCfRjwHPnlcYb9ImCN2hUek8UX4AoV5EE2NnXnkj2uGk-53FBXo4wlAg8RecRyJDNg4ghazFEve9MDtpwsT3w_b655FzTsLd4P0Cm-YjUdi7CGgxRdUjY7flEMHbggAtbXM/s1600/7PERCENT00008.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaY4vpgFt7TCfRjwHPnlcYb9ImCN2hUek8UX4AoV5EE2NnXnkj2uGk-53FBXo4wlAg8RecRyJDNg4ghazFEve9MDtpwsT3w_b655FzTsLd4P0Cm-YjUdi7CGgxRdUjY7flEMHbggAtbXM/s320/7PERCENT00008.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ken Adam's set designs bring Victorian life to the screen so flawlessly, the viewer is to be forgiven for not noticing there <i>is </i>any set design.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div align="left" style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The sets are High Victorian Heaven –
Freud's office and the living room of 221b simply <i>shout </i>'Sherlock
Holmes!.' None other than Stephen Sondheim wrote 'The Madame's Song.'
Clearly, the actors do a fair share of their own stunt-work – you
can see the professionals at work if you look carefully during the
train fight sequence. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmrkqfVswj7tDxUTa2WQztgTrCVSRovcRThdQiKDPTcvCXYW-PEUAuxD4F5HcmeDt62PopCSdW8op1UJHhL6pKw9CZNkd5IdjM3pYATD-OItEktZ-dWdsy8F4kOTQJDcZduvMC-w7OXLI/s1600/UNKNOWN+POSTER+VARIANT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmrkqfVswj7tDxUTa2WQztgTrCVSRovcRThdQiKDPTcvCXYW-PEUAuxD4F5HcmeDt62PopCSdW8op1UJHhL6pKw9CZNkd5IdjM3pYATD-OItEktZ-dWdsy8F4kOTQJDcZduvMC-w7OXLI/s320/UNKNOWN+POSTER+VARIANT.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An alternative poster.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div align="left" style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Nor are there enough goofs for a separate
section; apart from a few continuity errors all that remains is
during the <i>Lipizzaner</i> attack, the handlers, clearly visible
and dressed in black holding thin wires, presumably to steer the
horses and stop them in emergency. Obviously a difficult, dangerous
sequence to film this hardly qualifies as an error. If you look
closely, as Freud and Watson take to the tennis court a movie light
is just visible behind a gap in the construction of the court.
Cocaine is not physically addictive; the horrors suffered by Holmes
do not reflect reality. It is, however, highly habit-forming,
although physical withdrawal is not the awful process endured by
addicts to, say, Heroin. I have some niggles with this film despite
my admiration for it. I confess – and apologise now, that I have
not the character to let trivialities lie; I cannot believe that a
mind of Holmes' order would have allowed Miss Deveraux to remain
undefended – surely Watson could have been spared his
limp-about-Vienna to guard her whilst he and Freud pursued
Lowenstein?.
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik2CdmxwbvGXqKXAg6PPXnNW4hdUtT4O_3l939EdSthBVMwVhLlb99q5b1LVozkuF2-shsESEFXEX-lGvWrEaymUfxm-xPaVOZeo_3L57Q3corHvfaHKADr6lUvhx-0ou1K72Vk7TjqSM/s1600/OSCAR+AD.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik2CdmxwbvGXqKXAg6PPXnNW4hdUtT4O_3l939EdSthBVMwVhLlb99q5b1LVozkuF2-shsESEFXEX-lGvWrEaymUfxm-xPaVOZeo_3L57Q3corHvfaHKADr6lUvhx-0ou1K72Vk7TjqSM/s320/OSCAR+AD.jpg" width="231" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The film received just two Oscar nominations (Best Writing, Adapted Screenplay and Best Costume Design.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div align="left" style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Locations for the film include the Reform Club, Pall Mall, standing
in for the Diogenes Club. The arena where Holmes and co. are nearly
murdered by horse is The Winter Riding School of the World-famous
Spanish riding School of Vienna. I once had the great privilege of
seeing the Lipizzaner horses at the stables in Yugoslavia and have
never forgotten those beautiful creatures and their fantastic
abilities. The Real Tennis court at Queen's club hosted the tennis
duel. The train sequences were shot on the Severn Valley Railway,
Shropshire.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQCiNWPQVMSnLz549d_IdtxHIgGQz9-z5WGPY3W1kRODSFwGlS2Djlv-CoBpPnm-mb5LOwq0cEYf0VZCNnux1ZX2mOY9QIom61CZ8X0lJ_vwplw2K2ToRG0GamcGICHSI3-RBPrY9s8Ws/s1600/FRENCH+POSTER.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQCiNWPQVMSnLz549d_IdtxHIgGQz9-z5WGPY3W1kRODSFwGlS2Djlv-CoBpPnm-mb5LOwq0cEYf0VZCNnux1ZX2mOY9QIom61CZ8X0lJ_vwplw2K2ToRG0GamcGICHSI3-RBPrY9s8Ws/s320/FRENCH+POSTER.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The French poster.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div align="left" style="background: #ffffff; font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
So – often described as <a href="http://sherlockholmesof221b.blogspot.co.uk/2016/05/without-clue-holmes-with-twist.html" target="_blank">'pastiche'</a>, this film is nothing of the
sort. A witty, well-written and enjoyable film which suffers only
from a slow pace – a failing that I can easily overlook. Fans of
Sherlock Holmes – Sherlockians (Agh!) will love it. Finally – the
score. We award <i>The Seven Percent Solution;</i>
</div>
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Volcano Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14372941500458681755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555240865021461020.post-83403202001289548042016-04-07T10:21:00.001-07:002016-04-08T11:34:27.748-07:00The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes - Billy Wilder's master-work reviewed<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi36U8W53bCd1N7q9i04IpsbrRZiHWhVwjUMaA1-ay6_vriBJWDvbcxapIClnh1atv10m4L64d8ZnIuVSj4N6nHdAYDD5Z-eYAmn5iGZOhp0bGVlKb4XKDO9EhhysVQnDpPxjN7w6fM19c/s1600/Title.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi36U8W53bCd1N7q9i04IpsbrRZiHWhVwjUMaA1-ay6_vriBJWDvbcxapIClnh1atv10m4L64d8ZnIuVSj4N6nHdAYDD5Z-eYAmn5iGZOhp0bGVlKb4XKDO9EhhysVQnDpPxjN7w6fM19c/s320/Title.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
Cox and Co Bankers,
London. That it is the present day is evident from the famous red
buses reflected in the gleaming brass nameplate. Deep in a dusty,
half-forgotten vault lies a tin despatch box bearing the name John H.
Watson MD. It is not to be opened until fifty years after the
Doctor's death. It contains mementos of his long association with the
world's first and undeniably most famous Consulting Detective. As the
titles play, we see the contents; faded daguerrotypes, a deerstalker
hat, a calabash, magnifying lens, a revolver, stethoscope and the
like.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDcSKHHbVsqQPgQKAefBdcBqpjtDy4F_D79HRjNowqH1EKsW_WQIgKOVEndWroE3cm8EnWcM4KUFC92mmi3oKtouYsgsurlQYqRlkSP7EsCFF50dX90db9MhMqrrManwVJuTfMVDIi6Fo/s1600/3+TITLE+B.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDcSKHHbVsqQPgQKAefBdcBqpjtDy4F_D79HRjNowqH1EKsW_WQIgKOVEndWroE3cm8EnWcM4KUFC92mmi3oKtouYsgsurlQYqRlkSP7EsCFF50dX90db9MhMqrrManwVJuTfMVDIi6Fo/s320/3+TITLE+B.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
Intriguingly, there is also a musical composition by Sherlock
Holmes, dedicated to an 'Ilsa von H' and a photo in the case of a
pocket watch. A signet ring embellished with the initials 'SH'
conceals a miniature compass, but rather ominous is the syringe in
its case. Finally, a thick bundle of papers, addressed simply 'To my
Heirs'...</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHajU4d8-q1nn6iX0YLtMBi4XBMzJmN4EtA8gpRwTEji1P7r2yKrlgVQsdAkbBUYr76tkw0EJIjvsD8m0RAI27BMaATVyJalX2-GVGDYZcUOGagmyBBp-agMbScBPMRUHU3xPBGRgbc94/s1600/HOLMES+AND+WATSON.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHajU4d8-q1nn6iX0YLtMBi4XBMzJmN4EtA8gpRwTEji1P7r2yKrlgVQsdAkbBUYr76tkw0EJIjvsD8m0RAI27BMaATVyJalX2-GVGDYZcUOGagmyBBp-agMbScBPMRUHU3xPBGRgbc94/s320/HOLMES+AND+WATSON.jpg" width="262" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A faded daguerrotype of Holmes and Watson.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We hear the late
Doctor's voice narrating the words he had set down so many years
past. In his lifetime he has recorded some sixty cases demonstrating
the singular gift of his friend Sherlock Holmes, many famous as with
the Hound of the Baskervilles. But there were other adventures, which
for reason of discretion the Doctor has decided to withhold from the
public until a much later date. They contain matters of a delicate
and sometimes scandalous nature, as will shortly become apparent.
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
August 1887. A
carriage conveys Holmes and Watson back from Yorkshire, where Holmes
had solved the murder of Admiral Abernetty. (He had broken the
murderer's alibi with an observation about the depth to which some
parsley had sunk into butter on a hot day.) Back in the familiar
rooms of 221b, Holmes is gently scolded by Mrs. Hudson; had he let
her know of his return, she could have prepared a hot supper.
Triumphantly, Doctor Watson holds aloft the new issue of The Strand
magazine, which has printed his recollection of the Red-Headed
League. Holmes is gently scathing; accusing Watson of
over-romanticising his cases. Further, he has exaggerated his height
and saddled him with the ridiculous costume of deerstalker and
macfarlane cloak which he is now expected to wear. Watson's defence
that it is the illustrator to blame falls on deaf ears. Watson has
also, according to Holmes given the impression that the latter is a
virtuoso, whereas his actual violin skills would hardly suffice for a
pit orchestra in a second-rate music hall.
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrFPnL7N8sqmFkDhqJTv69GETszohJ2drE_oqYUaLtQKNKItRVJ2xOjj4SxAVlbyp-AWcIlRbRd15FwkGeMg6LuLeXJBQMpA47FTIjfDzlWuWgurw-HmDZ8CwAWKxoXcFuXnXeHwC_Ifs/s1600/pop2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrFPnL7N8sqmFkDhqJTv69GETszohJ2drE_oqYUaLtQKNKItRVJ2xOjj4SxAVlbyp-AWcIlRbRd15FwkGeMg6LuLeXJBQMpA47FTIjfDzlWuWgurw-HmDZ8CwAWKxoXcFuXnXeHwC_Ifs/s320/pop2.jpg" width="215" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Robert Stephens is Sherlock Holmes. (Below; Colin Blakely as Watson)<br />
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</td></tr>
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<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The diatribe
continues, with an accusation Watson has made Holmes out to be a
misogynist – he merely distrusts women. Further, the readers are
under the impression Holmes is a dope fiend, taking the occasional
syringe of cocaine at a five-percent solution. When Watson tries to
correct him at seven-percent Holmes merely remarks he is aware
Watson has been diluting it behind his back. Watson disapproves, both
as Doctor and friend, but Holmes only uses narcotics to relieve
boredom, when he lacks interesting cases – he tosses a letter
distractedly onto the table. An urgent appeal to find some missing
midgets, the Tumbling Piccolos no less!. Holmes reels Watson in with
an apparently serious description of the misplaced midgets as
anarchists intending to blow up the Tsar whilst dressed as little
girls before revealing his annoyance at being offered a mere five
pounds for their recovery. Doubtless with such a stingy employer they
merely ran away to another circus. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIV7l-OJt-WExOHZhQ_HJQzmBBszMDeXvCVUriuWGek_Jke_1Pg238abHTv7weMpqjTexn3CjgO689WS_RpRKkx8QVQA3AXaeER1CclTvpurMwMO282UF-C6pmGTVucc6wFhBJUVSyaBo/s1600/The_Private_Life_of_Sherlock_Holmes_Robert_Stephens_Still.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIV7l-OJt-WExOHZhQ_HJQzmBBszMDeXvCVUriuWGek_Jke_1Pg238abHTv7weMpqjTexn3CjgO689WS_RpRKkx8QVQA3AXaeER1CclTvpurMwMO282UF-C6pmGTVucc6wFhBJUVSyaBo/s320/The_Private_Life_of_Sherlock_Holmes_Robert_Stephens_Still.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Holmes and Watson, the latter played with superb comedic instinct by Colin Blakely.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Holmes is lamenting
the lack of enterprise and originality in the criminal classes when
he comes to a halt and shouts for the landlady. There is something
missing, something crucial from his desk; Dust!. Mrs. Hudson insists
she disturbed nothing, but Holmes states that dust is essential to
his filing system – by its thickness he claims he can date any
document.<br />
<br />
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</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
That night, Holmes
operates a bellows with his foot. He has constructed an odd apparatus
of pipes and tubes on which several cigarettes, pipes and cigars
smoulder with a wheezing sound as if the machine were becoming
asthmatic from the dense clouds of smoke filling the room.<br />
<br />
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</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
As the
Detective scrapes some ash onto a microscope slide, Mrs. Hudson
protests at the fug, but Watson explains Holmes is working on the
study of tobacco ash, so far he has classified one hundred and forty
kinds; 'All of which will wind up on my rug' rejoins Mrs. Hudson.
