04x05 - The Bruce Partington Plans

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Good evening, Mr. West.

Third-class London Bridge.

Single or return?

Oh, it doesn't matter, single.

Quickly, quickly.

He's dead, must have fallen from the train.

Yeah, look at his head.

You run back to the station and tell 'em what happened.

I'll stay here.

It's a real pea souper.

Nothing in the paper, Watson?

No.

There's another revolution in South America, possible w*r in Africa, nothing of interest to you.

The London Criminal is certainly a dull fellow.

A thief or a m*rder*r could roam London on a day like this as the tiger does the jungle, unseen until he pounces, and then evident only to his victim.

There are numerous petty thefts.

Well, this great and somber stage is set for something more worthy than that.

It is fortunate for the community that I am not a criminal.

It is indeed.

It is well they don't have fogs in the Latin countries, the countries of assassination.

For you, Mr. Holmes.

Thank you.

Mr. Holmes... Yes, I know.

I apologize for the state of my room.

Well, what next?

My brother Mycroft is coming around.

Oh, why not.

Why not?

As if you met a tram-car coming down a country lane.

Mycroft has his lines and he runs on them.

Pall Mall Lodgings, the Diogenes Club, Whitehall...that's his cycle.

Once and only once has he ever been here.

I mean, what upheaval can possibly have derailed him?

"Must see you over Cadogan West.

Coming at once."

Cadogan West, huh?

I've heard the name.

That recalls nothing to my mind.

Mycroft breaking out of this erratic fashion.

It's extraordinary.

Watson, you do know what Mycroft is.

I seem to remember at the time, of that affair of the Greek interpreter.

You told me that he had some small office under the British government.

He wasn't doing quite so well in those days.

His position is unique.

He's made it for himself.

There's never been anything like it before nor will be again.

He is the tidiest and most orderly brain with the greatest capacity for storing facts than any man living.

The conclusions of every government department that passed through him.

He is the central exchange which makes out the balance.

All other men are specialists.

His specialism is omniscience.

Time and time again Mycroft's word has decided national policy.

Uh...Then Jupiter himself is descending upon us today.

Yes, indeed.

No trace of Cadogan West.

Cadogan West.

I have it.

Yes, Cadogan West, Cadogan West was the young man who was found dead on the underground on Tuesday morning.

Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes.

It was a featureless case as I remember it.

A young man k*lled falling from a moving train, no robbery, no v*olence.

Watson, Brother Mycroft.

That looks like our old friend Inspector Bradstreet.

Why should he bring a policeman with him?

Ah, here we are. Hmm?

Cadogan West, "Clerk at the Woolwich Arsenal, 27, unmarried."

Government employee.

Behold a link with my brother Mycroft.

Sherlock? Mycroft.

Dr...uh...

Watson.

Watson.

You know Bradstreet.

Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson.

Cadogan West, the most annoying business, Sherlock.

I extremely dislike altering my habits but the powers that be would broke no denial.

In the present state of Siam, it's most awkward I should be away from the office, but it is a real crisis, Sherlock.

I've never seen the Prime Minister so upset and as to the Admiralty, buzzing like an overturned beehive.

Do sit down, Bradstreet.

Well, there's nothing unusual reported in the newspapers.

I should hope not.

The wretched youth had the plans of the Bruce Partington submarine in his pocket.

Well, you must have heard of it.

Only by name.

Its importance can hardly be exaggerated.

It has been the most closely guarded of all government secrets.

You may take it from me that naval warfare becomes impossible within the radius of a Bruce Partington operation.

So, what sort of plans are we talking about?

Extremely intricate ones, Sherlock.

Some 30 different pages, each one essential to the working of the whole.

Where are the plans normally kept?

In an elaborate safe in a confidential office adjoining the arsenal of Woolwich with burglar proof doors and windows.

If the chief constructor of the Navy himself desired to consult the plans, he would have to go to Woolwich to do so.

To think they should turn up in the pocket of a dead Junior Clerk in the heart of London is simply awful.

Then you recovered the papers?

No, Sherlock, no.

That's the pinch. We have not.

