Sherlock Holmes Faces Death Page #3

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Oh Hurlstone.

It's a grim old

palace, very spooky.

Don't tell me that

you met a ghost.

Well not so

spooky as that.

Ghosts don't stab people

in the neck do they?

Or do they?

Not well-bred

ghosts, Watson.

Who was stabbed

in the neck?

My young assistant,

Dr. Sexton.

When?

Last night.

Any idea who did it?

I have no idea.

You reported it?

Well, no, no I didn't.

Why not?

Well you see is it...

My dear fellow, what

you're trying to say is

the officers in your care

are all fine fellows,

wonderful war

records and so on.

Is that it?

Precisely.

So you thought perhaps

a private investigation.

Exactly.

Rather right and

proper thinking Watson.

We're just in time

to catch the nine thirty

train for Hurlstone.

But my dear fellow,

there's no immediate hurry.

Isn't there?

Your patients are all

victims of combat fatigue.

Any one of them

might go over the

edge at any moment

and from what

you've told me

there's a killer

loose at Hurlstone.

Great Scott, you

may be right.

Come on, Watson.

We haven't a

moment to lose

only hope we

shan't be too late.

You were right, Watson,

about Musgrave Manor.

Houses like people have

definite personalities

and this place is

positively ghoulish.

It certainly is.

Hello.

What's that?

Just the old greenhouse.

No, no, that

pile of leaves.

It's only a

pile of leaves.

Why?

Doesn't it strike

you as odd, Watson,

that a pile of leaves

should be raked up

in front of a

greenhouse door?

No gardener in the

world would do that.

Geoffrey Musgrave.

That's all very

interesting,

Inspector Lestrade,

but what, may I

ask, does it prove?

What I'm trying

to prove is this

that Dr. Sexton

went down...

Twice now, inspector.

You were stunned.

Naturally.

You were out longer

than you thought.

That's the point.

What point?

Just this.

The man who attacked him

had time to get

back in the house

before Dr. Sexton

near came to.

Yes.

Yes.

And this here glove...

oh, and this here glove

what I picked up at

the scene of the crime,

belongs to a certain party

right here in this house.

I say.

Well that glove

belongs to my brother.

Huh?

Do you suggest that he

intended to murder Dr. Sexton?

Who knows?

The man whose hand

fits this here glove

will bear a talking to.

Very well.

My brother's down

at the stables.

I'll take you

to him myself.

Thank you.

It's the quickest way

to put a stop to this

blithering nonsense.

Come on.

Oh, Mr. Phillip,

better not go out in the

night air without a coat.

Take mine.

Thanks.

Well I won't need this.

No, oh, nor this.

Well, shall we go?

Why if it ain't

Mr. Holmes?

Good evening, Lestrade.

Come to give us

a hand, have you?

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