Restless, Holmes admits the departed landlady is right. He <i>is
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">suffocating, from lack of
activity... </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> </span>
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPKDH65m1Ou3oegEcgJYdFYjbkbjdRTPCqWweELoyXeZ-tZAoUPkfF3Gc8sHGE6Z9l9UQSZeqY0RBm8X2-qH-KJVOk2Y1wvrbPZrdMRMj9mwXzumAYFRTHdhToExEzK95AkyRbpdbpM0A/s1600/SCRIPT+ONE+AKA+ARCADE+RED+SHADOW.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPKDH65m1Ou3oegEcgJYdFYjbkbjdRTPCqWweELoyXeZ-tZAoUPkfF3Gc8sHGE6Z9l9UQSZeqY0RBm8X2-qH-KJVOk2Y1wvrbPZrdMRMj9mwXzumAYFRTHdhToExEzK95AkyRbpdbpM0A/s320/SCRIPT+ONE+AKA+ARCADE+RED+SHADOW.jpg" width="206" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An excerpt from the script.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Later, as Holmes
takes a bath, Watson implores him to take up the offer of tickets to
the final performance of the Imperial Russian Ballet. Tickets have
been going for a guinea apiece, which merely fuels Holmes' suspicion
and reluctance to attend. The tickets were sent anonymously with a
plea for help. Suspecting a plot, Holmes tells Watson it's a plot to
bore him to death – he despises ballet. Watson persists; this isn't
just <i>any </i><span style="font-style: normal;">ballet, it's Swan
Lake!. </span><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"> </span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">The
Ballet. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">The conductor gives
the downbeat for the second act, a swan glides across the
mist-shrouded stage. From their box in the upper tier, Watson
explains to a bored Holmes the swan is an enchanted Princess.
</span><span style="font-style: normal;">Yawning, Holmes nods off, to
be woken rudely by Watson proffering his opera glasses. On stage, the
great Petrova, Queen of the Ballerinas is </span><i>en pointe</i><span style="font-style: normal;">,
graceful as the Swan. Enraptured, Watson states twelve men have died
for Petrova, </span><span style="font-style: normal;">six by</span><span style="font-style: normal;">
suicide, </span><span style="font-style: normal;">four in </span><span style="font-style: normal;">duels
and </span><span style="font-style: normal;">one </span><span style="font-style: normal;">by
</span><span style="font-style: normal;">falling from the gallery at
the Vienna Opera House. Ever alert, Sherlock points out that makes
eleven, with Watson gleefully adding the plunger landed on top of
another man in the orchestra. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">As
Petrova and the </span><i>Danseur noble </i><span style="font-style: normal;">go
into the famed pas-de-deux, the box curtain is flung back to admit
Nicolai Rogozhin, Director-General of the Imperial Russian Ballet.
Rogozhin enquires about Holmes' health and allures to a problem the
</span><i>Prima Ballerina </i><span style="font-style: normal;">has.
After the performance there will be a little party to which Holmes is
invited. </span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
As Holmes and Watson
arrive onstage, the revels are in full flow, with balalaikas playing
and cossack dancing. A delighted Watson is left in the company of the
female cast whilst Holmes follows Rogozhin to madame's dressing room.
The Director warns Holmes he may find this 'case'
extra-extra-ordinary and they enter. Madame Petrova greets Holmes
gracefully, with Rogozhin interpreting. She thought Holmes would be
taller, but it is the brains that count. Madame has read all Watson's
stories, but 'Big Dog from Baskerville' is her favourite – Holmes
tactfully remarks the title loses something in translation.
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<br /></div>
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<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
At his mistress'
urging, Rogozhin then shows Holmes a violin, asking his opinion. The
label reads <i>'</i><i>Antonius Stradivarius Cremonesis, Anno </i><i>1709'.
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">Holmes declares it a genuine
Stradivarius of the best period. It is a gift from Madame, for
services Holmes will render. The Director will pour vodka and
explain. Madame Petrova is retiring after a life on the boards and
wishes to settle down with child. All she needs is a father. Madame
wants a child who is brilliant and beautiful. As she is beautiful,
the father must be brilliant. </span>Za zdorovie!. As the penny
descends, Holmes demurs. Indeed, he was not Madame's first choice;
there was Tolstoy, the writer – too old. There was the philosopher,
Nietzsche – too German and then there was Tchaikovsky. Surely they
couldn't go wrong with him?. They can – and they did, women not
being the composer's cup of tea.
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAjoIix8CLcbzcSScBMQp-3a_hVVaNMm-SKXdc5P6GBnI_e_0G75JYczzRvvEdIKc2r428qEQKZDEiXHc4HwB0R4xr8XF_nvexBqrePbrkrHVTVUKNP_lCkOjXD12CgN_AOowWqY-uJ9g/s1600/QQ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAjoIix8CLcbzcSScBMQp-3a_hVVaNMm-SKXdc5P6GBnI_e_0G75JYczzRvvEdIKc2r428qEQKZDEiXHc4HwB0R4xr8XF_nvexBqrePbrkrHVTVUKNP_lCkOjXD12CgN_AOowWqY-uJ9g/s320/QQ.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clive Revill is Rogozhin.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The deal is one week
in Venice, then Madame returns to Russia with baby, Holmes to London
with Stradivarius. Holmes mentions (or fabricates) a history of
haemophilia in the family, but Madame assures him she will not
scratch him!. She says he talks too much; does he not find her
attractive?. Perfect timing for a be-flowered Watson to burst in
asking the meaning of 'Prokaznik'. The Director tells him it means
'You Little Devil' (It actually means Rogue or Prankster) and Watson
leaves. Rogozhin repeats the question; does Holmes not find madame
attractive?. Impishly, perhaps even <i>Prokaznikally, </i><span style="font-style: normal;">Holmes
states he is a bachelor living with another for five happy years...
put on the spot he states that Tchaikovsky is not an isolated case.
As this monstrous fib sinks in, Madame flares and Holmes leaves. </span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Watson,
meanwhile, is joining in with the girls, dancing the cygnet's dance
to the amusement of the party goers, </span><span style="font-style: normal;">flower
behind one ear</span><span style="font-style: normal;">. Holmes is
going home and urges his friend to join him, but he is having too
much fun. Humiliated and in sour mood, Rogozhin emerges and whispers
in one ballerina's ear, the shocked girl passing on the scandalous
news to the others and then the </span><span style="font-style: normal;">boys,
the </span><i>danseurs. </i><span style="font-style: normal;">Gradually
the danseurs replace the ballerinas until Watson is dancing alone
with them. Finally, Watson notices and goes over to the group of
girls, who part and want nothing to do with him. Rogozhin explains
Holmes has told them everything </span><span style="font-style: normal;">as
the boys form a semi-circle behind a certain look on their faces</span><span style="font-style: normal;">.
Perhaps </span><span style="font-style: normal;">the 'Caprice of
nature'</span><span style="font-style: normal;"> is unusual between
Doctors and Detectives... but in Ballet?, it is </span><i>very
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">usual... </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Watson
suddenly needs a drink. </span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Watson
runs through the abandoned streets of London, upon hearing his
</span><span style="font-style: normal;">fevered</span><span style="font-style: normal;">
step, Holmes quickly arranges a chair </span><span style="font-style: normal;">to
face the window</span><span style="font-style: normal;">, </span><span style="font-style: normal;">dims
the light. 'Holmes!' an enraged Watson storms the stairs, determined
to have it out. Spotting Holmes' pipe fuming away in the chair anger
gets the better of him and names fly. What Watson doesn't realise is
that the pipe is, in fact connected to Holmes' smoking machine.
Getting no answer to his demand for explanation, Watson hurls his
opera glasses and knocks the apparatus over. Anxiety replaces fury as
he suddenly fears he has injured Holmes with his binocular bunging,
but when the fraud is discovered he looks across to where a shoe
pumps the bellows in the darkness. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">How
could Holmes invent such a dastardly lie?. Sincerity itself, Holmes
explains he was cornered by a madwoman. It was the only way he could
get out of it without hurting her feelings. What about Watson's
feelings? His reputation?, if the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers
heard of this, it would be the end... What is he to do?. Tactlessly,
Holmes suggests Watson divests himself of his flower.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">W</span><span style="font-style: normal;">atson
decides they must live apart. Holmes then delivers this beauty; 'Of
course, we can still see each other clandestinely... on remote
benches in Hyde Park and in the waiting rooms of suburban railway
stations.' </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Then the mood
changes and defiance wins the day, with Watson daring anyone to say a
word of an ugly rumour. Holmes is in agreement; after all watson has
an enviable record with the fair sex. The unified front stumbles
somewhat when Holmes is unable to name women to vouch for him. Watson
hopes he isn't being presumptuous, but there have</span><i> </i><span style="font-style: normal;">been
women in Holmes' life?. The answer is 'Yes. Watson </span><i>is </i><span style="font-style: normal;">being
presumptuous.' Holmes retires leaving his friend crestfallen.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Note
to the reader; What, Dear friends, my leaden scribblings can never
convey is the sense of fun, the humour in a film. </span><i>The
Private Life of Sherlock Holmes </i><span style="font-style: normal;">is
a funny film – sometimes spit-your-coffee out funny. Diversion
ends. </span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Night. As Holmes
fiddles, Watson reads a paper in the living room of 221b. The Doctor
ponders the riddle that is Sherlock Holmes. What indeed was his
attitude towards women?, had he some secret – or was he the
emotionless thinking machine?. Watson was not to get the answer until
the most outrageous case of all their years together...</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A hansom cab pulls
up, the driver consults a card and rings up. Watson goes to
investigate and Mrs. Hudson tells him the cabbie wants 2/6. (Two
Shillings and Sixpence. Not a clue how much that is now.) He brings
in an attractive woman, soaked in a state of confusion with amnesia,
wrapped in a horse blanket. The cabman was driving on the Embankment
just below Westminster bridge when he saw her in the water. Holmes
appears and asks why she was brought to Baker street. The answer is
simple, the lady was holding a card with the address. Holmes agrees
to take delivery and the cabbie leaves with his blanket. As the
driver makes to depart, he is watched from across the street by a
craggy faced man with Prussian features. (Although not named, we know
this to be a Prussian named Von Tirpitz from the script.) The cab
turns and the sinister figure climbs in, the hansom clattering off
into the chill London fog.
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWzGdurHxq8vXLsWxkq5qti0wQ-toe4Jj6PN84w8Gk6sucn6nzREGAMKekKSxjY2lQIKDFosArmSX4OcUXlBVPTua5cVyhwH5sjOuy-MAKlLXlX8nPGNboaI68RjH_MO0Bey4Ql4j6tJU/s1600/vie-privee-de-sherlock-h-ii03-g.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWzGdurHxq8vXLsWxkq5qti0wQ-toe4Jj6PN84w8Gk6sucn6nzREGAMKekKSxjY2lQIKDFosArmSX4OcUXlBVPTua5cVyhwH5sjOuy-MAKlLXlX8nPGNboaI68RjH_MO0Bey4Ql4j6tJU/s320/vie-privee-de-sherlock-h-ii03-g.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Gallantly, Watson
leads the unfortunate woman to a seat by the fire. Meanwhile Holmes
applies his mind. The card she held had printing on the reverse, now
illegible. Doctor Watson examines his patient, finding her to have
sustained a nasty blow to the head. The names of Watson and Holmes
mean nothing to the woman, her own a mystery to her. Watson deduces
she is foreign, married – and not wearing corsets. Sherlock spots
her shoe, the label reading 'La Femme Elegante'. Vous etes Francais?.
<i>Non. </i><span style="font-style: normal;">Vous etes Swiss?. </span><i>Non.
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">Belge?; she is not sure. A
glance at the label of her dress shows Holmes it is from Brussels. At
this, Mrs. Hudson bustles in with refreshments. Next, Holmes removes
the nameless woman's ring and inside the </span><span style="font-style: normal;">copper
band the</span><span style="font-style: normal;"> inscriptions
</span><i>Gabrielle </i><span style="font-style: normal;">and </span><i>Emile
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">flank a pair of entwined hearts.
Losing patience, Holmes tries another tack and begins barking
questions. Gallantly, Watson intervenes, taking the lady to Mrs.