Some ten papers were taken from Woolwich.

Only seven were found in the pocket of Cadogan West.

The other three are missing, gone, vanished, stolen.

You must drop everything, Sherlock.

Never mind your usual petty puzzles of the police courts.

This is a real international crisis that you have to solve.

Well, there are some points of interest in the case I suppose.

I'll be pleased to look into it.

Bradstreet, now, who held the keys to that safe?

There are two sets of keys.

Sir James Walter holds one set.

He is the actual official guardian of the papers.

A man grown gray in the service of the State, a favored guest in the most exalted houses.

His patriotism is above suspicion.

And the other keys?

A Mr. Sidney Johnson, a Senior Clerk and Draughtsman.

A silent morose man, not popular but a hard worker.

His wife corroborates his account of the matter.

He was at home the whole of Monday night and the keys never left the watch-chain upon which they hang.

What sort of fellow was this man West?

Hot-headed, rather impetuous, his duties brought him into daily contact with the plans.

Who locked them up that night?

Johnson, the Senior Clerk.

But yet they were found on the person of the Junior Clerk.

Well, I mean, that seems final, does it not?

Yeah, but why would he take them?

I can't think of any reason why he should take them up to London except to sell them.

Nope.

Then we must take that as our working hypothesis.

West, could he really have done this with false keys?

He opens the safe, takes out the papers, goes off to London to see a foreign agent.

He has to have 'em back before morning or the loss will be discovered.

He took away ten.

Seven were in his pocket.

What became of the other three?

He certainly wouldn't leave them of his own free will.

It all seems perfectly clear to me.

As you say, Mr. Holmes, West stole the plans in order to sell them.

He met the agent, but they could not agree as to a price.

So, West returned home again, but the agent followed him.

In the train, the agent m*rder*d him, took the more essential papers, and threw the body from the railway carriage.

Now, that would explain everything, would it not?

It's good.

That's very good, Bradstreet.

The theory holds together.

But if this is true, then the case is at an end.

On the one hand, the traitor is dead; on the other, the plans of the Bruce Partington submarine are presumably somewhere on the continent.

I mean, what is there for me to do?

To act, Sherlock, to act.

All my instincts are against this explanation and yours too, I think.

We are not brothers for nothing.

Use your powers.

Go to the scene.

Question the people concerned.

Leave no stone unturned.

In all of your career, you'll never have a greater chance of serving your country.

If you on your part, will be kind enough to send me a complete list of foreign spies and international agents known to be in England and their full address.

I think, we on our part, can begin our investigation by a visit to Longhead Station, Bradstreet.

Watson, Mrs. Hudson, we're leaving.

When was the body found?

Near enough to 6 o'clock, sir, Tuesday morning.

He must have fallen from the train sometime Monday night.

Have the carriages been examined for any signs of v*olence?

No such trace of v*olence had been found.

No report of a door found open?

We can tell the approximate time that he entered the train from his ticket.

There was no ticket on the body.

That is really very singular.

Then in my experience, it's not possible to reach the platform of the Metropolitan Line without exhibiting one's ticket, is that not so?

Quite correct, sir.

Surely, the m*rder*r would have removed the ticket before throwing West from the train so as not to reveal the name of the station nearest his place of residence.

I think the doctor has it.

What else did he have in his possession besides the fabled papers and no ticket?

Usual things, pocketbook, notecase, checkbook.

Oh, and two tickets for the Dress Circle of the Woolwich Theater for that very evening.

It appears that West was to have attended the performance in the accompany of his fiancée, Ms. Violet Westbury. Hmm.

She was the last person to see him alive on that fatal night.

They were walking to the theater together in the park when he suddenly left her.

Suddenly without explanation? No.

There appears to be no bleeding on the line?

Well, there was hardly any trace of blood to be found.

As I gather, there was a considerable wound consistent with a man falling from a moving train.

Well, it was a terrible thing to see, sir.

The head was knocked right in and the bone crushed.

And yet, there was no great external injury.

Well, I would expect some blood.

Now, the line runs northeast.

Yes, the track divides here sir, and there's a branch line goes south under the river to Rotherhive and New Cross.

