01x02 - The Photographer's Chair

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Life may be stranger than fiction.

It is often more disturbing.

Before I wrote my stories of the great detective, I had access to a terrifying world, of mystery, and m*rder.

My companion and teacher on this journey, was Dr. Joseph Bell.

Here in this extraordinary man was my inspiration, but it is only known that I have chosen to reveal, the dark beginnings of Sherlock Holmes.

I have come to believe, that of all mankind's remarkable faculties, it is the gift of memory, that makes us truly human.

But memory can be a torment, as we!!

as a joy.

For though it makes love possible, it gives grief, the power to destroy us.

When Elspeth was m*rder*d, my friends and family told me that time would heal the wound of loss.

But the wound grew deeper, with every day that passed.

And though Elspeth 's k*ller was still alive and free, I walked farther into a dismal prison of anger, desolation, and self-reproach.

It was then in the winter of 1883, I learned that even places of profound darkness, can be flooded with light.

(Music playing)

Can you hear me gentlemen.

You, are maids, in the morning room of a great house.

Look UP, when I clap my hands, you, will begin to fill a lamp, with oil.

But you are careless, you spill some oil, your mistress is very strict.

She is particular, she will b*at you, Mop up the oil with your aprons.

Quick, quick, quick, quick.

Do not forget the candle.

Oh, it has fallen.

Oh, the tablecloth is alight.

b*at out the flames.

b*at, b*at.

Your apron is alight.

Call for help.

Your arm is becoming lighter, becoming lax, soft, and without feeling.

You feel, nothing.

(Crowd gasps)

Arthur.

Elspeth.

Arthur.

Arthur.

Let's go see if she's still there, whoa, mind yourself.

Polly, Polly.

You big brute, you leave her alone.

Get your hands off me.

No.

You dirty, cheatin' little bitch cheated me.

She wouldn't give me what she promised.

She's diggin' in me pocket.

No, I never.

She lifted three months pay, come here.

Only a coward would strike a woman.

Inspector.

Dr. Doyle.

Or is it Sir Galahad.

Nasty business though, that sort of thing can ruin a young practitioner.

Make the carriage trade think twice.

It was a mistake.

I thought she, I thought I recognized her.

Pity I wasn't on duty when they brought you in.

Funny thing though, some idiot spilled a bottle of ink over the desk sergeant's report book.

Try as I might, I could not read your name.

Warner, thank you, if there's ever anything I can do.

There is something I'd like you to see.

It was found this morning.

In the harbor?

A waterman rowing a ferry over to Gosport saw the tide carrying it out toward Spithead.

Has Dr. Ibbotson examined her yet?

Dr. Ibbotson was sent for but is indisposed.

Will you assist me?

No, now I regret I have other matters to attend to.

I'll send over Sergeant Richards.

He was a butcher before he joined the force.

(Knock on door)

So, the victim was between 40 and 50 years of age.

Five feet, four inches tall.

Oh, forgive me.

No, sit down.

Have some chicken?

No, thank you.

She had green eyes and brown graying hair.

The wasting of her body indicated that she may have been suffering from consumption and this diagnosis was confirmed when I dissected her lungs.

I've examined the digestive organs and the liquefied contents but I can find no traces of poison, though I am obliged to admit I am not an accomplished analytical chemist.

Hmm.

It's a shame we're unable to call upon the expertise of Dr. Bell.

Indeed.

There are things you should see, but, they can wait until you've, finished your supper.

No, let's do it now.

Cause of death, strangulation.

The bruising on her throat.

No finger marks.

Perhaps the k*ller used a rope.

A rope would have left an impression of its fibers.

The skin has no marks.

So how was it done?

I confess, it alludes me.

The marks on her wrists and ankles indicate that she was restrained when she d*ed, but, again, not by any kind of cords or shackles that completely encircled her limbs.

And her face.

It's postmortem.

Repeated blows from a, heavy walking stick or a length of pipe, have completely shattered her facial bones.