Hudson with the </span><span style="font-style: normal;">injunction
she take her to his bed. He, naturally, will take the sofa. As he
prepares a sleeping draft, Watson overrules Holmes' opinion that the
woman would be better off in a hospital; he can provide medical care
and her life has already been endangered. Not wanting the flat
cluttered up with women as Holmes puts it, the sooner they can break
through the veils of her amnesia, the sooner they can be rid of her.</span></div>
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Dawn and a Bobby
walks his beat along Baker Street West, suddenly struck with terror
at some approaching doom – or at least the water cart washing down
the pavement from which he only just leaps clear. The cart recedes,
while up in the living room, poor Watson is jammed into the sofa in
an uncomfortable position. In his bedroom, an anxious Holmes paces,
pondering the smudged ink on the reverse of the card the woman had
held. Quietly, he opens the door to Watson's room and studies her
sleeping form for a moment. As the door clicks closed, she awakes,
calling for 'Emile' walking into Holmes' room stark naked. Thinking
quickly - somehow – Holmes answers her as Emile, her husband and
she embraces him. As if in a trance, she tells 'Emile' before she
left Brussels she bought a pink negligee. Lying back on the bed, she
wants to make love, but Holmes is interested in her negligee, where
is it?. In her luggage. Where is that?. She doesn't know. Espying ink
on her palm, Holmes snatches up a mirror and reads '301'.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpdUxgZ0BYg3nW2Jy9knXqM94UK3GF0UpXM9mItLmBnXf3p5KzhW8RSmPuU_pR1Afds7FdrYfb2aVJstVpiJp3YpMuxa0vt5vc028PDtcdO0wyX_91eDaFSpAxtLdxsFpDCfLU2DkZXzM/s1600/15+MIRROR+IMAGE.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpdUxgZ0BYg3nW2Jy9knXqM94UK3GF0UpXM9mItLmBnXf3p5KzhW8RSmPuU_pR1Afds7FdrYfb2aVJstVpiJp3YpMuxa0vt5vc028PDtcdO0wyX_91eDaFSpAxtLdxsFpDCfLU2DkZXzM/s320/15+MIRROR+IMAGE.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkXHfpTcy2HTD_96tmceFadcne6TQffGGuUuXoyMPra-V90SA-nMBm8EyDQC5bHf_FMb43SXVzLBU_y-2iQVeX5YfaS-UTnK1mbD5BoLCKh_wsxNztKVWYfbrf5DOfCe2s5vxPaIhlSt8/s1600/260522.1020.A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkXHfpTcy2HTD_96tmceFadcne6TQffGGuUuXoyMPra-V90SA-nMBm8EyDQC5bHf_FMb43SXVzLBU_y-2iQVeX5YfaS-UTnK1mbD5BoLCKh_wsxNztKVWYfbrf5DOfCe2s5vxPaIhlSt8/s320/260522.1020.A.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This lobby card features the scene where a 'confused' Mme Valladon uses her body to attempt to beguile Holmes.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Morning, Mrs. Hudson
awakens Watson from his sleep and has to help unlock his back with a
knee and a headlock. Sitting for his porridge, he asks the landlady
to check on their guest; she's gone. Finding her asleep in Holmes'
bed they are both speechless, but then Holmes breezes in carrying a
bulky suitcase with leather straps and a parasol held by them. Holmes
suggests Mrs. Hudson get a towel and wipe the look of disapproval off
her face and she leaves in an indignant huff. Watson says if he
didn't know Holmes better, he might suspect Holmes had taken
advantage of the lady. The detective replies he did. A comedy delayed
reaction and Watson is dumbfounded, reprehending his friend for his
lack of ethics. Has he no shame?. None whatsoever – he found her
body quite rewarding – especially the palm of her right hand. <i>Fnarr
fnarr.</i>
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Using the butter
knife, Holmes breaks into the case, explaining he guessed she had
come by the boat train and probably checked her belongings at
Victoria station. As well as the pink negligee, they find a bundle of
letters and a photographic portrait. The woman herself makes an
appearance, now identified as Gabrielle Valladon, wife of Emile whose
portrait Holmes shows her. She wonders where she is and when she
finds out, faints. As Watson goes for coffee, Holmes tries to assist
Mme Valladon. She is searching for her husband?. Yes, he is a mining
engineer, they married in the Congo. Where he worked in a copper
mine?. How did Holmes know? - the copper wedding ring. Gabrielle
tells Holmes her husband invented a new type of air pump and was
hired by an English firm, Jonah Limited. Watson hands her her coffee.
They wrote to each other regularly, she states, but three weeks ago,
his letters abruptly stopped. Finally, she decided to go to the
address she had been writing to, 32 Ashdown Street. It was an empty
shop. Nor was there any trace of Jonah Ltd. The police were of little
help, the Belgian Embassy recommended Sherlock Holmes. She was on her
way when she was attacked from behind, smelling chloroform and was
thrown into the river!.</div>
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Holmes instructs Mme
Valladon to send one more letter to her husband at the Ashdown Street
address. What should she say?... nothing. Clearly the address is an
accommodation address, or letter drop. What gets dropped, however
must be picked up...</div>
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Ashdown Street,
North West London and a sawing noise sounds from the rear of the shop
at number 32. Using a nifty fold-away tool kit that fits inside his
hollow cane, Holmes saws the iron bars across a window, then uses
hammer and chisel to chip away the cement from the last bar. Finally,
he is able to swing the bars inward with a squealing noise, the
intact bar acting as a hinge. Gingerly, Holmes, Madame Valladon and
Watson drop to the inside of the dusty, dingy old place. The only
other occupants are a large cage of canaries beneath a tarpaulin. As
luck would have it, the shadow of the postman crosses the whitewashed
shop front and their letter drops into the dust, which is marked by
many sets of tracks going to and from the door.
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZlU9ry1hZO7rf6LBzVGMYGPGpIWNFspjRq1Ync4LuWwaaDan5qtxcD0vBTFo1AQP_MQL3LWC-qwQ8UllrKholaRLTm-AC-duvCRpbEMn6PcCh-KD82cXGy-n82728EheHuyavIkmUubk/s1600/tumblr_m6lxnhLz7r1qd3ucoo1_1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZlU9ry1hZO7rf6LBzVGMYGPGpIWNFspjRq1Ync4LuWwaaDan5qtxcD0vBTFo1AQP_MQL3LWC-qwQ8UllrKholaRLTm-AC-duvCRpbEMn6PcCh-KD82cXGy-n82728EheHuyavIkmUubk/s320/tumblr_m6lxnhLz7r1qd3ucoo1_1280.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Geneni</span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">è</span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">ve
Page is Gabrielle Valladon, Colin Blakey plays Watson.</span></span></span></span></td></tr>
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They wait. Holmes
re-assembles his deceptively useful stick, Madame Valladon laments
she cannot pay him for his services, her purse being at the bottom of
the Thames. Watson has noticed the lack of footprints in the
inches-thick dust in the shop, how does anyone pick up letters
without leaving footprints?. More lucky timing as the creaking of the
back door announces the arrival of the shop owner. Quickly, Holmes
leads them to hide behind the opening door as it slides back on its
runners. An aged, decrepit, but cheerful cripple enters in her
wheelchair. Raising the tarpaulin she feeds and waters her birds. A
kindly soul, she tells the canaries some of them will be going on a
journey soon, then spots the letter, going to collect it. Her tracks
add to those already on the floor. A cart turns up, two men with a
cage to collect two dozen of the small yellow birds. What <i>can </i><span style="font-style: normal;">they
want up there with so many birds?. The delivery men don't know – or
want to. When you work for Jonah, better not to ask questions. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Holmes
watches through a hole in the door and spots the masthead of the
paper lining the cage; the </span><i>Inverness Courier & General
Advertiser. </i><span style="font-style: normal;">The cart leaves and,
after lowering the tarpaulin and leaving the letter, so does the old
crone.</span>
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<span style="font-style: normal;">A</span><span style="font-style: normal;">s
Holmes and Watson discuss events, Gabrielle has noticed something
odd; the letter is addressed to Holmes!. Beginning </span><i>My Dear
Sherlock, </i><span style="font-style: normal;">the message is from
Sherlock's brother Mycroft summoning himself and Watson to the club
on receipt of the letter. According to his calculations that should
be at 11.40 a.m. What is the time?. Watson has 11.43. Holmes suggests
he resets his watch.</span></div>
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<span style="font-style: normal;">The
Diogenes Club, </span><span style="font-style: normal;">St. James's</span><span style="font-style: normal;">.
</span><span style="font-style: normal;">The commissionaire, a
one-armed former military man with a chest bedecked in medals asks
the two men to sign in, but Holmes merely hurries past and the
commissionaire is left bewildered as the pair take the stairs. The
reading room of the club is vast, stuffy, silent. Everywhere men of
varying advances in years sit reading, smoking or sleeping. Pausing,
Holmes stops to collect a tower of ash from the cigar of a dozing
member, pronouncing it as Jamaican. Tropicana or Golosina, he cannot
be sure which. </span><span style="font-style: normal;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-style: normal;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEQDyhItCyH65rDWm5fGhknmph7eXefA8Vaxj3UusCoZRktn4cFufU2ihtoehDc42BfO06x42SdpQlCaTJ44WwTD9CROrN-WhySG6_OsY7tBPm89ne6WXESa0VFEa2EHGqnRfsJ8sSsxE/s1600/privatelifeofsherlockholmes-blakely-stephens.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEQDyhItCyH65rDWm5fGhknmph7eXefA8Vaxj3UusCoZRktn4cFufU2ihtoehDc42BfO06x42SdpQlCaTJ44WwTD9CROrN-WhySG6_OsY7tBPm89ne6WXESa0VFEa2EHGqnRfsJ8sSsxE/s320/privatelifeofsherlockholmes-blakely-stephens.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Holmes examines the cigar ash.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Entering the
upstairs study, they encounter </span><span style="font-style: normal;">a
frock-coated</span><span style="font-style: normal;"> Mycroft Holmes
carefully decanting wine from a dusty bottle into three glasses using
a curious contraption which tilts the bottle minutely, leaving the
sediment undisturbed. Politely, Holmes enquires after Mycroft's gout,
which he is informed is under control. The wine is an 1814 Madeira,
one of only six remaining bottles. The elder Holmes has two already
and is negotiating to ownership of a third. Watson's caution against
gout sufferers drinking wine is smoothly brushed aside. The last
Doctor who warned Mycroft slipped on an orange peel while crossing
Piccadilly, falling beneath a Fortnum and Mason delivery van. </span>
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<span style="font-style: normal;">Sherlock
is curious as to why his brother would waste such a rare vintage on
himself and Watson. His brother replies they see each other so rarely
– the last time being the case of the Greek Interpreter. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Isn't
it ridiculous?, two brothers living in the same town. The same town,
but not the same world is Sherlock's dry reply. At last, Mycroft
arrives at the point. He advises Sherlock to pursue the case of the
missing Belgian Engineer no further. It involves 'the national
security' and 'we' are handling the matter 'ourselves.' Holmes posits
the Diogenes as being a front for the Foreign Office. Wherever there
is unrest, Diogenes Club members are conveniently contiguous. Mycroft
tries to deflect this theory, but then Wiggins, a young man
approaches with an urgent message. Enigmatically – perhaps rather
foolishly, Mycroft gives the answer; the three boxes go to
Glennahurich and the red runner goes to the castle. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Thoroughly
intrigued, Sherlock asks what Jonah Limited is and gets coldly
rebuffed. Mycroft orders him to drop the matter, using the authority
of Her Majesty's Government. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Tail
somewhat between his legs, Sherlock withdraws, Watson trailing like a
faithful dog not entirely aware of events. </span>
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<span style="font-style: normal;">W</span><span style="font-style: normal;">alking
along Baker Street, Watson wants to know if Holmes will be gentle
with Mme Valladon when he tells her the bad news, that they are
dropping the case. Perhaps he hasn't noticed his friend cheerily
whistling 'Loch Lomond'. Indeed, Holmes asks him if he knows the
meaning of Glennahurich. It is, of course Scottish and like all
Scottish words a word picture. 'Glen' means 'valley', 'na' is 'of
the' and 'Hurich' 'Yew tree'. Hence the three boxes are going to the
valley of the yew tree. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">As
they cross to 221b, the cabbie who brought Gabrielle slyly watches,
as does the Prussian-featured man in the cab. Watson unllocks the
front door which stops on the chain and a revolver barrel is thrust
forward from within. Amused, Holmes urges Mrs. Hudson not to shoot;
she would lose two excellent tenants.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNr5xLJ8iN9hxn9ICdm8iQgRrK5ON2rQUah7Wd7QjVpnM4g-9V_3mPXZjCRp2eb1ZtpGXpsfw51ka4mcJS_bk64pLWzIv0Ej9-u5m2w66TVefc1ijzdMta99mYM-VOe4vRIf9_HeZ2pj4/s1600/007-genevieve-page-theredlist.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNr5xLJ8iN9hxn9ICdm8iQgRrK5ON2rQUah7Wd7QjVpnM4g-9V_3mPXZjCRp2eb1ZtpGXpsfw51ka4mcJS_bk64pLWzIv0Ej9-u5m2w66TVefc1ijzdMta99mYM-VOe4vRIf9_HeZ2pj4/s320/007-genevieve-page-theredlist.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">The
long-suffering landlady admits her residents and they take the stair
to their rooms. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">By now aware
Holmes may indeed be pursuing the case despite Mycroft's prohibition,
an alarmed Watson reminds his companion that he would be defying Her
Majesty's government. Holmes tells Madame Valladon Watson and himself
will put her on the boat train tonight. Unsurprisingly, she is upset,
scornful of 'The Great Detective'. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Holmes
rides out the storm then explains he said they would put her on the
boat train. He didn't say she would be </span><i>staying </i><span style="font-style: normal;">on
it. At 7.30 Mister Holmes and Doctor Watson will be seen waving
goodbye to Mme Valladon at Victoria. At 8.12 Mr and Mrs. Ashdown,
accompanied by their valet John will </span><span style="font-style: normal;">appear
at Euston to </span><span style="font-style: normal;">board the
Highland Express to Inverness. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">She
is delighted, Watson is not. Sherlock is brightness itself; as Watson
says in his chronicles, the game's afoot!. Ignoring Watson's dig
about whether Holmes is interested in the Belgian Engineer or his
Wife, Sherlock retreats to his room to pack. Gabrielle breezes out
and announces she has mislaid a glove. As the ever puppy-like Watson
goes to assist her, she opens and closes her parasol at the window.