The points.

The points.

I suppose there are no great number of points in the system such as this?

There are very few, sir.

Points and a curve.

Oh by Jove, if it were only so.

What is it?

Holmes, do you have a clue?

Well, it's an idea Bradstreet, an indication no more.

But the case certainly grows in interest.

It's unique, perfectly unique.

And yet why not?

Ha!

Ha, ha, ha...

Cab!

There is material here, Watson, there is scope.

I was dull indeed not to see its possibilities.

Now, I confess it's dark to me.

And to me also, but I now have hold of an idea which may lead us far.

Now I think, Sir James, the guardian of the plans claims our first attention.

Clubstead Hall.

Well, Holmes?

Your idea?

Oh, yes.

The man West was k*lled not by falling or being thrown from a moving train.

He met his death elsewhere and his body was on the roof of the carriage.

On the roof?

Well, consider the facts.

Is it a coincidence that the body was found in the very place where the train brakes and sways as it comes round on the points?

The sudden slowing would affect no object inside the carriage but an object such as a body on the roof.

And there's the question of the blood.

Of course, there was no bleeding on the line if the body bled elsewhere.

Each fact is suggestive in itself.

Together they have a cumulative force.

Yes, and the ticket too.

That would explain the absence of the ticket.

Watson, it all fits together.

Please wait.

Come in please, gentlemen.

We were expecting you.

This way please, gentlemen.

Ah, gentlemen.

Thank you, Baines.

Thank you, sir.

If you follow me, the body is upstairs.

But wait, one moment.

Are you not the undertakers?

Excuse me, Sir James.

Uh, I am Dr. Watson and, um, this is Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

Good heavens.

We are helping the authorities in the case of the missing papers.

My brother, Sir James Walter, d*ed this morning.

I am Colonel Valentine Walter.

Please gentlemen, come here.

We are very sorry, sir.

Thank you.

I'm afraid it has been a great shock.

May I ask?

How did your brother die?

It was this horrible scandal.

My brother is...

My brother was a man of very sensitive honor.

He was fiercely proud of the efficiency of his department.

The theft of the plans was a crushing blow.

It broke his heart.

We were hoping Sir James might have been able to help.

I assure you, it was as much a mystery to him as it to all of us.

Naturally, he had no doubt that West was guilty, but why he should have done such a thing.

Now, of course, we shall never know.

So, you can turn a light on the matter?

Me?

I'm afraid I know nothing save what I've read or heard.

And you never meet Cadogan West?

No.

No, I have not been back in the country long.

My brother's work was of a very highly confidential nature.

He did not discuss it with me.

Gentlemen, I do not wish to seem discourteous but we are much disturbed at present.

I must ask you to hasten this interview to an end.

Of course.

We're so sorry to have caused you so much trouble.

That's an unexpected development.

Heart failure.

Or su1c1de.

Now to Miss Westbury.

Is that the dead man's fiancé?

Yes.

I cannot explain it, Mr. Holmes.

I haven't closed my eyes since the tragedy, thinking and thinking and thinking what the true meaning of it can be.

Do sit down.

Arthur was the most single-minded, chivalrous, patriotic man on earth.

He would have cut off his right-hand rather than sell a State secret confided to his keeping.

It's absurd, impossible, preposterous to anyone who knew him.

Now, the facts, Ms. Westbury.

Was he in want of money?

No.

His needs were very simple and his salary was sufficient.

He'd saved a few hundreds and we were to marry at the new year.

Was there any sign of mental excitement?

Come, Ms. Westbury, be absolutely frank with us.

I had a feeling there was something on his mind.

For long?

Only the last week or two.

Once I asked him about it, it is too serious to speak about even to you, he said.

Go on, Ms. Westbury and even if it seems to turn against him.

We cannot say where it might lead us.

He spoke one evening about a...a secret.

I think he said that no doubt foreign spies would pay a great deal to have it.

He said that we were slack about such matters and it would be easy for a traitor to get hold of the plans.

Oh, Mr. Holmes, if you could only, only save his honor.

It was so much to him.

I'll do what I can.

