Without a Clue

I told ya.

A quick tunnel job, then up the stairs, as pretty as you please.

That's worth over ten thousand pounds.

- We're gonna be rich! - Not this time, gentlemen.

Sherlock Holmes!

Watson?

Right you are, Holmes.

Run, Archie, or we'll swing for it!

Don't let those ruffians escape!

I am Inspector Lestrade. You are under...

There's no escape, my friend.

This will be a pleasure.

- Well done, Watson. - Are you all right, Holmes?

Quite.

Which is more than I can say for John Clay,

one of London's least notorious thieves.

Inspector! I have your man.

Come on.

Well, Mr. Holmes...

I don't know how, but you've done it again.

Thank you. That's high praise indeed,

coming from such a workmanlike detective as yourself.

And now, if you have nothing further to add,

I hereby declare this case...

closed.

Good! We got kippers for breakfast.

Just a minute.

You idiot!

What?

Confound you!

What... what did I say?

What did I say wrong?

I did everything you said, exactly as you said it.

All right, what did I do?

You're not going to tell me, are you?

All right. You want to know what's wrong?

- I said I did, didn't I? - I'll tell you what's wrong.

Don't declare a case is closed...

Just a minute. My public awaits.

Until I say it's closed!

- Good morning, gentlemen. - Good morning, Mr. Holmes!

- May we have a word? - Certainly.

How did you know somebody was tunneling into the Royal Gallery?

That was very interesting.

There was fresh dirt in the building next door.

Fresh dirt...

Would you like to elaborate on that?

It was an elementary deduction based on the clues at hand.

But didn't Scotland Yard see the very same clues?

I see and observe.

Isn't that rather redundant?

Describe the front of this building.

Without looking, describe the front of this house.

Well, it's brick...

it's got black railings, I think,

and windows.

- How many windows? - How many?

I don't know.

Quite so. He sees, but he does not observe.

Whereas I see and observe,

and thus bring many notorious blackguards to justice.

Hear, hear!

Did I put that reporter in his place?

Just for the record...

how many windows are there in the front of this building?

I haven't the foggiest idea.

There are fifteen windows, you fool!

Fifteen!

Not only that...

Not only that, but the reporter you just embarrassed...

he knows how to type, is somewhat nearsighted,

and recently returned from a holiday.

"And how do you know that, Watson?"

Elementary. From the creases on his wrist

where a typist presses against the table.

Do you think this is a good likeness of me?

Wonderful story, by the way,

but on page two, you have me admitting a mistake.

A writer must write of which he knows.

Do you think that's really necessary?

I mean, tarnishing the image and all that?

Hello.

What have we here?

Something's afoot.

How many times have I told you to stay away from my experiments?

Something wrong?

I seem to spend an increasing amount of my precious time

correcting your blunders, both private and public!

I see. It's the Clay case.

You still in a snit over that?

Well, if you want my opinion...

I beg your pardon? Opinion, did you say?

Oh, my God. Not that speech again.

May I remind you, for your information, sir,

that your opinions are my opinions.

Oh, piffle.

I created the character of Sherlock Holmes,

and hired you merely to play the part...

snatching you from the gutter.

Hardly the gutter, old boy.

After all, I was once an actor of note.

Whose last play ran a total of one-half of one performance.

I'll have you know Shadow of Death

with Reginald Kincaid

was a towering work, decades ahead of its time.

Lesson number two. Advanced Bowing.

My only regret was that it ended before the climactic third-act duel.

Too bad you didn't have a chance to see it.

I've no use for theatrical swordplay.

All I ask is that you obey a few simple rules,

not the least of which is,

a case is not closed until I say it's closed.

I think you underestimate my own native deductive abilities.

Do you hear those footsteps?

I'd say this was a woman about five-feet-five,

weight about twelve-and-a-half stone,

age fifty-four. Voilà.

Blown yourself up again?

It's for you... your Baker Street Irregulars.

Hello, boys.

Wiggins, give it back.

Just tryin' to earn a living.

We heard you was looking for us, Doctor.

Yes, there's been some trouble

concerning the break-in at the Royal Gallery.

What?

We heard that Mr. Holmes declared the case closed.

That will prove, after some creative writing,

to be merely a ruse on Mr. Holmes's part.

Something's not right... John Clay does not deal in works of art.

I need you boys to have a look around... eyes sharp, ears quick.

A copper apiece for your trouble, and a shilling for what you learn.

We'll do our best, won't we, lads?

Don't let us keep you, boys. Come on... out.

Don't worry about a thing.

We know how much you could use some real assistance.

You're making a laughingstock of me. How can I be...

How can I be expected to maintain a character

when you belittle me in front of those hooligans?

Are we talking of the same man who once declared

that the late Colonel Howard

had been bludgeoned to death by a blunt "excrement"?

Is it my fault you have such poor handwriting?

Anyway, it was just a little mistake.

He's been at it again.

- I never liked that woman. - Come in, Mrs. Hudson.

I found it under a loose board in the stairwell.

Thank you.

An occasional libation enables me to stiffen my resolve.

Your resolve should be pickled by now.

I don't believe that either of you realize what pressure I'm under!

Do you know what it's like to commit to memory

a never-ending list of clues and deductions

to be parroted back to Lestrade and reporters?

Blood stains on a toothpick? Cigar ash?

New soil in the garden next door?

Endless twaddle!

Twaddle!

Are you referring to the systematic gathering of evidence

and the logical deductions based thereon?

I am referring to twaddle!

You would be well served

to include fewer of these dreary details in future chronicles,

and place greater emphasis on me.

I am, after all, the one the public really cares about.

Would you be so kind as to excuse us for a moment?

Careful, Watson! Remember your blood pressure!

And good riddance to bad rubbish, I must say.

Am I to understand that you are giving me notice?

Let's just say that the curtain has come down

on yet another miserable performance.

Right.

I was once a figment of your imagination.

But now, Sherlock Holmes belongs to the whole world.

At last we're free of that ungrateful baggage!

From now on, things are gonna be much more pleasant around here.

An actor?!

Nothing the matter, nothing at all.

Back to work.

Hold my calls.

We'll start at the beginning...

shall we?

It was about nine years ago.

One of my patients was a Scotland Yard inspector

investigating the Paxton murder case.

I gave him the name of the murderer,

but gave credit to a nonexistent detective.

At the time, I was hoping for an appointment

to the staff of a rather conservative medical college.

I knew that they'd frown on my little...

- Hobby? - Exactly.

Well, I didn't get the appointment.

Instead, what I got was a quite unanticipated public demand

to meet this Sherlock Holmes.

So you hired this Reginald Kincaid.

He was an actor.

Unfortunately, he was also a gambler, a womanizer,

and a drunkard.

John, you have jeopardized the integrity of English literature.

Still, I should have known.