Certainly he wanted to make her unrecognizable.

Possibly he thinks of himself as a gentlemen.

He did not remove her clothing.

That's where he committed a serious blunder.

Madame Dupont, costumier, Bond Street.

I'll wire a description of the victim and the dress to Scotland Yard.

It amazes me he's been able to retain his position so long.

In the meantime, you should contact all the...

Well now, what the devil's going on here.

Dr. Ibbotson, I understood you were ill.

Well, as you can see I am completely recovered.

Am I to understand that an unauthorized autopsy has been conducted?

Dr. Doyle has performed a post-mortem.

His work has been of material assistance to me.

Has it really?

I shall of course submit a full report of my findings.

Your findings sir, are as superfluous as your presence here is offensive.

And I must inform you that should your butchery in any way interfere with my investigations, I shall advise the coroner to institute legal proceedings.

(Knock on door)

I've come for the tray sir.

If I may be so bold sir, when the good Lord may things bitter, he did it for a reason.

The Lord didn't make this, I did.

Well it doesn't seem to agree with you, your color's something dreadful.

As a medical man, you should know opium's terrible binding.

Gelsemium, not opium, I'm treating my neurology.

Well it can't be of much account if every night you've got to take a bigger dose.

This is a new drug, and it's very effective, unlike the derivatives of opium, it is non-addictive.

I hope to prove that even in large doses it will be safe to prescribe to patients afflicted with chronic pain.

Very well.

All I can say is I've kept house for three doctors, and you're the first one who'd rather poison himself than his patients.

Here, what do you think you're doing?

I have some unfinished business with Dr. Doyle.

Stop.

Come back here.

I've come for the doctor.

No.

Dr. Doyle, there's a mad man in the house.

For heavens.

It seems one is always assured of a warm welcome in your house.

Bell.

I noticed many improvements to your establishment but this fine woman is undoubtedly the best of them.

Mrs. Williams, allow me to present Dr. Joseph Bell.

How do you do madam.

Dr. Bell is welcome here at any hour.

Even if he were not, nothing short of an elephant g*n would keep him at bay.

It's grand to see you lad, are you ready for some work.

We have an appointment with Inspector Warner.

The second victim was found yesterday morning in number three basin of the naval dock yard.

I should say Dr. Bell that I notified you of these cases in the hope of an opinion.

I did not presume to distract you from your work in Edinburgh.

Give a bloodhound the scent of a trail.

Dr. Doyle, we're in luck with the first victim's dressmaker.

Apparently she was a good customer of Madam Dupont's.

Do you have your name.

Mrs. Margaret Flemming, formerly of Craven Hill Gardens in Bayswater.

Have you found her doctor.

No, but we have a current address.

She was a resident at the Beach Mansions Hotel.

The management were concerned by her absence, and notified us that she was missing.

When?

-- This afternoon.

Has her room been searched?

I shall do it tonight.

Good, and the police sergeant has examined the second victim?

He's in there now.

Hmm.

Warner, I find this interference highly irregular and unnecessary.

The coroner has given his consent.

Allow me to introduce...

I know who he is.

You're notoriety proceeds you Dr. Bell.

If so, it pales into insignificance beside your own, if you are indeed the Doctor Ibbotson formerly of St. Bartholomew's Hospital in London.

You have examined the corpse?

Yes .

Will you share your observations with us?

He's dead.

The man's insufferable.

And drunk.

It amazes me he's been able to retain his position so long.

Then you did not observe the Masonic medallion on his watch chain.

Doubtless, the coroner and the chief constable are members of the same Masonic lodge.

What made him notorious at Bart's.

To begin with, his surgical technique was remarkable.

Swift and steady.

But then, alcohol became his master.

One spectacularly botched operation was his downfall.

His surgical saw, amputated his own two fingers, the patient's leg and a pair of perfectly healthy testicles.

Do you see these bruises Doyle?