Now, please tell us about that last evening.

It was Monday night and we were to go to the theater.

Violet, I'm afraid I've got to leave you.

Leave me?

It's very, very important.

I'm sorry.

You better go home.

Go home immediately, please.

It was just here, Mr. Holmes.

And he disappeared without any explanation?

Yes.

You are sure this is the exact spot?

Yes.

We often used to meet here when we were courting.

You see that's the building where he used to work.

That was the last time I saw him.

Watson, will you be so kind as to take Miss Westbury home in the cab.

Oh, it's bad, it's really bad.

Of course, Mr. Jones.

The whole place is disorganized.

West dead.

Now, the Chief dead, our papers stolen.

And yet, when I closed this office on Monday evening, we were as efficient as any in the service.

What hour was the office closed on Monday?

At 5:00. Did you close it?

I'm always the last man out.

Is there a night watchman to the building?

There is.

But he has other departments to look after as well.

He's an old soldier.

A most trustworthy man.

He didn't see anything that evening.

Thank you.

When you closed the office, where were the plans?

In that safe.

I put them there myself.

If Cadogan West wished to enter the office after hours, he would need three keys, would he not, before he could reach these papers?

Yes, a key to the outer door, a key to the office, and a key of the safe.

And only you and Sir James Walter had those keys.

Yes, indeed.

Sir James kept all three keys on one ring.

They never left him.

And, of course, your keys never left your possession.

Never.

Sir, Cadogan West is the culprit.

He must have had duplicates.

Oh, he's the culprit, all right.

It's dreadful to think that West of all people should have done such a thing.

You're sure of his guilt?

I see no other way.

He was getting married, he wanted the money.

Oh yes, he's your man.

Mr. Johnson, if someone desired to sell the plans, surely, it would be easier to make copies than to take the originals.

It would need considerable technical knowledge.

May I see these?

And, of course, you and West and Sir James Walter have that knowledge.

That may be so, but don't try to drag me into this matter, Mr. Holmes.

The plans were found on West.

Well, it is certainly singular that he should risk taking the originals when he could have safely taken copies.

Perhaps it was a matter of time.

Oh, yes, time.

Now, three plans are missing I understand, they are the vital ones. That is so.

Now, someone holding those three papers, I mean, could they construct the Bruce Partington submarine?

I told the Admiralty that I thought it was possible.

Yeah? But today I'm not so sure.

These all important double-valves with the a*t*matic self-adjusting slots are drawn only on this plan which has been returned.

Would you be so kind as to close those window shutters exactly as they were on Monday night?

Window shutters, certainly.

Thank you so much.

Yes.

I think I'll take a little stroll outside.

Oh please, don't trouble yourself.

I can find my own way.

Would you please wait?

Holmes?

Watson.

Look at this.

The bushes have been broken.

Now look at the windows behind me.

The shutters don't meet in the center.

As you say, don't meet.

Interesting, don't you think?

8:15 to London Bridge.

Yes, that was it, I'm sure of it.

You definitely recognize him as Cadogan West?

Oh yes, definitely.

I knew him well, sir.

He was an old acquaintance.

Hardly a week went by that we didn't pass the time of day together.

It's hard to believe, isn't it?

Yeah, I was saying to the wife only on Sunday night, no, I'm a liar, it was Saturday.

I said, there is no safer railway than the London Metropolitan.

Did Mr. West seem to be following anyone?

Not that I saw, Mr. Holmes, but then I don't see everything.

There was really a thick fog that night.

But one thing I will say.

Mr. West wasn't his usual self.

He was nervous, excited.

I tell you this gentleman, his hand was shaking so bad.

I even had to help him pick up his change.

Well, I mean that speaks for itself, doesn't it?

Our train.

Forgive us.

Come, Watson.

Come in.

Mr. Holmes.

Mr. Holmes.

Yes.

Whilst you were away, a message came for you from the government.

From the government?

A official gentleman in a special carriage.

He said I wasn't to let this out of my sight until I placed it into your own hands.

Mrs. Hudson, you are a most faithful watchdog.

It's from my brother Mycroft.

