The Sign of Four

There's a very

pretty young woman

crossing the street

and I think she

may be coming here.

Incidentally, I

have glanced over

your latest

account of my work.

Oh yes.

Honestly I cannot

congratulate you upon it.

Detection is, or ought

to be, an exact science.

Observation deduction

a cold and

unemotional subject.

You have attempted to

tinge it with romanticism,

which has much

the same effect

as if you worked a

love-story or an

elopement into the fifth

proposition of Euclid.

Who can match that?

There's a young lady

to see you Mr. Holmes.

It's Mary Morstan.

I have no recollection

of the name.

Don't go Doctor,

I may need you.

I was right.

Thank you.

Miss Morstan.

Good afternoon.

I have come to

you Mr. Holmes

because you once

enabled my employer,

Mrs. Cecil Forrester,

to unravel a minor

domestic complication.

She was much impressed

with your kindness

and skill.

Thank you.

I can hardly imagine

anything more strange,

more utterly

inexplicable,

than the situation in

which I find myself.

State your case.

You will, I am

sure, excuse me.

If your friend would be

good enough to remain,

he might be of

inestimable service to me.

Of course.

Briefly the

facts are these.

My father was an officer

in an Indian regiment.

My mother died when I

was still quite a child

and he was forced

to send me home,

despite the fact that I

had no relatives here.

I was placed in a

comfortable boarding

establishment

at Edinburgh, and

I remained there

until I was 17

years of age.

In that same

year my father,

who was a senior

captain of his regiment,

obtained 12 months'

leave and returned home.

He telegraphed to me

from London to say

that he had

arrived all safe

and directed me to

come down at once,

giving the Langham

Hotel as his address.

His message,

as I remember,

was full of love

and kindness.

On reaching London

I drove straight to

the Langham Hotel

and was informed

that Captain Morstan

was staying there,

but that he had gone

out the night before

and had not returned.

So I waited

all day

without news of him.

And that night,

on the advice of the

manager of the hotel,

I communicated

with the police,

the next day

we advertised

in all the newspapers.

Our inquiries

led to no result

from that day to this

no word has

ever been heard

of my unfortunate

father.

He came home with his

heart so full of hope

to find some peace,

some comfort,

and instead

The date?

The 3rd of December

exactly 10 years ago.

His luggage?

Remained at the hotel.

Oh there was nothing in

it to suggest a clue -

some clothes, some books,

and a considerable

number of curiosities

from the

Andaman Islands.

My father had been

one of the officers

in charge of the

convict-guard there.

Watson this

place is a mess.

Had he any

friends in town?

Only one that

we know of

Major Sholto, of

his old regiment,

the 34th Bombay

Infantry.

We communicated with

the Major, of course,

but he did not

seem to know

that his brother

officer was in England.

It's a singular case.

I have not yet

communicated to you

the most singular part.

4 years later

an advertisement had

appeared in the Times

asking for the address

of Miss Mary Morstan,

and stating that it

would be to her advantage

to come forward.

There was no

name appended.

I had at the time

just entered the family

of Mrs. Cecil Forrester

in the capacity

of governess

and on her advice I

published my address

in the advertisement

column.

That same day there

appeared through the post

a small cardboard

box addressed to me,

which I found to contain

a very large and

lustrous pearl.

No word of writing

was enclosed.

And since then every

year upon the same date

there has always

appeared a similar box,

containing a

similar pearl,

with no clue as

to the sender.

They have been

pronounced by an expert

to be of a rare variety

and of considerable value.

You can see for yourself

that they are

very handsome.

Your case is

most interesting.

Something else has

occurred to you?

Yes, and no

later than today.

That is why I

have come to you.

This letter arrived through

the post this morning,

which you will perhaps

read for yourself.

Envelope please.

London postmark,

October 7th.

Man's thumb

mark on corner

probably the postman.

Best quality paper.

Sixpence a packet.

Particular man in

his stationery.

Watson.

Be at the third

pillar from the left

outside the

Lyceum Theatre

tonight at

seven o'clock.

If you are distrustful

bring 2 friends.

You are a wronged woman

and shall have justice.

Do not bring the police.

If you do, all

will be in vain.

Your unknown friend.

Well, really,

this is a very pretty

little problem.

What do you intend

to do, Miss Morstan?

Well that is exactly

what I want to ask you.

Well then you and I

shall go together.

Dr. Watson is

the very man.

Your correspondent

says 2 friends.

But would he come?

I shall be proud and happy

if I can be

of any service.

You are both very kind.

I have led a retired life

and have no friends

whom I could appeal to.

If I am here at 6 it

will do, I suppose?

Yes but you must

not be later.

Goodbye Miss Morstan.

Goodbye Mr. Holmes.

Au revoir.

Au revoir.

Buy a flower dearie.

Buy a flower.

Aw come on dearie.

Excuse me.

What a very

attractive woman

It is of the

first importance

not to allow your

judgment to be biased

by personal qualities.

A client to me

is a mere unit,

a factor in of

the problem.

Holmes, you are

a automaton

and a calculating

machine.

There's something positively

inhuman in you at times.

I assure you

the most winning

woman I ever knew

was hanged for poisoning

3 little children

for their

insurance money,

and the most repellent

man of my acquaintance

is a philanthropist

who has spent nearly

a quarter of a million

upon the London poor.

However, in this case,

I never make exceptions.

An exception

disproves the rule.

I'm going out. I'll

see you in an hour.

Had he any

friends in town?

Only one that

we know of,

Major Sholto of

his own regiment.

There is no great

mystery in this matter

the facts appear to admit

of only one explanation.

Oh so you've

solved it already?

I have found,

on consulting the back

files of the Times,

that Major Sholto,

of Upper Norwood,

late of the 34th

Bombay Infantry,

died just 6 years ago.

Mrs. Hudson you're

dreadfully under foot.

I may be very

obtuse, Holmes,

but I fail to see

what this suggests.

Really?

You surprise me.

Now look at it

this way, then.

Captain Morstan

disappears.

The only person in London

whom he could have

visited is Major Sholto.

Major Sholto denies

having heard

that he was

even in London.

4 years later Sholto dies.

Within a week of his death

Captain Morstan's daughter

receives a

valuable present,

which is repeated

from year to year

and now culminates

in a letter,

which describes her

as a wronged woman.

Now what wrong can

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