You seen anything like them before?

No.

Let us see what Mrs. Fleming might reveal.

Identical.

It is an extremely dark and (unintelligible) motive that can embrace two such dissimilar victims.

If delight in t*rture were his motive, one would expect to find more injuries.

Let us hope Mrs. Fleming's personal effects will yield more clues.

I do not doubt it Doyle.

But I fear we shall learn nothing more of this poor retch than his mortal remains confide.

Have you formed any conclusions yet.

No, not yet.

In his youth, he was a soldier and fought in the Crimean.

You see the letter D below his breast.

A brand?

A tattoo in g*n powder.

During the Crimean w*r, deserters were marked in this way.

Then, he was a coward.

No, he had great courage.

His wounds attest to that.

A sabre cut, a b*llet wound, grapeshot there, sustained all at once, they would have proved fatal.

So he was wounded, recovered and fought again.

And thus had great courage.

Courage is a finite resource.

Eventually exhausted by the terrors it fights.

Finally, he broke, deserted, was caught and punished.

An experience that humbled him and loaded him with shame.

So, he took to drink.

The condition of his liver shows as much.

Yes .

We may take it that his alcoholism made it hard for him to make a success, of civilian life.

Indeed, he found his existence so intolerable that he tried to end it.

Look at the scars on his wrists.

Deep cuts, but, not so deep as to prove fatal.

So, there was something that tied him to this world.

His wife.

Excellent Doyle.

He loved her dearly.

And his decline was no doubt accelerated when she d*ed.

d*ed?

Two wedding rings.

His own, and the other, his wife's.

He loved her, until he joined her, in death.

Have you uh, have you found anything in his clothes?

Just this.

Despite his limited resources, he's recently attended an entertainment at the king's assembly rooms.

I went to the assembly rooms a few nights ago.

To see the mesmerist De Meyer.

Yes, how did you know?

Oh, a poster at the railway station.

I attended one of his performances in Edinburgh.

What did you think of his powers?

Real enough, but degraded by showmanship.

Did you see him push a needle through a volunteer's arm?

I did, and I agree with you.

Hypnotism might be put to good use, in pain relief and anesthesia.

Forgive me, but I noticed you've been experimenting the roots of Carolina Jasmine.

So, the subject of analgesia must be much on your mind.

Does that battle scar trouble you Doyle.

No.

Warner told me about your heroic bare knuckle bout.

Sometimes v*olence is a duty.

Granted, but it must never become a pleasure, even though the mind is in turmoil and the heart is heavy.

I cut this, from the hood, of the second victim.

Do you see the silver gray smear.

By the way it catches the light, it could be metallic.

Hmm hmm.

There, lead monoxide.

You were right Doyle.

The m*rder*r uses a lead pipe to smash his victim's faces.

In here, Ibbotson.

Margaret, Margaret Fleming.

What have you come to tell me?

What dreadful thing happened to you?

Sergeant, where's Inspector Warner.

Gone to see Mrs. Fleming's brother, sir.

Well, he agreed to take us to her hotel room so we could examine her belongings.

They're all here doctor.

We made a though search, and Inspector Warner believes you'll find these documents most interesting.

They would have been of even greater interest to me if they had not been moved.

The room had already been disturbed sir.

The maid had cleaned it and tidied up, so as for leaving things in Situ, we didn't see the point.

Sergeant, I suspect there are points you would fail to register even if they were needle sharp and you were sitting on them.

The brother, Elkins is the only surviving relative.

Inspector Warner shall bring him to the morgue at 1:00.

Right, we'll be waiting.

Are you ready, sir?

Is this your sister?

I'm very sorry, sir.

If you come to my office, there are some, formalities.

When did you last see your sister?

About two weeks ago.

At her hotel?

Yes .

And how was Mrs. Fleming?

Do you mean her medical condition?

It appeared to me that she was, breathing more easily.

After she sold the house in Bayswater, she came to Southsea to live with you.

