Sherlock Holmes and the Secret Weapon Page #7

envelope to your care?

Why no one.

I've had no visitors.

Think.

Possibly a tradesman.

No.

Only the one for

a few minutes.

And that one?

A workman.

He came to fix

my light switch.

He couldn't

have possibly...

Did you send for him?

Why no.

My lights went out

and soon afterwards

he knocked at my

door and told me

the porter had

sent him up.

That's where he worked.

But he wasn't

alone in this room

more than five minutes

and he did fix

the lights.

They went on again.

The switch hasn't

been touched.

The paint still covers

the screw heads.

He simply threw the main

switch in the basement,

pretended to

work on this one

and after a few moments

an accomplice threw

the main switch back on.

But in those few minutes

- Did you get a

look at his face?

No, only a glance.

Now I realize he kept

his face averted.

But he was a large man?

Yes, he was large.

His eyes, heavy lidded,

a thin film

over the pupils.

And Holmes...

I remember now.

His eyes, they were

like a snake's.

Miss Eberli,

Dr. Tobel is being held

by one of the

most brilliant men

in the history of crime.

Come on, Watson.

There isn't a

moment to lose.

Goodbye Miss Eberli.

Goodbye Miss Eberli.

I don't see why I'm not

allowed to go with you.

You have your own

mission, Watson.

Yes, to take a sealed

note to Inspector Lestrade

while you search

through holes.

I shall not be

searching for him.

I shall permit him to

find me in the character

of a murderous lascar

once in his employ

and whom I may add

is still in jail.

Yes, but after

all these years.

Make no mistake, Watson.

This is not a

duel of intellects

or the cruel but

single-minded Gestapo killer.

This is our

greatest problem

with England as the stake

and our antagonist,

Professor Moriarity.

You've got to beat him.

Once he's behind bars

I think I shall

entitle my memoirs

of these adventures

the end of Moriarity.

An excellent

title, Watson,

but we must arrange

that it isn't Moriarity

who's left to

write the memoirs.

Huh?

Ramsing.

Ramsing?

Who know Ramsing?

I do, you blooming

wharf rat.

You've been in

jail, ain't ya?

How you know?

I've heard from

the blighter

what left you to

swing instead of him.

You know who

I'm mean matey.

I know.

I'll have to kill him.

Would it be worth

ten pounds to you?

You know where he live?

For ten pound I know.

I only got two.

Goodbye matey

Five.

Ten pounds or nothing

you lying heathen.

You dirty...

Well it ain't

so much to ask,

for what you

want to know.

You make good bargain.

That does it.

Well?

You remember

Angel's Court.

Huh.

Then follow your nose

through the alley

till you come to Jed

Brady's Carpenter Shop.

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