This strange signal is received by the nameless Prussian in his cab.
He knocks up and the hansom departs. </span>
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<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Whistle
blowing, the Highland Express steams north at a fair clip through the
moonlit night. In their sleeping compartment 'Mr. Ashdown' pulls his
night-shirt over his head before giving 'Mrs. Ashdown' the all-clear.
She has the lower bunk, naturally. He tells her of a case where he
spent a night with one hundred and twenty-one women in a harem in
Constantinople.
</div>
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<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Meanwhile,
'John the Valet' is </span><span style="font-style: normal;">both in
suitable livery and </span><span style="font-style: normal;">third-class
with the hoi polloi, the packed carriage filled with smoke and the
cries of an infant. He takes a seat next to a group of monks </span><span style="font-style: normal;">in
brown habits and cowls. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">He
attempts to strike up friendly conversation, but nearly gives himself
away when his stethoscope falls from his bowler as he fans himself
with it. The nearest Brother points to his mouth indicating he must
not talk – these are Trappists and have taken ein vow of silence.
</span><span style="font-style: normal;">By co-incidence, he notices
the nearest monk's bible is open at the book of Jonah. </span>
</div>
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<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Amusingly,
Gabrielle reads aloud; 'Women are never to be trusted entirely –
not the best of them.' Sherlock is curious as to who said that, only
to find according to Doctor Watson </span><i>he </i><span style="font-style: normal;">did.
Watson has lent Mme Valladon/Mrs. Ashdown some back-issues of The
Strand magazine. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Holmes
admits he doesn't whole-heartedly admire women, in fact the most
affectionate woman he ever knew was a murderess. It was a passionate
affair conducted at odd hours in his laboratory (This man knows how
to show a girl a good time!) and all the time she was stealing
cyanide to sprinkle on her Husband's steak and kidney pie!. </span>
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<span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-style: normal;"></span></div>
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Third Class and
Watson dozes. One of the monks gets up and goes to talk with another.
Hang on... and he's speaking German, hein?. Sure enough, the monk
whom he addresses is our obscure Prussian. The plot thickens...
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The train departs
from Inverness with a cheery gaelic whistle – or should that be
hoots?. Holmes asks directions for Glennahurich. Watson adds they
might picnic there. The Porter thinks it an odd place for one as its
a cemetary. The monks file across the jacobs ladder over the tracks.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Glennahurich
cemetary and as Holmes and party arrive so do two workmen and a
vicar. The labourers have a trolley laden with an adult size and two
infant size coffins, which they take to where two gravediggers wait.
Pointing, Watson asks if these are the three boxes and Holmes thinks
so too. Moving closer, they watch as the coffins are laid out for
burial. After a brief, perfunctory ceremony the graves are filled in.
Gabrielle finds it sad, Holmes finds it odd; there were no flowers or
mourners. Going up to the diggers, Holmes strikes up a conversation.
It's healthy country round here, sometimes nothing for the
gravediggers for weeks, then three at once. A Father and his two
Sons, drowned in the Loch when their boat capsized. He's lived around
Loch Ness his whole life and he believes it was the monster. A local
saw their faces when they were recovered from the water and they
looked more like old men than children. Holmes buys the fellow a
drink and gets some advice. If you wish to holiday in Scotland, go to
Loch Lomond, go to Holy Loch, but stay away from Loch Ness.*
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
*The reader may care
to know – but probably won't, that I intend to do this very thing
in the summer (2016). If I am drowned by the monster you can all have
a good laugh at my expense.
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Watson scoffs at the
idea of a monster in the 19<sup>th</sup> Century, while Gabrielle is
relieved it cannot be her husband that has been buried. Spotting the
approach of four small boys bearing flowers, Holmes and the others
take cover to observe. Laying their tributes, the lads kneel in a
respectful contemplation. Holmes has realised they are mourning their
brothers – and they aren't boys. He asks Watson for some pebbles
and tosses them against a grave stone. The 'boys' turn as one and are
revealed to be adult midgets. Boys with the faces of old men...Holmes
reminds Watson of the missing tumbling act he had been asked to find.
The little men depart and Gabrielle' fears are aroused. Who is in the
third grave?.
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Under cover of
night, Holmes undertakes the grim business of opening a grave, the
only light from Watson's bullseye. As the coffin is prised open with
a harsh squeal, Gabrielle screams and faints. Obviously it is Emile
Valladon, less so is why his wedding ring has turned green or why he
was buried with three canaries. White canaries.
</div>
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<br /></div>
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An open carriage
drives the trio to the Caledonian Hotel, where the Ashdowns and their
valet take up residence. The proprietor shows them their room,
opening the window he promises a lovely view of the loch, when the
morning mists roll away. Handing Holmes a guide to the area, he shows
the Valet to his room. Alone, Holmes employs his customary tact and
asks for Gabrielle's wedding ring which he compares to its
counterpart, removed from the late Monsieur Valladon. Forlorn, she
sits on the bed in tears, while he pontificates that the difference
in colour between rings indicates drowning was <i>not </i><span style="font-style: normal;">the
cause of death. Striding across to the bereft woman delicacy flies
out of the room totally as Holmes barks at her to stop it. If they
are to find the cause she must stop acting the grief-stricken widow –
they must be 'That nice couple from London, on Holiday in the
Highlands'. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Bravely, she
chokes back her tears and Holmes is satisfied. Hopes of returning to
his work are dashed by a manic Watson bursting into the room calling
for Mr. Ashdown. He's seen it! From his room in the attic window!.
Rifling through Holmes' case for a telescope he crosses to the window
and focuses on a spot out in the Loch. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"></span><br />
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<br />
<br />
<span style="font-style: normal;">Sure enough, through the lens
we see the beastie, a long-necked Nessie!. Invited to see for
himself, Holmes sees only water. It has gone. Watson wonders if this
killed Valladon in his boat, but Holmes knows better; he died from
asphyxiation. There is only one substance that can turn a copper ring
green and bleach canaries... chlorine gas. Dismissing</span><span style="font-style: normal;">
Watson's sighting, Holmes declares the only concrete lead is the
reference to the castle – unfurling the guide to reveal an
illustration of Loch Ness with it's many castles – the problem I,
which castle?. </span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">The
party take to bicycles, Holmes and Gabrielle on a tandem, to visit
the castles around the Loch. (No small task, this as the Loch is some
twenty-three miles in length.) </span><span style="font-style: normal;">The
first castle is an imposing triangular tower. This not being the
place, the quest continues, the three cycling through woods and
across meadows to a second pile, </span><span style="font-style: normal;">then
onwards to a third.</span></div>
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<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">L</span><span style="font-style: normal;">unch
is taken picnic fashion, with Watson remarking they have investigated
eight drafty castles, been attacked by sheep and assaulted by
bagpipes. Watson spots the trappists from the train, crossing a
bridge in single file, but they do not respond to his friendly calls.
Gabrielle is flapping her parasol erratically, claiming a bee is
bothering her. The </span><span style="font-style: normal;">last of
them, Von Tirpitz</span><span style="font-style: normal;"> looks
casually over his shoulder, but </span><span style="font-style: normal;">follows</span><span style="font-style: normal;">
the monks on their way. </span><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"> </span>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-style: normal;">At
length, the party pulls up at a ruined castle by the loch, a warning
sign forbidding unauthorized people from passing it, teams of workmen
at work apparently restoring the place. A guard of some sort is
approaching from the castle, two snarling, slavering mastiffs on the
leash. Watson sees no point in examining the crumbling ruin, but
Gabrielle is intrigued by the security around the place, as is
Sherlock. He decides on the 'tradesmen's entrance' </span><span style="font-style: normal;">and
they go around to the back. Leaving the bicycles, they advance into
the castle ruins, Gulls swirling about the main keep. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Before
they can get close, an imposing kilted figure walks out to stop them
going any further. Questioned by Holmes, he claims to be the Guide,
but says the castle is closed whilst work is going on. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">The
restoration is being conducted by the</span><span style="font-style: normal;">
</span><span style="font-style: normal;">Society for the Preservation
of Scottish Monuments</span><span style="font-style: normal;">.
Claiming he wanted his wife to see Urquhart castle Holmes states it
dates from 1400, to which the Guide agrees. Holmes' next trap is
asking if it was James II or III – the 'Guide' says James the Third
and he'll be glad to show them around next year. Thanking the fraud,
Holmes withdraws, as a covered wagon arrives. </span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">W</span><span style="font-style: normal;">atson
says the man was a pleasant sort. Pleasant, but ignorant responds
Holmes, tapping his guide into his hand he reveals it was </span><i>1500</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
and </span><i>James IV. </i><span style="font-style: normal;">A sudden
outburst of trilling catches Holmes' ear and he asks Watson if he can
hear anything. Watson says no, the birds are making too much of a
racket. It's our old friends the canaries being unloaded. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">After
the birds come two large glass bottles in a wooden cradle marked
SULPHURIC ACID-CORROSIVE. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Gabrielle
states the more they find out, the less sense it makes. To a graduate
chemist it makes a great deal of sense, remarks Holmes. Sulphuric
acid exposed to salt water equals chlorine gas...</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Sherlock
gets John to give him a bunk up, clambering up the wooden scaffolding
to spy on the workmen, who are carrying both birds and acid bottles
to the tower, a draw-bridge lowering at their approach. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Clearly
there is something going on in that tower, but the arrival of the
guard and his mastiffs – </span><span style="font-style: normal;">imagine
bears doing a push-up for an idea of scale – sends the three
adventurers packing, </span><span style="font-style: normal;">at least
until early evening...</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The
night descends over Loch Ness and, sure enough, Holmes and Watson are
at the oars of a rowing boat. Gabrielle sits primly in the stern,
Holmes' Norfolk jacket over her to ward off the chill. Watson has had
enough, having seen the castle from all angles he's none the wiser.
He declares Holmes will catch his death, adding it would be ironic if
Holmes' last case was a case of pneumonia. Holmes is not amused.
Suddenly, Gabrielle points out into the mist, terrified. A chilling
sight emerges, a creature of some kind. Quickly, Holmes takes up oar
and urges Watson to pursue the beast. They make water, but Watson
realises the folly and wants to go away from it. 'Keep rowing,
damnit!' shouts the Detective, his blood up. Before they can get
closer, however, the creature dives, descending into the depths of
the Loch.
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Shipping
oars, Holmes calls for quiet, then Watson's stethoscope, which the
Doctor is never without. Using the stethoscope, Holmes listens to the
surface of the water, placing the chestpiece on the surface to hear a
distinct, clear noise of some machinery of some sort – getting
closer, by the sound of it. Struck dumb with fear, Watson can only
point as the head and neck of the Loch Ness Monster breaks the
surface, heading straight for the boat!. Watson manages a shout of
warning as Gabrielle's scream alerts Holmes to the mortal peril; too
late as the beast passes close past, the wake and turbulence throwing
the boat over and flinging the hapless occupants into the cold, deep
waters. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">The monster glides
off towards the castle. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Gabrielle
has lost her parasol, Holmes his Watson. Swimming over to the
familiar bowler, Holmes finds nothing beneath it. All is not lost,
however, as the good Doctor hauls himself over the side of the boat,
spluttering and gasping for breath. </span>
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<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">P</span><span style="font-style: normal;">erhaps
understandly, Watson is rather overwrought by all this, stating he
has faced man-eating tigers, stampeding elephants, but he's never
been half as frightened as this night. Mme Valladon hopes it doesn't
return. An odd sight; one side of the wooden scaffolding covering the
castle is being raised, some lights just visible through the murk and
mist. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Drolly, Holmes cracks
the beast has gone home for it's supper.</span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">B</span><span style="font-style: normal;">ack
in their hotel room, Holmes has changed into dry things, Gabrielle is
tucked up in bed and laughs as Watson warms himself by the fire,
rather absurdly dressed in a kilt. Apparently you can't borrow a
decent pair of trousers here. Idly whistling the theme from 'Swan
Lake', Holmes paces the room, until Watson breaks and asks him for
his confidence – whenever he starts whistling, Watson knows a
solution is near. Using Swan Lake as analogy, Holmes pronounces that
in the ballet there is both lake and castle, a swan that is not
really a swan, whereas here there is a monster that isn't a monster.