He writes like a drunken crab.

You better read it.

Doctors are more used to hieroglyphics than normal human beings.

Oh, can't read the first bit.

Something about small find, very big affair.

Ah, here we are.

"Only men were considering: Adolph Mayer,"

13 George Street, doubt it's him, it's not his style.

Oh, Mrs. Hudson!

Louis, Louis La Rothiere of Campden Mansion, Notting Hill.

And that's another old friend.

Mrs. Hudson, you're hideously in the way.

I'm sorry sir, but I only have one pair of hands.

Now, please disappear.

Right, Watson?

Ah, "Hugo Oberstein, 13 Coffield Gardens, Kensington.

Known to be in town on Monday.

Now reported to have left.

The Cabinet awaits your final report with the utmost anxiety.

The whole force of the State is at your back, if you should need it.

Mycroft."

All the Queen's horses and all the Queen's men cannot avail us on this matter.

Coffield Gardens.

Well, well.

What have you found?

Things are turning a little in our direction.

Now, I really believe we're going to pull it off after all.

Ha!

I'm going out.

When will you be back?

I have no idea, but I promise I will do nothing serious without my trusty comrade and biographer at my elbow.

He wants me to meet him in a restaurant off of Gloster Road.

I just hope you'll be careful. That's all.

You're not as young as you were.

We know what Mr. Holmes is like once he gets the bit between his teeth.

I do indeed.

Goodnight, Mrs. Hudson.

Goodnight, doctor.

Thank you.

Thank you, sir.

Have you had the tools?

Have you had something to eat?

Yes, indeed.

Then have a coffee or a curagao.

Senor Gardeni, now, a coffee and a curacao please, for my friend.

Try one of the proprietor cigars.

They're nothing like as poisonous as one would expect.

Oh, thank you.

Now, now, for our plan of action.

It was evident to you, Watson that the body was placed on the roof of the carriage.

Or dropped from a bridge.

No, that's impossible, placed.

The carriage roofs are rounded with no rails.

But how could he be placed there?

In some areas, the London underground runs clear of tunnels and past the backs of houses.

When I found that a leading international agent lived in just such a house.

I was so pleased that you were a little astonished at sudden frivolity.

Hugo Oberstein, 13 Coffield Gardens, of course.

Exactly.

I was able to satisfy myself that not only do the backstairs windows open over the line, but the bowing to the intersection of the Richmond and Wyndam lines were the Circle Line near Gloster Road Station.

The trains are frequently held motionless at that very spot.

That's splendid. You've got it.

There house appears to be unoccupied.

Oberstein obviously has gone abroad to dispose of his booty.

He has no reason to fear a warrant.

And to spot an amateur burglary would never occur to him, but that is precisely what we are about to do.

Why, for what purpose?

We cannot tell what correspondence may be there.

No, no. I don't like it, Holmes.

You can keep watch.

I'll do the criminal part.

This is no time to stick to trifles.

Think of the Admiralty, think of the cabinet.

Think of the exalted person herself who waits for news.

We're bound to go.

I knew you wouldn't shrink at the last.

Serious proposition, locked and bolted.

We may do better in the area.

Ah, this is better.

Jimmy.

Holmes.

Don't touch, Watson.

Look where they've rested the body.

Blood.

Blood again.

Well, what do you think of that?

Masterpiece.

You've never risen to a greater height.

No, I cannot agree with you.

The moment I conceived the idea of the body on the roof of the train, the rest was inevitable.

The major difficulty is set before us.

Hmm, fresh blotting paper.

Clever fellow.

He's covered his tracks.

Holmes.

Meaningless. Nothing.

Well, he seems to be burning old newspapers.

I say, Holmes--

Yes.

Why would a man so obviously untidy of his habits take the trouble to burn old newspapers?

Probably trying to start a fire.

Yeah, but there's no, no wood or coal.

Let me see.

Thank you.

Ha. What is it?

Well done, well done.

Indeed, I think we have our man.

Would you look in the agony column of the two remaining copies of The Daily Telegraph?

I think you will find a message from someone calling himself Piero.

Piero, Piero, Piero.