She was, alone in London and, we had always been, very close.

We still are, even though she has passed on to a better place.

Did she make any friends while she was here?

No.

Surely, you attended spiritualist meetings and s?ances together?

How did you know that?

Your sister possessed many pamphlets and books on the subject.

Did you not socialize with others of like mind?

Not outside the meetings, no.

But, none of them could have done this, hideous thing.

No spiritualist would damn his eternal soul.

Your sister stayed with you for approximately six months.

Yes.

-- And why did she leave?

That is a private matter.

m*rder is a crime that brings all private matters into public domain.

Poor Charles is desperate.

He begged me for money again today and again I had to refuse him.

I feel that under the circumstances, I could no longer live under his roof.

Tomorrow, I shall tell him that I intend to move into a hotel.

We have a letter that she received from you two days before she was m*rder*d.

You begged her for an interview.

Her diary tells us that she consented, and the next day...

One week ago, not two.

You went to the hotel, she refused a request for a loan.

An angry scene followed.

It was not a scene.

I may have raised my voice a little.

It was the only time that harsh words were ever spoken between us and they were the last we ever spoke.

Can you possibly imagine how that makes me feel.

Why are you in such desperate need of money?

Last year, I bought a brewery in Croxton town.

The venture has been dogged with ill fortune.

Just before Christmas, an expl*si*n, demolished the new steam boiler room and k*lled two men.

My banker and investors have refused to advance funds for rebuilding.

So you face financial ruin.

We have examined your sister's will.

Are you aware you are her sole beneficiary.

Good God.

YOU...

you think, you think me capable of that outrage, of murdering my own sister for money.

Sir, you must understand.

Do you intend to charge me?

We have no evidence to do so.

And you never shall have.

He is a desperate man.

I believe he loved his sister.

Men m*rder things they love every day.

It is a common place fact of human existence.

It's true he has a powerful motive.

And the vagrant, our old soldier.

Perhaps he was a witness to the m*rder or chosen at random and k*lled, in an identical fashion to make the m*rder of the sister appear to be the work of a maniac.

Hmm.

There is something else we must consider Doyle.

Think for a moment about how the bodies were discovered.

The first by a waterman, the second in the dock yard.

So, the m*rder*r by some unknown means, disposes of the bodies in the harbor, and relies upon the tide to carry his victims away.

We've been incredibly lucky, have we not.

Because the odds are in favor of the tide carrying the bodies out into the channel.

Therefore there is the highest probability, that there are victims we have not recovered.

(Playing piano)

Mr. Elkins is here Mum.

Show him in.

Good morning, Doyle.

Quite a dawn chorus.

I confess I prefer Larks to a*tillery.

It's the Royal Marines on Whale Island.

I've come to the conclusion that their commander is an insomniac with a malevolent sense of humor.

Did the g*ns awaken you?

I have not slept, after several restless hours, I caught myself manipulating the facts of our case, to accommodate fanciful theories and so I came down to find something to read.

I had no idea you were published.

Did you enjoy it?

Oh, it's certainly well written.

But, like many literary efforts, it's main interest, lies in the things it reveals about the author.

John Barrington Cowles, an Edinburgh medical student develops an obsession with a mysterious woman, a werewolf.

He tries to free himself, of her grip upon his soul, but reason is vanquished, by her elemental charms.

She clasps him in an amorous embrace and they plunge from a cliff.

Cowles is destroyed by darkness from within himself and evil influences from without.

It's a story.

It's a work of fiction.

No, it is a work of psychological truth.

I've realized you have been unfortunate, but for most of us the consequence of love is not spiritual annihilation.

Oh you make too much of a simple ghost story.

Because it tells me how you are haunted.

Bell, even if your supposition is accurate, it's none of your concern.

But it does concern me Doyle, as a friend and as a colleague.

Do you truly believe that goodness and reason are powerless when matched against evil?