What monster feeds on canary birds and sulphuric acid and has an
engine for a heart?. The air bubbles he spotted on the surface
indicate some sort of air pump, involving the late M. Valladon. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Why,
Watson asks would anyone want to build such a mechanical monster? -
to scare people?. Holmes doesn't think it very likely. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">(At
this point I can't be the only one trying not to think of </span><i>Scooby
Doo?</i><span style="font-style: normal;">...)</span><span style="font-style: normal;">
</span><span style="font-style: normal;">Clearly upset, Gabrielle asks
why did they try to stop her finding her husband? Why was he buried
anonymously?. Holmes has a good idea what they are up to, the
'Society for the Preservation of Scottish Monuments', better known as
the Diogenes Club.</span><br />
</div>
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<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">A
</span><span style="font-style: normal;">knock at the door and the
manager hands a magnum of champagne to 'Mr.Ashdown' with the
instructions to deliver it. To whom and where he does not know, but
there is a carriage awaiting downstairs. Holmes asks if he is sure he
has the right Mr. Ashdown. The reply – 'Quite sure, Mr. Holmes.' </span><span style="font-style: normal;">It
appears the curtain is going up on the last act. Watson produces a
revolver from his sporran, but Holmes ignores the offer and leaves
alone. Outside, he finds the Guide from Castle Urquhart, </span><span style="font-style: normal;">leaning
against a small gig</span><span style="font-style: normal;">. Some
sort of party, perhaps?. Drily, the Guide assures him he won't be
disappointed in the guest list. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Who
is the host?; Jonah. Their carriage takes them in silence through the
night to the castle. Holmes seems taken aback at the scene that
greets him; a red carpet leads </span><span style="font-style: normal;">up
</span><span style="font-style: normal;">past some lighted tents,
several flaming torches lighting the way. The guide remains
</span><span style="font-style: normal;">resolutely by the gig leaving
Holmes to take the carpeted steps. Some workmen are unrolling more of
this carpet towards the tower. </span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">'Mister
Ashdown, I presume?' A lithe, familiar frock-coated figure steps out
behind Sherlock. 'T</span><span style="font-style: normal;">he red
runner, I presume?' Sherlock retorts, adding his brother shouldn't
have gone to all this trouble. Acidly, </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Mycroft
Holmes </span><span style="font-style: normal;">replies it is not for
Holmes. Sherlock remarks on the poor vintage – 1886 – of the
champagne. It is not for drinking – Mycroft calls an aide,
instructing him to tie the bottle up. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">He
directs his younger brother into the tent, in the light of the double
lamp are laid out a theodolite, a draftsmans table and various items
of equipment. In the corner a cot on which sits a trunk bearing the
name 'E.Valladon'. As Holmes jnr inspects the tent, outrage takes
over in the elder. Despite his most emphatic warnings, Mycroft is
indignant that Sherlock persisted. It would have served them right
had they drowned. Sherlock reads the name on Valladon's trunk, but
Mycroft attempts to regain control of the situation by showing his
sibling Mme Valladon's parasol and Watson's stethoscope, found
floating on the lake. Speaking of things floating... Mycroft
challenges Sherlock to state what he knows, or thinks he knows. </span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I think you're
testing some sort of underwater craft – camouflaged to mislead the
gullible. I think it's an experimental model, operated by a crew of
midgets. I think it it powered by sulphuric acid batteries and uses
canaries to detect escaping gas... altogether a unique contraption.'
Clearly taken aback by the extent of Sherlock's perception, Mycroft
nonetheless corrects him on the last point; there being four
countries attempting to develop what 'we' call a 'Submersible'. None
of them could solve the critical problem of how to stay submerged
long enough to make it effective. Sherlock recalls the Book of Jonah;
how Jonah lived in the belly of the whale for three days and nights.
Indeed, that was their goal, Mycroft concedes proudly, thanks to M.
Valladon's air pump they had the jump on the lot of them. It is a
highly complex system of filtration, so they had a few trials... and
at least one error, Sherlock observes. During a test run in the Moray
Firth, pressure caused a leak which caused sea water to mix with acid
in the batteries. The resultant chlorine gas was fatal to the crew;
Valladon and two diminutive crew members. Burying them in unmarked
graves was essential to keep the information from Sherlock's client.
Sherlock finds it hard to believe – and distasteful, that the
Diogenes Club went to such lengths to prevent Madame Valladon from
finding her husband. Then, the bombshell...</div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_aF4NmjrB-8UEVGrGAFinn-5-gAUggWnq1hm7Msv-oMFBuyq6TINQOCAzLPGBn7TVlX0mUo5mNidmdHi2UCG3drU4nGp3VXXXQrl1-1FsrPHWOdkWmLXnU94uAHYJCtf4kyjIIrqjbOY/s1600/tumblr_inline_nps8am1htM1shsvef_1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_aF4NmjrB-8UEVGrGAFinn-5-gAUggWnq1hm7Msv-oMFBuyq6TINQOCAzLPGBn7TVlX0mUo5mNidmdHi2UCG3drU4nGp3VXXXQrl1-1FsrPHWOdkWmLXnU94uAHYJCtf4kyjIIrqjbOY/s320/tumblr_inline_nps8am1htM1shsvef_1280.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christopher Lee's Mycroft Holmes is a real treat.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Holmes' client isn't
Madame Valladon – it's the Imperial German Government!. They were
after Valladon's invention, but couldn't trace him, so they enlisted
the finest brain in England to help them. Bitterly, a sardonic
Mycroft tells Sherlock that he has been working for the
Wilhemstrasse.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Anger now, as realisation dawns on Sherlock Holmes that he has led the Germans to the very door of </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Great Britain's most closely-guarded secret. What role did Madame Valladon play in all this? He </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">wonders. Very little; Madame Valladon was found murdered in Brussels three weeks ago by German </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">agents. Crossing to the trunk, Mycroft hands Holmes a photograph which he finds painful to look at. </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">A dark haired, rather severe woman, quite unlike the 'Madame Valladon' who presented herself </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">soaking wet at his door not so long ago. That woman is one Ilse von Hoffmanstal, one of their most </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">skillful agents. Mycroft cannot resist a last dig about hogs being used to find truffles before consulting </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">his watch. Inviting the thoroughly humiliated Sherlock to join him, Mycroft states they are expecting a </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">certain Royal personage from Balmoral.</span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The Royal c</span></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">oach in escort</span></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> is approaching Castle Urquhart at the end of a long journey from Balmoral. </span></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The initials 'V.R' adorn the door. The coach rolls imperiously into the courtyard and the footmen jump </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">down to open the door. The honour of greeting the Royal guest falls to Mycroft Holmes</span></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">.</span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">A line-up of eminent scientists awaits Her Majesty and Mycroft introduces them; a</span></span>
<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Naval Architect, an expert in hydraulics and the co-inventor of the revolving periscope. When Mycroft </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">adds Sherlock to the introductions, the Queen lights up, telling him 'We have been following your </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">exploits with great interest.' Is he engaged in one of his fascinating cases?, yes, in a manner of speaking. </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">She asks when she can expect to read Dr. Watson's account of the case and is disappointed to hear the reply </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">'I hope never, ma'am' as it has not been one of his more successful endeavours. At a signal from Mycroft, </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">a piper strikes up 'Hielan' Laddie' and pipes Her Majesty into the tower, an equerry and a lady in waiting </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">amongst the procession following on. </span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Inside, spiral iron stairs lead downwards to an extraordinary sight; with pride ringing in his voice, </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mycroft Holmes introduces Her Majesty to Her Majesty's Ship, Jonah. HMS Jonah is perhaps no more </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">than eighteen feet or so from stem to stern, a single propeller at the latter. Aft of the top hatch the rather </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">familiar head and neck of the Loch Ness Monster, now revealed as a bolted-on sham. A wheeled cradle </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">supports the submersible out of water. (Writing this in 2016 it's impossible to avoid the word </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">'Steampunk' – the design of <i>HMS Jonah</i> is simply fabulous) The ominous red tip of a torpedo extends </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">from a tube in the side, an open hatch behind this inviting entry, the now-infamous red runner </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">terminating at steps provided for the Royal visit and Sherlock's champagne bottle proudly be-ribboned </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">hanging from the prow ready for the ceremonial launch. A small porthole at the foremost point of the </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">prow adds a homely touch. The entrance to this unique submarine pen is camouflaged by the scaffolding</span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">, which is garnished with foliage for the purpose. </span></span>
<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Her Majesty asks the purpose of the 'gargoyle' – is it to scare the sharks?. Mycroft answers that it is </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">merely a decoy. The crew now demonstrate the workings of the submersible, starting with removing </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">the 'gargoyle', which reveals periscope and Schnorkel tubes. (Readers of a more advanced vintage may </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">remember Schnorkel from the Banana Splits Show. If not, it's a sign of your age...) </span></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Four midget sailors </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">stand </span></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>en revue </i></span></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">on deck, with a full-sized sailor adressing them. At the command 'stand to', the midgets </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">scramble into the, erm, midget sub and HM notices their small size. Mycroft explains the Navy made an</span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">exception because of the nature of the craft. Wryly, the Queen states it should be the rule as </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">O</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">ne is quite</span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">tired of standing on one's toes to pin medals. Mycroft</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> assists the Royal Presence up the steps to gaze into </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">the belly of the beast. </span></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">By now, Sherlock has cottoned on to the blindingly obvious fact that Her Majesty, whilst charm itself, </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">is more than a tad dotty and less than likely to properly grasp any of this nautical mumbly-jumbly. With </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">some relish he jumps in and says 'You know... to observe the fish.' 'And the plants and the cockles' adds </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">HM. Mycroft explains that isn't quite the idea. HMS Jonah is being commissioned as a warship. </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Outraged, Queen Victoria recoils from the craft, ordering the noise to cease. Hastily, Mycroft signals the </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">crew to stop engines and tries to explain; The Admiralty regards <i>Jonah </i><span style="font-style: normal;">as the ultimate weapon in Naval </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Warfare. It can seek out enemy ships and sink them whilst remaining invisible. HM asks if this means </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">from underwater, without warning or showing of colours?. 'Mister Holmes – We are not amused!.' </span><span style="font-style: normal;">(Me </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"></span><i>again</i><span style="font-style: normal;">; debate continues as to whether Queen Vic did, in fact say those immortal words – she said she </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">didn't, which is good enough for me. She was, in fact known by her lively sense of humour.) 'It is </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">unsportsmanlike, un-English and in poor taste. Sometimes We despair at the state of the World – what </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">will scientists think of next?.' </span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">G</span><span style="font-style: normal;">rasping at straws, Mycroft informs Her Majesty that at this very moment, the Germans under Count </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">von Zeppelin are experimenting with a dirigible, which could be used to drop bombs on Buckingham </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">palace. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">It is being developed at the express order of Kaiser Wilhelm II. Nonsense! The Queen scoffs at </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">the idea; refusing to believe that 'Our grandson Willie' would do a thing like that. Mycroft persists; our </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">man </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Ibbetson </span><span style="font-style: normal;">in Friedrichshafen saw the dirigibubble and made a drawing of it, only to be apprehended. </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">HM is resolute, insisting HMS Jonah be scuttled and promising a sharp note to the Kaiser regarding </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">dropping bombs on the Palace. The Queen wishes to return to Balmoral – and departs in a Regal Huff. </span><span style="font-style: normal;"> </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">(Somewhat like a Reliant Robin, but with four wheels.) </span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Alone with his brother, Sherlock finds it ironic they have both been undone by women, all that </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">engineering and espionage for naught. Not necessarily... Mycroft has had a thought. If the Germans </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">want this submersible so badly, why not give it to them?. Invite them aboard for the final journey, </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">seven-hundred feet - straight down. Since Sherlock is on such intimate terms with Fraulein von </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Hoffmanstal, Mycroft is counting on him to arrange it. Outside, the skirl of the pipes announces Her </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Majesty's departure and the Holmes brothers go to see her off, </span><span style="font-style: normal;">leaving HMS Jonah sitting forlornly and </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">unchristened with her champagne bottle unbroken.</span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">The gig takes Holmes back to the Hotel, 'Gabrielle's' parasol over his shoulder. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">In their room, 'Gabrielle'</span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">sleeps in bed, her back uncovered. Wistfully, the detective stands over her for a moment, then covers </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">her. Stepping to the window, he opens it and spots the seven Trappist monks standing as if in silent </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">contemplation at the Loch side, except they are turned towards the hotel. Flipping the parasol in his </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">hand, Holmes uses the handle to strike the metal lamp hanging from the ceiling, the loud ringing </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">startling the sleeping woman into wakefulness. Holmes asks her the German word for 'Castle' – Schloss,</span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">isn't it?. Cautiously, she says she thinks so. So how would you say 'Under the castle?' Warily, she </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">claims not to know, keeping up the act. As her Trappist friends are waiting, Sherlock suggests they don't</span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">keep them waiting and drops her real name. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">With a touch of steel, she speaks; 'Unter dem Schloss'. He </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">offers her the parasol, but her silent refusal to co-operate means he will have to signal the 'Monks' </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">himself. </span></span></span> </pre>
