A Study in Terror Page #2

The person who rang does not desire

entry. He is deliberately slow.

"He"? It might be a woman.

The British postman is not a woman.

A parcel for you, Mr Holmes.

Incredible, Holmes!

Thank you, Mrs Hudson.

Postmarked "Whitechapel".

Ah. Surgical instruments.

Who sent those? What is missing?

The large scalpel.

The postmortem knife.

There's no greater satisfaction

than to have a theory confirmed.

Do they tell you anything?

First, the obvious.

A medical man has fallen

on hard times. Is that obvious?

Instruments of one's trade are

pawned last. How do you know they

were pawned? This fleck of white.

Silver polish. No surgeon would

clean his instruments with it.

Someone else was concerned

only with appearance. This is

substantiated by these chalk marks.

This is the ticket number.

They were stolen, then pawned.

The pawnbroker would not have put

them in a window. It faces south in

a narrow street. Business is bad.

The pawnbroker is a foreigner.

I cannot see... On the contrary! You

see everything but observe nothing.

This faded when the sun

was at its height, able to shine

over the roofs opposite.

A narrow street, facing south.

Business is bad. The case

lay undisturbed. How can you

tell the pawnbroker was foreign?

The 7 is crossed, Continental-style.

The address is scrawled with

difficulty - the writing of a woman

who seldom puts pen to paper.

A woman? Undoubtedly a female hand.

Ah, but I am slow! This has more

secrets! Where are my tweezers?

The velvet on the lid

has been added recently.

The coat of arms of an elder son of

a duke. Bring Burke's Peerage. Yes.

Wait here, cabbie. Right, sir.

This way, gentlemen.

His grace will be with you

in a moment. Thank you.

To what do I owe the dubious

pleasure of this visit?

No doubt you will recognise

this coat of arms, your grace.

Where did you get this? I believe

it to have come from a Whitechapel

pawnshop. Pawnshop.

No more than I predicted for him.

For whom, sir? My elder son Michael.

Do you know his present address?

He is dead.

Oh. Of what accident?

Disobedience. From the day he left,

against my wishes, he has been dead.

You mean disowned.

Was he a doctor, your grace?

No, but that was

his ridiculous ambition.

The medical profession

is honourable.

To a certain class - not to one of

the Osborne family, a man who would

have become the 10th Duke of Shires.

- Any trade must be dishonourable.

- A TRADE, sir?!

- The servants will show you out.

Pompous ass!

Trade, indeed!

Did not Burke's Peerage say there

were two sons? Yes. Give me that.

How clumsy of me!

Allow me.

This belongs to Michael!

Where is he?

I'm afraid I don't know, Lord...

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