Mr. Holmes Page #5

The soot on your dress attests

that you went by train to Portsmouth,

as all other nearby rail lines

which might accommodate

a return trip of this length

are under repair or beyond it.

In Portsmouth, you met

the couple who run the hotel.

Your hair and nails are evidence that you

wished to make a favourable impression.

They made you an offer, you accepted.

You declined tea,

and did not see the sister

for whom you have

no particular fondness,

using my indisposition

as an excuse to hurry back.

- It wasn't an excuse.

- You accepted?

Start a week Monday.

Both of us?

- We're both going.

- She wants me to be a bootblack!

- Roger!

- She wants me to do what she does!

There is no shame in what I do!

You complain enough about it!

Always going on about how hard things are.

And you wish you had it better!

She can barely read!

Go after her.

Apologise for saying things

that were meant to hurt.

You were cruel!

If you don't apologise,

you will regret it.

- People always say that.

- Because it's true.

Moi, je regrette tellement.

- You regret...

- So much!

Your dad hated what he did for a living.

Mechanic in a garage,

like his dad before him.

When he got called up, he said to me,

"My love, I'll not spend this war

"underneath the oil pan

of some toff's jeep.

"I'm gonna put in for the RAF."

So he did.

He trained.

Scored high marks, got assigned

to a Bristol Blenheim, Mark IV.

Blown out of the sky. First time up.

All his mates who worked the motor pool

came home without a scratch.

I shouldn't have said what I said.

Lesson there, then.

Don't say everything you think.

Look.

- How did you find that?

- In your desk.

- Couldn't have.

- The one in the corner.

Didn't know it was a desk

until I opened it.

Oh, that's not my desk, it's John's.

He left it at Baker Street

when he went off to get married.

Yes, and there's a secret compartment

containing the very glove

you've been writing about.

I know you say Dr Watson didn't always

get things right, but in the story...

I am not working on that story any more.

Yes, but in Watson's story

he does have the armonica in it.

And the German lady. And that glove.

- So maybe he did get things right.

- No, that's not possible.

- John had gone from Baker Street by then.

- Well, then why was it in there?

I don't know!

And if I ever did know,

I don't remember.

If you can't remember, then why couldn't

the case have been a success

like Dr Watson wrote it?

Because it was my last case.

And if I'd brought it

to a successful conclusion,

I wouldn't have left the profession

and spent 35 years here,

in this place, away from the world!

I chose exile for my punishment,

but what was it for?

I must have done something

terribly wrong...

And I've no evidence of what it was.

Only pain, guilt...

Useless, worthless feelings!

I wish to God

I'd never even taken Umezaki's case!

- Kelmot's.

- What?

Kelmot's case. You said Umezaki.

Roger. Tea's ready.

Best clear this up.

Mr Holmes. Would you like your tea now?

Mr Holmes?

If you die...

What'll happen to the bees?

I haven't a clue.

One can't solve everything.

Said to be used to call for the dead.

Death, mourning, grief...

They're all commonplace.

Logic is rare.

The dead are not so very far away.

They're just on the other side

of the wall.

Now, whenever did you say that?

Ply your parlour tricks elsewhere,

Mr Holmes.

My husband could never succeed

at deception so long as I do his laundry.

I don't know much about your profession,

but I doubt predicting the future

of women you're engaged to follow

is common practice.

It was intended only as a means

to achieve a desired result.

- That being what?

- To delay your actions.

To keep you from this appointment

you seem so eager to make.

Even before I glimpsed you today,

I'd gleaned some of the passionate

feelings you have for your husband.

The man who took away

the music you loved,

denied you the pleasures

of your lessons,

even refused even to mark

a child's grave.

All these predicted your antipathy.

And then I witnessed your actions.

Forging his signature...

Drawing down his account,

purchasing poison, consulting his will,

planning an escape with a mystery man

who was paid a handsome fee.

And all for my benefit.

A convincing set of circumstances,

signalling your intention

to murder your husband.

But for two errors.

We must place blame

on your husband for the first.

If Mr Kelmot had not blundered

into Madame Schirmer's atelier...

And so taken me from my course,

you wouldn't have had to loiter for

such a suspiciously long period of time.

But you had no choice,

so loiter you did.

I would also make the observation

that there is nothing about you

that signifies the type of woman

who enjoys window shopping,

especially the window of a taxidermist.

- Was that the second error?

- No, merely confirmation of the first.

The second was unavoidable,

and all the more damning.

The man at the station.

Everything about him,

his clothes, the patches on his trousers,

his hands, scarred and burned with acid,

announced his profession.

Stonemason.

Money must have been a dire necessity,

else you would never have forged

your husband's signature.

The money was to pay for the headstones

your husband would not allow.

For Grace. For James.

For you.

Was arranging things to make it look

as if Mr Kelmot was the intended victim,

simply to keep me off the trail?

When I found the card... I was furious.

That Thomas should know me so little

that he had need to employ a detective

to uncover the truth.

Then it struck me,

if anyone could understand,

it would be you.

Thomas thinks I'm mad

because I speak to my children.

He doesn't understand.

The dead are not so very far away.

They're just...

On the other side of the wall.

It's us, on this side,

who are, all of us so...

Alone?

I have been alone...

All my life.

But with the compensations

of the intellect.

- And is that enough?

- It can be.

If one is so fortunate

as to find a place in the world.

And another soul with whom

one's loneliness can reside.

Do you know a place,

where two such souls might reside?

It was an offer unlike

any I had ever received.

She wanted to share

her solitude with me.

It was only later that I realised

how fateful my decision would be.

You have a husband who loves you.

Go home to him.

Mr Holmes...

You have my thanks.

What more, madam, could I do?

She had poured out

the contents of the bottle.

And with no malice aforethought,

poisoned the innocent witness.

If it had been one of John's stories,

he would have called it a foreshadowing.

Our time together was fleeting.

Less than an hour, really.

Yet her death made me see

that human nature was a mystery

that logic alone could not illuminate.

I had successfully deduced

the facts of her case,

but I had failed to grasp their meaning.

Never had I felt such an incomprehensible

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