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<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The parasol at the window flashes its Morse code message, but from a distance Von Tirpitz and his </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">merry men cannot see that it is Holmes sending the communiqué. Helpless, Fraulein von Hoffmanstal </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">ties her night-dress and awaits her fate. As the mute group departs along the shore, Holmes remarks it </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">is their hands now. Ilse drops the Gabrielle persona and her German accent is revealed as she corrects </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">him for omitting the 'von' from her name. It must amuse him, Trappists walking into a trap. Sherlock </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">reveals that inside the castle, they will find surprisingly little resistance, the submersible running and </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">ready to go. He assumes they are all expert sailors (And, presumably, contortionists – all the monks are </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">a good height) and, since there happens to be a German battleship cruising off of Western Scotland, </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">they will attempt to rendezvous with it at sea. He suggests she get her things together as Mycroft will </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">arrive shortly to take her into custody. She does this and declares Holmes was onto her from the very </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">start. Ruefully, he tells her not quite <i>that </i><span style="font-style: normal;">soon. She asked for this assignment, having been scheduled </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">for a mission in Japan. She couldn't resist the challenge of coming up against the best. She is sorry she </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">didn't give him a closer game, to which he answers 'Close enough'. Shameless!. He reveals that it is</span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">fortunate Watson doesn't write about his failures. </span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Back in manic mode, </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Doctor </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Watson sprints down the stairs and into the room, managing to trip over </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">the one thing on the floor, Ilse's trunk. </span><span style="font-style: normal;">Holmes is watching the loch through his telescope as a frantic </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Watson tells him he's seen 'that thing' again out in the Loch. Through his glass, Sherlock Holmes </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">watches a trail of bubbles, which suddenly gout into a brief, final explosion under the water. He hands </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Watson the 'scope just in time for him to see a champagne bottle and a bible pop up to the surface. It </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">seems someone carelessly left a few bolts loose – and Holmes remarks on such a fitting end for </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Trappists, now in eternal silence at the bottom of the lake.</span></span></span> </pre>
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<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Mycroft Holmes arrives for Fraulen von Hoffmanstal, who is ready to </span><span style="font-style: normal;">leave</span><span style="font-style: normal;">. The one thing he likes </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">about Prussians is their punctuality – the one thing </span><i>she</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> dislikes about the British is the damp climate, </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">the jails are quite damp. She isn't going to jail – Mycroft tells her she is going back to Germany, in </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">exchange for Ibbetson, the British Spy arrested during his mission to investigate the Kaiser's Dirigible. </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Her thanks are directed at the wrong Holmes, as it was Sherlock's idea. Mycroft considers it a poor deal</span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">as she is much better than most operatives working for British Intelligence. Better, too than some </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Consulting Detectives Holmes adds sportingly, with a small, gracious bow towards Fraulein von </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Hoffmanstal. Taking her parasol from Watson she pauses at the door, taking her leave with the single </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">word; 'Gentlemen'.</span></span></span> </pre>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Christopher Lee and Geneni</span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">è</span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">ve Page on set.</span></span></span></span></pre>
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<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">By now, Watson is bursting to know what's been going on, but Holmes doesn't feel like obliging him </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">yet. Insisting on the public's right to know, Watson doesn't see any need to consider Ilse's feelings. </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Wistful, Sherlock watches as, outside Fraulein von Hoffmanstal climbs into an open carriage with </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Mycroft to leave. Desperate, Watson implores his friend, if he promises not to write a word would he </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">enlighten him?, as his friend, his valet?. Holmes calls for quiet, as he is trying to read one last message. </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">As the carriage departs along the tree-lined drive, Ilse is casually signalling behind with her parasol. </span><i> </i></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Auf Weidersehn. </i></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Baker Street, Winter. Snow lies deep along the broad thoroughfare, children playing gleefully with the </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">snow, while less carefree souls shovel the pavements clear. Watson and Holmes are at breakfast, a cosy </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">fire warming the living room we know so well. Watson reads the newspaper, Holmes his mail. Tossing </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">aside his spoon, he announces a letter from the Diogenes Club. Perhaps an invitation to take up a </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">membership?. Perhaps not, as Holmes' face clouds, his breath coming in a sigh, he drops the letter onto </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">the table and throws down his napkin, rising to the window with heavy heart. Watson drops a lump of </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">sugar into his coffee and then uses the tongs to turn the missive so he can discretely read the contents. </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It is from Mycroft, informing Sherlock that his sources inform him that Ilse von Hoffmanstal was </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">arrested by the Japanese Counter-Intelligence Service for espionage against the Naval installations in </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Yokohama. After secret trial, she was executed by firing squad. Gingerly, Watson turns the letter to </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">read further. Mycroft adds it might be of interest to know she had been living in Japan under the name </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Mrs. Ashdown.</i></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">His face set, Watson goes to his friend, expressing his condolence. Bitterly, Holmes asks 'Where is it?'. </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Watson tells him in the files – May to July, 1885 and walks from the room. Sherlock goes to the files </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">on their shelf and is surprised by the ingenuity of Watson's concealment; three 'files' turn out to be </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">facades affixed to the bottom of Watson's medical bag, itself on end. Remarking that Watson is getting </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">better, Holmes retires to his room with his cocaine. With the weight of events pressing on his shoulders</span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Watson takes to his writing chair and begins to write the story of recent events.</span></span>
<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The End.</span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></pre>
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<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span>
<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">When Billy Wilder bought the rights to Sherlock Holmes in 1957, he had a musical in mind. Later, </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">after a seven-year incubation, a two-hundred and sixty page script was ready, written with regular </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">collaborator </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">I.A.L. Diamond. (The two were to fall out after savage cuts were made to the film.) </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Budgeted at a colossal $10,000,000, the film was originally to include a prologue, with the Grandson </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">of Dr. Watson visiting the Bank of Cox and Company to retrieve his ancestor's possessions. A </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">flashback sequence to Holmes' Oxford days showed him in love with a young girl (Jenny Hanley), who </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">then turns out to be a prostitute, triggering his distrust of women. The main portion of the film was split </span></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">between four separate stories, </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>“The Curious Case of the Upside Down Room," "The Singular Affair of </i></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>the Russian Ballerina," "The Dreadful Business of the Naked Honeymooners" and "The Adventure of </i></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>the Dumbfounded Detective”. </i></span></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">In total, some three hours of movie. So, why is the release around two </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">hours?. </span></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWkkfzmDp-OuivRiRRd4yh-wA0os3L4sJD9MtPqTqSyQouwGrZwfknn-xS4El1OGRaKvR7KDLZRtVrMnHN_DReFD7dHUOaZ01I9A77VBkIWo-d7jd1vI3d15g1-geo6CSFVoxLSBOffXY/s1600/isacp1w0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWkkfzmDp-OuivRiRRd4yh-wA0os3L4sJD9MtPqTqSyQouwGrZwfknn-xS4El1OGRaKvR7KDLZRtVrMnHN_DReFD7dHUOaZ01I9A77VBkIWo-d7jd1vI3d15g1-geo6CSFVoxLSBOffXY/s320/isacp1w0.jpg" width="123" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The blurb on this poster suggests the marketing people didn't quite know how to sell the film.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The completed film was to be a 'Roadshow' release in the States – many films were made in longer </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">versions, shown before general release at prestige venues to pre-booked audiences and typically </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">featured an intermission. (Children of the seventies will remember the scramble to the loos and the ice-</span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">cream lady with the torch and the <i>Kia-Ora</i>.) United Artists, however, suffered a series of flops and the </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Roadshow fell by the wayside as a way of promoting films. Subsequently, the film was slashed to one-</span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">hundred and twenty-five minutes, without prologue or prostitute. Gone, too were the 'Naked </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Honeymooners' and the 'Upside Down Room'. Appallingly, the missing footage has largely vanished </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">without trace. The 'Honeymooners' sequence survives, but without audio. Laser Disc and Blu-Ray </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">releases feature a subtitled version;</span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></pre>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dz1jARu19lexL0uzBtA2pTEfE2Sx5THCNLpOvJRZtNdZxsJc9gnmqPKfWrw-3Nq-nY06NgqNUhXWxmneAXB5A' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The case involved Holmes investigating a pair of corpses on a </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">cruise-liner, with it being revealed he has the wrong cabin. In the 'Upside Down Room', Watson </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">ingeniously affixes the furniture in a room to the ceiling, which Holmes investigates as part of a </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">murder – later revealed as a clever ploy to shake the Cocaine-addicted Detective from his accidie. </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">As revenge for this, Holmes nails Watson's bed to the ceiling of his room and invites him to sleep in his </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">bed, prompting a further question as to his ambiguous sexuality – already under scrutiny from the </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">'Ballerina' story. The production itself was not without hitch; the Loch Ness scenes had to be reshot </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">after low light levels had rendered the original footage useless. </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgElMF36qmyzYzB2tWPzeoY7dT6Ig96L5p0N0FLk69h4COZ-8ZZcTHFgZj4tuiarAtbCZekApKUaMPIYjJ3S2onxxybP3OYSnGML2dklMkXpFH2Z_vC9viSlt-4CWXNYuREGgpltbUkhuo/s1600/Sherlock+Nessie+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgElMF36qmyzYzB2tWPzeoY7dT6Ig96L5p0N0FLk69h4COZ-8ZZcTHFgZj4tuiarAtbCZekApKUaMPIYjJ3S2onxxybP3OYSnGML2dklMkXpFH2Z_vC9viSlt-4CWXNYuREGgpltbUkhuo/s320/Sherlock+Nessie+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The original Nessie/HMS Jonah prop being prepared. It remains at the bottom of Loch Ness.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The original 'Loch Ness Monster/HMS </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Jonah' was made as a full-sized prop and floated out into the lake, but unfortunately failed to <i>stay </i></span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> </i>floating; it remains at the bottom of Loch Ness, a model in a studio tank used in it's place. What </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">remains is widely agreed to be a master-work, but especially as Robert Stephens made so few films, the </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">cuts seem especially cruel.</span></span> </pre>
<pre class="western"> </pre>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1XpT7wim-ZjVJyOmL8b4WZrdUBhQlVWCsTYqomcaoyi-A8iQNmB1arE5iVHP5g6vbVc0Qg-C-CwQt_tVpn4AskT4EvUWC1NOoDI3_S-RzswpLjJSRMdbaYP6wpI8hSvjorXla86FimfM/s1600/38858709-The_Private_Life_of_Sherlock_Holmes_United_Artists_1970._Half_Sheet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1XpT7wim-ZjVJyOmL8b4WZrdUBhQlVWCsTYqomcaoyi-A8iQNmB1arE5iVHP5g6vbVc0Qg-C-CwQt_tVpn4AskT4EvUWC1NOoDI3_S-RzswpLjJSRMdbaYP6wpI8hSvjorXla86FimfM/s320/38858709-The_Private_Life_of_Sherlock_Holmes_United_Artists_1970._Half_Sheet.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The artwork for the film's poster is by the incomparable Robert McGinnis.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<pre class="western"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj39GEvrfHh1HeTQ8DNyScC40CYvkhfByr-Wo5XlFys6cIhlG0P_WQ-M7sOaNzkSjb1f366iLEWZbvMxphk-6jdxZvb8rMP70etE_bZI-EmXZqW84VY3TWSHwEYJh49P8UxtapRChzh7p0/s1600/iQbwlCM1AQEe2TCSxhPyIoa57le.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj39GEvrfHh1HeTQ8DNyScC40CYvkhfByr-Wo5XlFys6cIhlG0P_WQ-M7sOaNzkSjb1f366iLEWZbvMxphk-6jdxZvb8rMP70etE_bZI-EmXZqW84VY3TWSHwEYJh49P8UxtapRChzh7p0/s320/iQbwlCM1AQEe2TCSxhPyIoa57le.jpg" width="228" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Polish artwork shows a rather different approach.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</pre>
<pre class="western"> </pre>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4s65uFQEhL96ox4yJG0QLBtjUtUNBxEWgKN9yJe4aOloruCUpQwY3k18-PIPGoXCiErUpNGHc_-uFL_ujqibu8kkb9OhCJ6e1J5o0KAcw_M9XkygnBMpt834dp7UAhfu3Rrb3Cvg6fSw/s1600/DRAMATIS+PERSONAE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="102" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4s65uFQEhL96ox4yJG0QLBtjUtUNBxEWgKN9yJe4aOloruCUpQwY3k18-PIPGoXCiErUpNGHc_-uFL_ujqibu8kkb9OhCJ6e1J5o0KAcw_M9XkygnBMpt834dp7UAhfu3Rrb3Cvg6fSw/s320/DRAMATIS+PERSONAE.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<pre class="western"> </pre>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Robert Stephens is Sherlock Holmes. A leading thespian, Stephens was once regarded the natural </span></span></div>
<pre class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">successor to Olivier. The principle reason for his casting would seem to be Shakespeare; Billy Wilder </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">originally conceived the film as a commentary on <i>Hamlet. </i>I'm far from the first to say this, but why not</span></span></pre>
<pre class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">get it from the Horse's mouth; </span></span></pre>
<pre class="western" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></pre>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i></i></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNC3j_nbiIju-HK60qjixpKGMY8GZrmTmEZ8tUzZnsYFGOn2zPG-VL1a_IPXOB9H_rYrrYJXh8_4azZRfj7OXP_i_6QqnohXIGgwPjO_VdjnAEVG1YCao-fGdSom0b13WvkeYYICn97VE/s1600/cc18d58-74908-profimedia-0094311311-2048x0-shrink.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNC3j_nbiIju-HK60qjixpKGMY8GZrmTmEZ8tUzZnsYFGOn2zPG-VL1a_IPXOB9H_rYrrYJXh8_4azZRfj7OXP_i_6QqnohXIGgwPjO_VdjnAEVG1YCao-fGdSom0b13WvkeYYICn97VE/s320/cc18d58-74908-profimedia-0094311311-2048x0-shrink.jpg" width="216" /></a></i></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>When
Wilder cast Stephens, the actor asked the great director: “How
do you want me to play it for the movie,” I asked Billy. “You
must play it like Hamlet. And you must not put on one pound of
weight. I want you to look like a pencil.” So, that’s the way we
did The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes.’ </i></span></span>
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">A
further clue can be found in the casting of Stanley Holloway as a
gravedigger – the part he had played in an earlier production of
<i>Hamlet. </i></span></span>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<br />
<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Stephens'
performance is more than enough to place him among the greats, but
it suffers from the eviscerating cuts made to bring the film down to
around two hours. We lose some of the rationale and backstory and the
<i>Hamlet</i> analogies are almost invisible. One niggle that I find
annoying is that Holmes appears to be in stage makeup the whole time
– which may just be another nod to the Bard.</span></span>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Colin
Blakely's Watson is manic, frenetic and great fun; he really hams it
up with a thick slice of comedic support that helps the whole thing
along nicely. Peter O'Toole and Peter Sellers had been considered for
Holmes and Watson respectively.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Christopher
Lee is wonderful as Mycroft Holmes, in a performance that stole the
film for me. One of the few actors to have played both Watson and
Holmes, Lee was walking along the banks of Loch Ness with Billy
Wilder when a colony of bats swarmed around the pair. Wilder is
reported to have remarked “You must feel quite at home.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Geneni</span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">è</span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">ve
Page is Gabrielle/Isle von Hoffmanstal. </span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">a</span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">n
Irene Adler type character who beguiles Holmes not with her sexuality
or charm – she tries both, but with her intellect. Incidentally,
the name Hoffmanstal </span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">has</span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
to be </span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">based
on that of </span></span></span></span>Hugo Laurenz August Hofmann
von Hofmannsthal the Austrian prodigy, a novelist, librettist, poet,
dramatist, narrator, and essayist. (I had to Google him, to be
honest.) Wilder himself was an Austrian emigr<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;">é</span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;">.