Did reason save her from destruction?

Did we, did your method, preserve Elspeth from the agony of strychnine poisoning.

(Knock on door)

Oh doctor.

Oh thank God you're here.

I need your help, desperately.

How long has she been like this?

All night.

Yesterday in the afternoon she complained of a terrible headache and then the shivering started and, do something doctor, I can't bear it please, do something.

Mrs. Casey.

She has meningitis.

There's nothing I can do for her, I'm sorry.

But there must be something, there must...

I'm sorry.

How long?

Another day, then she will sleep, soon after it will be over.

A day.

Another day like this.

Can you give her any medicine for the pain?

Laudanum, anything...

Laudanum can k*ll her I...

But she can't suffer like this.

It can't go on.

Do you have milk?

What are you doing, she needs it.

If I carry on, she will choke.

Keep bathing her head with cold water.

That's all that can be done.

I shall return in a few hours.

Dr. Doyle, doctor.

She's pushed me out, she's run over me she's locked the door.

Please, please come back.

Mrs. Casey.

You understand you can tell no one what really happened here.

Yes, the child choked after you left.

So much for the police.

Right, overcome by grief, Mrs. Casey shut herself in the room and tried to end her life.

George, over here.

What?

Well, would you look at that.

You did everything within your power.

I knew the case was hopeless.

I could have injected the girl with morphine.

Would you rather you had been the m*rder*r.

As it is, you've arranged matters so that the mother need not face criminal charges, and at considerable personal risk were the full facts of the incident ever to come to light.

(Knock on door)

Excuse me, sir.

There's a gentlemen to see you both.

He's in the waiting room.

Do you believe me to be guilty?

Inspector Warner is hounding me.

His men are watching my home and my business.

He has interrogated my bankers, my solicitor, my employees, even my servants, and all because I have no proof of my whereabouts on the night of my sister's disappearance.

Where were you?

Working, in my office, at the brewery trying to extricate myself from financial disaster.

I implore you, to help me clear my name.

There is one person who can prove my innocence.

Perhaps even give us the m*rder*r's name.

I want you to talk to her.

Who is she?

My sister.

Come to a s?ance, tonight.

This is ridiculous.

You may depend upon our attendance Mr. Elkins, and if your sister speaks, we will listen.

The time, and place.

Thank you.

If she speaks, we will listen.

Why on earth do you humor him.

We shall simply witness a, a meaningless charade that will prove nothing.

Those present may be his confederates.

Then we shall at least discover that.

And Elkins has saved us much effort Doyle.

For his arrangements will enable us to observe him and all his sister's acquaintances in circumstances that may prove favorable to self betrayal.

Whoa, there.

Thank you.

What does Sergeant Richards want?

This is one of the rare occasions when amputated fingers are able to point to some things.

Dr. Ibbotson.

I doubt there's another man at Portsmouth of this stature, wealth and digital deficiency.

Might I suggest that you visit his home immediately and make inquiry of his servants.

If he, and his evening clothes are missing, then I believe we may be certain.

Right.

You know Doyle, this may be the first time that Dr. Ibbotson's presence in this room is of practical benefit to anyone.

Doctor?

We are in luck Doyle.

The body was evidently not immersed in water long enough to remove all traces of the chemical that caused this.

So we should be able to analyze the residue.

Doyle, it's getting late.

Not the s?ance.

But surely we have more important work at hand.

I will continue here, you'll have to go alone.

Doctor.

It is vital that one of us keeps the appointment.

Very well.

Keep your eyes and ears open Doyle.

Be one upon whom nothing is lost.

One last favor before you go.

Good God.

He must have been in terrible pain.

You recall how he flinched when he put his coat on.

I'd say, these wounds are about a week old.

But the amount of scar tissue indicates that this form of mortification was habitual.

The wounds cannot have been self inflicted.

Perhaps they were, in a manner of speaking.

But where is Dr. Bell?

He has been unavoidably detained.