Ah, here we are.

"Hope to hear soon the terms agreed but must have full report.

Matter pressing." Signed Piero.

And the last.

Yes, by Jove.

"Monday night after 9:00, two taps, only our selves, payment in hard cash when goods delivered."” Signed Piero just like the other one.

Every paper has a message from someone calling himself Piero.

It's an odd name for a villain like Oberstein to use.

If only we could get the man at the other end.

Watson, quickly, we haven't a moment to lose.

Bring the papers.

Where are we going?

The offices of The Daily Telegraph.

We've just time.

Splendid job, splendid.

I always said you'd the make best cat burglar in London if you put your mind to it.

Can't do these things on the force, Mr. Holmes.

No wonder, you sometimes get results that are beyond us.

Some of these days, you'll go too far and you and your friend will find yourselves in trouble.

England home and duty, eh, Watson.

Martyrs on the oaths of our country.

The agony column of The Daily Telegraph.

What use would you make of those?

Have you seen the advertisement from Piero today?

"Tonight, same hour, same place, two taps, most vitally important, your own safety at stake."

Signed Piero.

By George, if he answers that, we've got him.

Wake up, brother.

He's here.

Come and see.

You can write me down as an ass, Watson.

This is not the bird I was expecting.

Who is he?

Colonel Valentine Walter, Sir James' younger brother.

I'm beginning to see how the cards fall now.

What is this?

I came here to visit Mr. Oberstein.

I know you, surely...

Sherlock Holmes.

Everything is known, Colonel.

How an English gentlemen could behave in such a manner is beyond comprehension.

We know of your relations and correspondence with Oberstein, how you stole your brothers' keys and had them duplicated.

We knew you went to Admiralty Office on Monday night and be seen by Cadogan West.

Be all these private concerns, being the good citizen that he was, he followed you closely in the fog halfway across London until you reached this very house.

It was then Colonel Walter that to treason, you added the terrible crime of m*rder.

I did not.

I did not before God. I swear I did not.

Then tell us how Arthur Cadogan West met his end before you placed his body on the roof of the railway carriage?

He followed me as you described, but until I was at the very door of this house, I did not know it.

What are you gonna do with those papers?

He hit his head on the marble floor.

He was dead in a matter of minutes.

It was Oberstein's idea to stuff the less important plans in West's pocket and put him on the roof of the train.

What made you turn traitor, Colonel?

A stock exchange debt had to be paid.

I needed the money badly.

Oberstein offered me five thousand.

It was to save myself from ruin and disgrace.

My brother used to discuss matters with me which he probably should not have done.

This submarine, for instance.

How could he ever guess his own brother would betray him?

That was the worst of all.

He suspected me. I know he did.

I read it in his eyes.

And after this West business, he never held up his head again.

Can you not make reparation, hmm, to ease your conscience and possibly your punishment?

What reparation can I make?

Where is Oberstein with the papers?

I do not know.

He said that letters to the Hotel Delu in Paris would reach him.

Ah, well then it is possible for you to help us.

Come and sit down and write my dictation.

Dear Sir, in regard to our transaction, you have now observed that one essential detail is missing, but I have a tracing that will make it complete.

Is that true, Sherlock?

Quite true.

What essential detail is missing?

The double-valves, the a*t*matic self-adjusting slots.

Good heavens.

How on earth did you know that?

I've become quite a submarine expert, brother mine.

Now Colonel,

what would be your terms?

I must ask you for a further 500 pounds, English notes, please.

I should expect to meet you...

No, we can hardly say here or Oberstein will suspect a trap.

The foyer of the Charring Cross Hotel.

Its proximity to the railway station renders it extremely popular amongst the international spy fraternity.

Did you get that, Colonel?

Noon, Saturday next.

I should be very surprised if that does not fletch our man.

That's our man.

Splendid, Bradstreet.

But our traitor has flown.

What a damn cheat of a fellow.

Goodbye, gentlemen.

I'm keeping him on a long lead.

There's an R in the month and the Diogenes Club has the most excellent oysters.

I should like both you gentlemen to be my guests.

Come along, Sherlock.