Nicholas Meyer's </span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><i>The
Seven Percent Solution </i></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">features
</span></span><span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Hugo
von Hofmannstahl and a dusty manuscript by Dr. Watson awaiting
discovery... Meyer's book came out in 1974, so who is following
whom?.</span></span><br />
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Much-loved
British actress Irene Handl is Mrs. Hudson, fitting the part nicely.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "liberation" serif , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Clive
Revill is Rogozhin, the Ballet Director, the celebrated Prima
Ballerina Tamara Toumanova appears as Madame Petrova. TV regular
Mollie Maureen appears as Queen Victoria, while Catherine Lacey is
the crippled lady. Seventies children's TV presenter Jenny Hanley
appears – of all things as a prostitute, in a missing scene.
Jonathan Cecil and Nicole Shelby appeared in a cut scene named<i>"The
Dreadful Business of the Naked Honeymooners." </i>David Kossoff
plays a blind man in another lost sequence; <i>“The Curious Case of
the Upside Down Room," </i>George Benson played Lestrade in this
and a curious epilogue in which the Inspector comes to seek Holmes'
help apprehending Jack the Ripper;</span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE7cFVE2-S38UWDERqJp9uf6idLvjpakxmN1fDqQKYQXHym4jLq-f-26FDN48gKDVS7EP-nYtzTVZPxRIAAQ3N8c9gGsk8BIqOzfhnEXTFjx63XwxiVBE6ThhX0BkTHIRC1RcXfYz4LpM/s1600/ALTERNATE+ENDING+SCRIPT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE7cFVE2-S38UWDERqJp9uf6idLvjpakxmN1fDqQKYQXHym4jLq-f-26FDN48gKDVS7EP-nYtzTVZPxRIAAQ3N8c9gGsk8BIqOzfhnEXTFjx63XwxiVBE6ThhX0BkTHIRC1RcXfYz4LpM/s320/ALTERNATE+ENDING+SCRIPT.jpg" width="206" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The alternate ending.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzstLYdhI1MMc4hWc0N6_47aUYQ02jYPcL_Hy3eHXaguYdbPvobRJqzvywdMahW1f_yxPFLhk8PdipDoqWWddXG77k-l6kchZAfu4lHX7jDJI3IZGw8g6ddX61AfdJ9WN7YwRVsvvKEZE/s1600/LOCATIONS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="102" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzstLYdhI1MMc4hWc0N6_47aUYQ02jYPcL_Hy3eHXaguYdbPvobRJqzvywdMahW1f_yxPFLhk8PdipDoqWWddXG77k-l6kchZAfu4lHX7jDJI3IZGw8g6ddX61AfdJ9WN7YwRVsvvKEZE/s320/LOCATIONS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
As
well as being filmed on location at Loch Ness, Urquhart Castle etc,
the courtyard of Somerset House, The Strand, London served as the
exterior for The Diogenes club. </div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGufrxjBksSFH6fxwRZymhOguPIr6jp2dgYOBXTohRKI2HVnw5_whcn13HLCTTgbjZvGAx8UDQMFPqHT422SA-0oDzArPlges0QLpUzC6hOry9_-r93-DzmwGQs8AcDeEh_Q9OMh9xDl8/s1600/61_drumnadrochit9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGufrxjBksSFH6fxwRZymhOguPIr6jp2dgYOBXTohRKI2HVnw5_whcn13HLCTTgbjZvGAx8UDQMFPqHT422SA-0oDzArPlges0QLpUzC6hOry9_-r93-DzmwGQs8AcDeEh_Q9OMh9xDl8/s320/61_drumnadrochit9.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Urquhart Castle, Loch Ness.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Kilmartin House is named as the
location for the Caledonian Hotel, but I can find no evidence as to
whether this is true or not.
</div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The first castle
Holmes and party cycle to is actually the Broadway Tower, in
Worcester. </div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU0EJNLUzeAYtT1nqeQkgQNtoK-2in2l1GhqN897J-GVf1Rm9QO9yjicZKt5gDlojR-bntkNLxsgXMvZnOlf5sx692qB0XJFkSSndK57ptOp0u84Obw9Fg0fPxZIBnxbpmq90wX-eWg0A/s1600/Broadway.Tower.original.20062.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU0EJNLUzeAYtT1nqeQkgQNtoK-2in2l1GhqN897J-GVf1Rm9QO9yjicZKt5gDlojR-bntkNLxsgXMvZnOlf5sx692qB0XJFkSSndK57ptOp0u84Obw9Fg0fPxZIBnxbpmq90wX-eWg0A/s320/Broadway.Tower.original.20062.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Broadway Tower, Worcester</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The third is Eilean Donan castle, featured later in films
such as <i>Highlander </i><span style="font-style: normal;">and </span><i>The
World is Not Enough. </i><span style="font-style: normal;">The
Keighley and Worth Valley Railway, featured in </span><i>The Railway
Children</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> was used, with a large
and expensive Baker Street set built using forced perspective on the
backlot at Pinewood Studios. </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOxXunrMLEsvJoaPc2wxdxmqycV5kgxtrIstZGalhy84dXPfZPqw689mWLOG2DjfSIUpVIuVkKJPXvw6g_W1unFIAgj-Nejq9MLk8Se02HNA8VBChbijdcfuR7byvmy1Jv32lQbfjG3xo/s1600/donan-Homesthetics-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOxXunrMLEsvJoaPc2wxdxmqycV5kgxtrIstZGalhy84dXPfZPqw689mWLOG2DjfSIUpVIuVkKJPXvw6g_W1unFIAgj-Nejq9MLk8Se02HNA8VBChbijdcfuR7byvmy1Jv32lQbfjG3xo/s320/donan-Homesthetics-4.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eilean Donan Castle.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-style: normal;"> </span><span style="font-style: normal;"></span> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjntv4kkge7jPyHf_vdGW7kuSoGdWGnpd2veSCDINHlwXN0_nqHHRaKvRB19Z2vcQaiVVewK2VsoemNVAk-VK00m1nYXQgAcnUoefJ353aYOozMmLo6TUzQAIrul4ctIq5H0sRSYrZZCGI/s1600/GOOFS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="102" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjntv4kkge7jPyHf_vdGW7kuSoGdWGnpd2veSCDINHlwXN0_nqHHRaKvRB19Z2vcQaiVVewK2VsoemNVAk-VK00m1nYXQgAcnUoefJ353aYOozMmLo6TUzQAIrul4ctIq5H0sRSYrZZCGI/s320/GOOFS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The plot involves
the German Kaiser and Count von Zeppelin, in a plan to use dirigibles
to attack Buckingham Palace. In fact, Wilhelm II did not become
Kaiser until 15 June 1888, nor was Count von Zeppelin yet involved in
dirigible manufacture at the time of the story (1887.)
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh12qfZd9B8RsCBvobLR42vJIYIWr_kyZj8w5XnlQlXjJK_lwB9nvNPM-5ZIJrH9qhZuS9pbac3WpCxQ1aHIwQaRWyT5mKVKqd1w2OwzWslSXG-kAVMu8fCNG9VPosZMJ0eGDcb3HksyxU/s1600/38858624-6933377269_305d4e46d5_o1-600x1012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh12qfZd9B8RsCBvobLR42vJIYIWr_kyZj8w5XnlQlXjJK_lwB9nvNPM-5ZIJrH9qhZuS9pbac3WpCxQ1aHIwQaRWyT5mKVKqd1w2OwzWslSXG-kAVMu8fCNG9VPosZMJ0eGDcb3HksyxU/s320/38858624-6933377269_305d4e46d5_o1-600x1012.jpg" width="189" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The novelisation is well worth tracking down.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Dr.Watson says at
the beginning of the movie that this takes place in 1887. However, he
shows Holmes a copy of the Strand Magazine with "The Red Headed
League", which was not published until 1891. Also, the Russian
opera singer later tells Holmes that she read about his adventure,
"The Hound of the Baskervilles", but that was not published
until 1901.