He hopes you will pardon his absence.

Forgive me doctor, please come in.

Miss Petchey.

Permit me to introduce Dr. Doyle.

How do you do?

Doctor.

Mr. Elkins informs me that you are a skeptic.

No, I...

There's no need for embarrassment.

I welcome skeptics.

Since my gift is genuine, I have nothing to fear, and they have much to gain.

Allow me to introduce you to Mrs. Norton.

Hello.

Miss Morston.

Hello.

Sir Edward Rhodes.

How do you do?

General Grayson.

How do you do?

How do you do sir?

Are we as sinister as you supposed?

Miss Petchey, I've come with an open mind.

I never make a diagnosis without conducting a thorough, examination.

And you shall sit here.

Thank you.

Thank you.

We shall wait now.

You must be still, and silent.

Never let go of my hand.

The circle cannot be broken.

If a spirit comes, do not be alarmed.

No harm will come to you.

There's nothing to fear.

Do you understand?

Margaret.

Margaret.

Charles has some questions for you.

Margaret.

Can you speak to us?

Please try.

Speak through me.

Margaret.

Speak through me.

Be careful.

Enough.

Dr. Ibbotson left his house at about 8:00 p.m.

two days ago and did not return.

Why did his servants not report him missing?

Apparently it was not unusual for him to leave his home with no word of where he was going.

He'd been missing for two or three days.

When he did return, he was always so exhausted, he took to his bed and slept around the clock.

Well, was his coachman of no assistance?

No sir.

Ibbotson left on foot.

You say these wounds are four or five days old?

Yes .

And there are rope burns on his wrists and ankles?

You have seen those before.

Yes, I can tell you where he got them, riding the Barkley horse.

Doyle?

I thought I heard you come in.

Ibbotson went missing two nights ago.

Doyle, is there something wrong?

Did Margaret Fleming make an appearance?

No.

No, yet you look like you've seen a ghost.

Who was there?

Besides Elkins and the medium, um, General Grayson, Sir Edward Rhodes, a Mrs. Norton and a younger woman, Miss Morston.

Everyone, seemed to be quite, sane and respectable.

And the medium?

Miss Petchey.

She...

No, I don't know what to make of her.

Did you observe any trace of intimacy between her and Elkins.

No.

(Unintelligible)

perhaps.

Nothing more that I could see.

Doyle, what exactly did you see?

I SSW... Elspeth spoke to me.

Spoke to you, through the medium.

It was her voice.

And her face.

Doyle, I'm so very sorry.

I should not have asked you to go alone.

It is much harder to fall prey to mesmerism and conjures tricks when a companion is...

Dr. Bell, I tell you.

Was the room dark, and since it is the custom to form a circle of hands, did the medium just happen to be holding yours?

Yes .

In so holding your hand, did her eyes engage yours while she spoke in a soft, but commanding voice.

Yes .

Hypnotism Doyle.

I was not hypnotized.

But how would you know?

And being entranced, who knows what secret you could have revealed.

Such questioning would have required the complicity of everyone present.

You met them Doyle.

Do you think it's likely?

What motive would be strong enough to bind them all in a conspiracy?

(Knock on door)

What is it?

Supper sir.

What was it you said about Ibbotson.

The bleaching on his trouser leg was caused by oxalic acid, and I found traces of magnesium oxide embedded in the back seam of his tail coat.

He was in a photographer's studio.

Oxalic acid is used in the preparation of Platinotype prints.

And magnesium oxide came, from, b*rned flash powder, excellent Doyle.

Was Ibbotson an amateur photographer.

Oh, even if he were, he'd hardly develop his prints wearing white tie and tails.

And the magnesium on his back...

Indicates that the corpse was lying on the floor of the studio.

Our m*rder*r is a photographer.

Are you sure about the Platinotype process Doyle.

I attended a lecture given by the, the editor the journal, British journal of Photography.

Bolten, W.B. Bolten.