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQcPDPQPWsMosR0H7BpklFRnMVqrtXDcGk87V6t57ZTd1l96B4o14nBJVyE_KVNPRzVwXYiU5fBfwLPKCNvgyP3IL9gxLpCIA3mRi0e2KIn8sObzv3uUd6cH4Xplgo2xqT2KIixAPzcLo/s1600/Private+Life+of+Sherlock+Holmes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQcPDPQPWsMosR0H7BpklFRnMVqrtXDcGk87V6t57ZTd1l96B4o14nBJVyE_KVNPRzVwXYiU5fBfwLPKCNvgyP3IL9gxLpCIA3mRi0e2KIn8sObzv3uUd6cH4Xplgo2xqT2KIixAPzcLo/s320/Private+Life+of+Sherlock+Holmes.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Japanese Film Brochure (<span class="_r3"><a class="_ZR irc_hol i3724" data-noload="" data-ved="0ahUKEwiY59-S_PzLAhWJlxoKHcZtDHkQjB0IBg" href="https://www.google.co.uk/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0ahUKEwiY59-S_PzLAhWJlxoKHcZtDHkQjB0IBg&url=http%3A%2F%2Fruins80.rssing.com%2Fchan-12551928%2Fall_p4.html&psig=AFQjCNHgFrPFANGrMKe8pW0ZtoE88PTybg&ust=1460133725184115" tabindex="0" target="_blank"><span class="irc_ho" dir="ltr">ruins80.rssing.com)</span></a></span><span class="_r3 irc_msc"><a class="_ZR irc_msl i3591" data-i="1" data-noload="" data-ved="0ahUKEwiY59-S_PzLAhWJlxoKHcZtDHkQhxwICA" href="https://www.google.co.uk/search?tbs=simg%3Am00&tbnid=WGJF97II1Qd7mM%3A&docid=RJjhi2Rx2coZqM&safe=off&tbm=isch" tabindex="0"><span class="irc_idim"></span></a></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
For the script and further insight into this remarkable film, visit these sites;</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/goog_782617356">
</a>
<br />
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="http://www.imsdb.com/scripts/Private-Life-of-Sherlock-Holmes,-The.html">http://www.imsdb.com/scripts/Private-Life-of-Sherlock-Holmes,-The.html</a></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="http://thelastreveal.blogspot.co.uk/2012/08/billy-wilder-sherlock-holmes-private.html"><i>http://thelastreveal.blogspot.co.uk/2012/08/billy-wilder-sherlock-holmes-private.html</i></a></div>
</div>
Volcano Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14372941500458681755noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555240865021461020.post-60347199596500375682016-03-27T13:36:00.001-07:002017-01-16T11:54:56.475-08:00An account of a visit to the Sherlock Holmes museum.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMw7JkuXaebXFLRU0frHI3_QDBwAQvqSHTY0msetA7fspkgfGJ2N5cKOyohX-J1Ul-Qn3dRz5q_AfHfthNM2Xz_faRGxJummbQPDP4Y3KnSEhifW6_xlUjIOYDsZBxGHbW2Blli-05yGM/s1600/TITLE_FotoSketcher+A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMw7JkuXaebXFLRU0frHI3_QDBwAQvqSHTY0msetA7fspkgfGJ2N5cKOyohX-J1Ul-Qn3dRz5q_AfHfthNM2Xz_faRGxJummbQPDP4Y3KnSEhifW6_xlUjIOYDsZBxGHbW2Blli-05yGM/s320/TITLE_FotoSketcher+A.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">As you exit Baker Street tube station from the Marylebone road entrance you can't miss the statue; John Doubleday's 'The Great Detective' is invariably being photographed by smiling tourists and so should he be - the sculpture is quite exquisite. Exit by the Baker Street entrance, however and you only have to turn to the right, to face North-West towards Regent's Park and Lord's Cricket Ground and there, just visible to the left of the street is a town house with verdant window-boxes at every level. This is, of course, 221b Baker Street*. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUqECb3KTj7zn1jbX5wTFZwmSg9lYa1DHyrw8yMKH0ys6UEmn5fbwowYiBeWEQ9YR5DBY4rAeTKs6OyWyqapOff8_1gnIA-ZkA7UK7AkmhvjF9G_OSAp1u2TmNG-9NgpCratLN6U4c8UY/s1600/A.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUqECb3KTj7zn1jbX5wTFZwmSg9lYa1DHyrw8yMKH0ys6UEmn5fbwowYiBeWEQ9YR5DBY4rAeTKs6OyWyqapOff8_1gnIA-ZkA7UK7AkmhvjF9G_OSAp1u2TmNG-9NgpCratLN6U4c8UY/s320/A.JPG" width="240" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Immediately adjacent is a gift shop and be cautioned; you need to take as much as you can spare as some of the souvenirs range into the expensive. You can buy a small resin bust of Holmes for £30, should you fancy - I went for a coloured illustration of Holmes and Moriarty at the Reichenbach falls for a more modest £6 and a similarly-priced poster of <a href="http://sherlockholmesof221b.blogspot.co.uk/2016/03/the-brett-holmes-scandal-in-bohemia.html" target="_blank">Jeremy Brett</a> in character. Mementos acquired, we spent £30 on two Adult Tickets - Children are £12, but my moustache gave me away. At the door of 221b stands an imposing Victorian Constable, who is happy to pose for a photograph and then admit you.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjBIoFqzlJzh6J64sJPczNL6h3TiXnR7DgWdQGAM0CFgzNGwz9xGB97ozYOKyrjSzspzU1AciZgW-lMuX8V_iCxFdLfbW1sjysTv_tFrk5KYQqyvgwKk88wM_2Nhy4CF2OMqwxrL4NmwA/s1600/B.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjBIoFqzlJzh6J64sJPczNL6h3TiXnR7DgWdQGAM0CFgzNGwz9xGB97ozYOKyrjSzspzU1AciZgW-lMuX8V_iCxFdLfbW1sjysTv_tFrk5KYQqyvgwKk88wM_2Nhy4CF2OMqwxrL4NmwA/s320/B.JPG" width="170" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I brought my own pipe only to find they sold them in the gift shop. The Constable was a delightful chap and only too keen to assist me look a complete fool.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The house is, from top to bottom, as well preserved a Victorian dwelling as you could hope to find, from the hallway you ascend the creaking stairs to the first floor (The second to American visitors) and you are at once in the most familiar of parlours the World over. </span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAI20OJQYK590h3rTgeS6FcKZvWafoO6XJR18ENZNQKxvksxuKMOW7BVFEihSjBpq5K93c9RYF8o4x61wB68elz7D7V0fdhUFp2pNYe1pT1LOL7rA1yd82jQP3YmxRgrCzW22FLzGcvWs/s1600/C.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAI20OJQYK590h3rTgeS6FcKZvWafoO6XJR18ENZNQKxvksxuKMOW7BVFEihSjBpq5K93c9RYF8o4x61wB68elz7D7V0fdhUFp2pNYe1pT1LOL7rA1yd82jQP3YmxRgrCzW22FLzGcvWs/s320/C.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">In the seat of greatness. Wearing the hat of <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">second placeness.</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The first thing that strikes you about 221b is the modest size of the place; each floor has only two rooms per floor and these are not large - the clutter of the time adds to the co<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">s</span>y feel. The people behind the museum have got this right in a way that endless film-makers have not; Holmes and Watson would hardly have the funds for some of the spacious and palatial digs seen in various incarnations. The Sherlock Holmes museum is far more believable. You can see in the photo above Holmes' scientific experimental desk, his and Watson's chairs and such familiar details as the Persian slipper in which the Detective kept his tobacco.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhykvTEkE9DZdYRPQ4Hcef0Ijqo6azpAMs_vCiJ-JH6kI5AhMQ2EJURYp2pkhs6sQVI7DX_8SaljQiMcAjNqZDokqxWX8xUPo-FLWOqEuSUq_TChG55Jn0a_01xlgfctcYj_iG9umhvQ_k/s1600/D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhykvTEkE9DZdYRPQ4Hcef0Ijqo6azpAMs_vCiJ-JH6kI5AhMQ2EJURYp2pkhs6sQVI7DX_8SaljQiMcAjNqZDokqxWX8xUPo-FLWOqEuSUq_TChG55Jn0a_01xlgfctcYj_iG9umhvQ_k/s320/D.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The dining table in the parlour set out by Mrs. Hudson. </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">After the parlour comes Holmes' bedroom, his Bullseye lantern sits waiting for usage, his effects scattered around. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSned1Oc4-VOnDEMYWQZ-EQ27n881GIspHpkIYd7Y_gDFGEHJsy67fp0-RvjwpwV8KFErF5uztFUCq3OqK756E9cQKVLGnMF9LBFCoGIcZAkO3gbAUC3qaXH1I3Xbxv5Zk-X5cbLkhfls/s1600/F.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSned1Oc4-VOnDEMYWQZ-EQ27n881GIspHpkIYd7Y_gDFGEHJsy67fp0-RvjwpwV8KFErF5uztFUCq3OqK756E9cQKVLGnMF9LBFCoGIcZAkO3gbAUC3qaXH1I3Xbxv5Zk-X5cbLkhfls/s320/F.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Detail is, in fact the word for this place; every room is filled with obvious and subtler relics of the cases Sir. Arthur Conan Doyle wrote for his characters to solve; a porcelain lady with bicycle? - the Adventure of the Solitary Cyclist, a note pinned to the wall? - the Adventure of the Red-Headed League. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6FrSTm4dKRK64oR7KioAqw3DNgBgV-yJWwOpb0OmIWD6lxlQLisbtPc5Lg-bZVlF_dwOvZJkzrmRdasi6GMJ0Kcg85i2fNT99tsWk2eAgSAxTjffrRuqkTXPdg6yEAWBZhI7Rh91ThDw/s1600/H.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6FrSTm4dKRK64oR7KioAqw3DNgBgV-yJWwOpb0OmIWD6lxlQLisbtPc5Lg-bZVlF_dwOvZJkzrmRdasi6GMJ0Kcg85i2fNT99tsWk2eAgSAxTjffrRuqkTXPdg6yEAWBZhI7Rh91ThDw/s320/H.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">At each level a staff member waits in period dress to answer questions (And possibly to stop the less honest attempting to make off with exhibits) and you take yet more creaking stairs to Watson's bed chamber. After this, the remaining floors are given over to more exhibits, including several <i>tableaux </i>of some of the more famous cases. Irene Adler stands with the King of Bohemia from <i>A Scandal in Bohemia, </i>Holmes and Watson stand with<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> the corpse from Shoshcombe Old Place</span>, Moriarty stands alone, contemplating his next crime...</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIeAn8AlxiJ8qNyLTbI7wiPCFf5mIYodIwAJLWofonQelw9cNF_fk4Gxawsf46on0o2pv1e35vr1RmVLWB8GSm5Y8PL_pwdFAAgdKF3P8IiZhBSUdt0IdKw4-DG_7pfZGoCr3dYh71Kw8/s1600/I.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIeAn8AlxiJ8qNyLTbI7wiPCFf5mIYodIwAJLWofonQelw9cNF_fk4Gxawsf46on0o2pv1e35vr1RmVLWB8GSm5Y8PL_pwdFAAgdKF3P8IiZhBSUdt0IdKw4-DG_7pfZGoCr3dYh71Kw8/s320/I.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moriarty is the balding one. Ok, Moriarty is the <i>thin </i>one!. </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">In all, we spent about half an hour poking around, but then I'm an obsessive and didn't wish to miss anything. My Wife felt the admittance price a bit steep, but for a Conan Doyle fan it's a wonderful diversion and I'd happily go again. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi8RPItBjci63oRou0fKxLgfuw60pbOdAOUgWrtGhAtaEuhXIRDwiVd2dRF9Mt_Wwiy_kfgB8RSVBV975YMvKqjBA8fjuIVp89CfzgNWdhiZn-3p1h4fjLdKpwL20ZEgTWE3S9Egc8LHQ/s1600/J.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi8RPItBjci63oRou0fKxLgfuw60pbOdAOUgWrtGhAtaEuhXIRDwiVd2dRF9Mt_Wwiy_kfgB8RSVBV975YMvKqjBA8fjuIVp89CfzgNWdhiZn-3p1h4fjLdKpwL20ZEgTWE3S9Egc8LHQ/s320/J.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Now you know what became of the Hound.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">All in all, I'd recommend the Sherlock Holmes Museum, but it's not wheelchair friendly - it simply couldn't be made so either. There are, of course, a lot of steps too and it is quite a climb for the less able!.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_ZJS0bkMNUniBaQapDr0SlreUGAK6S6xjnDseNS98lnM6_Vp81v2ITYEXJnoryAaZjPzyYFY647FziyTi3PaixobtE0UeNoL22mbKX50UUXP_r2Ijdb96TKaHfAZ5uS4OTpv7r7Mq3tg/s1600/K.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_ZJS0bkMNUniBaQapDr0SlreUGAK6S6xjnDseNS98lnM6_Vp81v2ITYEXJnoryAaZjPzyYFY647FziyTi3PaixobtE0UeNoL22mbKX50UUXP_r2Ijdb96TKaHfAZ5uS4OTpv7r7Mq3tg/s320/K.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of many cases filled with curios, this features a letter from Holmes to Watson.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">So, all that remains is the now-familiar rating. I gave the Sherlock Holmes Museum...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJtP2spemsO9n_O7hRA_OiFzC2azmIfmnREDiBJQtvKYBHJjmgbHgxck28YcXGPp0fgdA-4VmUOG5j-81cnsJjJvxqWMD-t7w7b-wbfZPwOtBTVVr6Mv62pyCTmV4nxZ4ksyFg3NFq_gY/s1600/FOUR+PIPE+RATING.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="80" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJtP2spemsO9n_O7hRA_OiFzC2azmIfmnREDiBJQtvKYBHJjmgbHgxck28YcXGPp0fgdA-4VmUOG5j-81cnsJjJvxqWMD-t7w7b-wbfZPwOtBTVVr6Mv62pyCTmV4nxZ4ksyFg3NFq_gY/s320/FOUR+PIPE+RATING.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">*For years the Abbey National Building Society occupied a building that included the address 221b - the Society even employed a staff member to answer letters from fans all over the World. After the Society sold it's building, the museum successfully lobbied to have the postal address 221b, Baker Street re-assigned to the museum's premises. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN3cTCWXFyvO3kCJwCCKJZNODFr3JsQAa2G-XB4Es5Lsg_tQeII84V5M9aXaTDtQDfdgmfNIsQHfYXN5WDDz_pDHREoydF9USJdRwB4wBjzh36E0nm6Hpnat1f_x9L3WIBzYsW_m3qCuE/s1600/G.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN3cTCWXFyvO3kCJwCCKJZNODFr3JsQAa2G-XB4Es5Lsg_tQeII84V5M9aXaTDtQDfdgmfNIsQHfYXN5WDDz_pDHREoydF9USJdRwB4wBjzh36E0nm6Hpnat1f_x9L3WIBzYsW_m3qCuE/s320/G.jpg" width="178" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.sherlock-holmes.co.uk/" target="_blank">Sherlock Holmes.http://www.sherlock-holmes.co.uk/</a></td></tr>
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Volcano Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14372941500458681755noreply@blogger.com0