Well we have to pick his brains.

Where is he to be found?

London.

Then you'll take the morning train.

But I should start to investigate the people involved in the s?ance.

No, no, no.

Warner's men can make discreet inquiries in that direction.

Warner's men?

Hmm, Hmm.

What will you be doing.

Visiting a brothel.

Doctor Ibbotson was a good customer.

Twice a month regular as clock work and paid handsomely.

I gather this is your own invention.

Yes Sir.

You have no other, recreational apparatus.

No sir.

The Barkley horse suffices.

Most peculiar form of equestrianism.

But very popular, with the ladies and gentlemen.

Uh, may we examine it?

I'm afraid the horse is about to be used.

A clerical gentlemen come for a canter.

One of several who find it rewarding.

And not so surprising when you consider church traditions regarding how the flesh ought to be governed.

Well the client puts his feet here, his head and his hands through here and here.

And I take it that this aperture permits the passionate parts to receive attention.

A practical demonstration could be arranged.

That won't be necessary, Mrs. Barkley.

There are no restraints of any kind.

Some cords of the very finest silk.

And, uh, Dr. Ibbotson was obliged, by the application of a birch.

Quite correct sir, except during the summer months, when we stock a supply of fresh stinging nettles.

As you can see the Platinotype process requires tremendous skill, patience, and well, cash.

I gather the glass is coated of an emulsion of gelatin and silver halides.

Yes quite so, you're a quick study Dr. Doyle.

In the present circumstances, I have little choice.

You mentioned you're involved in the investigation of a criminal case.

Yes, but, as you will appreciate I'm, unable to, discuss it.

Yes of course, in deed.

You know, very few people still make platinum prints.

And one of them lives in Portsmouth.

John Mitchell is a genius, true genius, tries to show us the world as it is, both wonderful and cruel.

Mention the Crimean w*r in photographic's and everyone immediately thinks Mitchell.

His studies of the fighting man and, the hardships they endured, well, you shall see for yourself.

I shall seek him out tomorrow.

Surely we should both go.

No, no, your work lies elsewhere.

I beg you to be strong, and keep your wits about you.

Good morning doctor.

Good morning.

I'm sorry for calling without an appointment.

I hope I'm not disturbing you.

Not at all.

I knew you would come.

Please sit down.

I, expect you would like to talk about...

Mr. Elkins.

Very well.

No, he did not m*rder his sister.

She came to me one night shortly after she passed over.

If Mr. Elkins were guilty, Margaret would have told me.

Did you summon her.

No, the spirits often come unbidden.

They ask for my assistance.

They never come to seek revenge but, only to help their loved ones.

That is why Elspeth came to us.

She wants you to know that she loves you, she's always by your side.

Have you not felt her presence?

Yes .

Elspeth knows you did everything that you could to, protect her from the madman that ended her life on earth.

It grieves her to see you t*rture yourself needlessly.

And now she is afraid, because you are in great danger.

I know this is, difficult for you doctor.

As a man of science, and as an atheist.

Agnostic.

Come to a meeting tonight.

Twice a month I hold a public meeting at the assembly rooms.

I want you to see proof of the good that spiritualism can do.

Good morning.

Is Mr. Mitchell at home?

No.

You want your picture took?

No, I have business to discuss with him.

You're a bailiff?

No, but if he has creditors, my proposal may enable him to satisfy them.

Hey you, get away from there.

Bugger off.

Out.

Ladies.

Mr. Mitchell, I'm here to offer you a commission, my card.

I no longer undertake portrait work, Dr Bell.

I have neither the inclination nor the time.

No, I observe your condition is advanced.

Your joints are stiff and enflamed.

Physical exertion causes shortness of breath and chest pain.

Your eyesight is not as it was, and the ulcers on your skin have returned after an interval of many years.

Sometimes it's difficult to concentrate and hard to govern your temper.

You think I can be cured?

I'm afraid it's too late for that.

An honest doctor.

No wonder you strayed so far from Edinburgh.

Judd, pack up my gear.

Mr. Mitchell, I am a great admirer of your work.

Your street life of London is exceptional.

I was deeply moved.

Then you sir are part of a discerning minority.

I am here as the representative, of an association of people of means and influence.

Their goal is social reform.

We want you to document the lives of the poor.

We will exhibit and then publish the work you do.

Judd.

Give it back.

Thank you.

Judd.

I found him in the rookery of St. Giles.

He was half starved, feral.

By the time the boy was nine years old, he was subjected to more misery and degradation than any human being could reasonably be expected to survive.

He's irredeemable of course.

Certainly beyond redemption.

Then why do you employ him?

As long as he stays by me, I can keep him from jail or the hangmen.

This commission of yours, I would have to finish my work here first.

I understand.

Do you?

How much money do you need?

How much have you got?

No, no I have just enough, money.

Christ, I sometimes wonder, if the money I spend on plates and prints, would not be better employed buying food for my subjects.

Mr. Mitchell, you belittle a great talent.

You think so?

You really think so?

Would you care to see the work I've done here.

I should be honored.

You bugger!

Get him off of me, get him off of me!

Get him off of me!

See that!

Did you see that!

Judd, I'm a doctor.

Let me have a look.

Photography is like no other art.

Painters must use oil and brushes.

Their work is adulterated by their talent, distorted by imagination and style, but here you see these people as they really are.

The same light that touched them b*rned their image onto the photographic plate, and if that light illuminated their souls, then here are their souls.

Who is he?

A vagrant.

He told me he was a soldier in the Crimea.

He did not speak of the hardships he'd endured, but they are plain enough.

For those are eyes that long for death.

I know it is a sin, but I do pray to whatever God he believes in, that he will soon deliver him from his sufferings.

Mr. Mitchell, may I?

Take it.

I can print another, it's yours, on one condition.

Oh, I'm quite prepared.

No, no.

I want to make a portrait of you, please, take a seat.

Today, do me this.

Steady.

We're going to need more light.

Judd.

Doctor, look toward the light, and remember the old soldier.

Dr. Doyle.

Sir Edward.

Full house in prospect.

Miss Petchey will do well this evening.

Miss Petchey is independently wealthy.

Any profits accruing from her public meetings, are directed towards charitable institutions.

As a matter of fact, I have the honor of arranging those donations on her behalf.

I'm sorry.

I did not wish to cause offense.

Ladies and gentlemen, it is a great pleasure to see so many of you here tonight.

Before we begin, I would like to address a few words to those of you who have never attended a spiritualist meeting.

We spiritualists believe in a continuous existence of the soul, in personal responsibility, in compensation and retribution for all good and evil deeds done on earth.

To set your minds at rest, I assure you I am not a witch.

No magic will be practiced neither black nor white, nor any other color.

I do not communicate with the dead.

There is no death.

A medium is nothing more than a servant, a servant of two worlds.

We help those who have passed over communicate with their loved ones, and we comfort and educate those left behind.

There is no sickness or deformity in the next world.

On the other side, we have the power to see ourselves clearly.

Heaven and hell are states of mind, that spring from that knowledge of our true selves.

When the spirits visit us tonight, there is no reason to be afraid, it is love that brings them here.

Your love, and theirs.

A little girl has joined us.

She lived on earth for 10 years.

She tells me her name is Elsie.

She wants me to give a message to her mother.

Would Elsie's mother stand up please?

Please stand up.

There's nothing to fear.

She is beside you now.

Her hair is fair.

She has green eyes.

She's wearing a blue dress, and a belt with a buckle in the shape of a butterfly.

Is this your Elsie?

Don't be sad Mummie.

My headaches gone and I don't feel sick any more.

I'm sorry I couldn't swallow the doctor's medicine.

Thank you, for letting me come here.

It's very lovely, it's warm and bright.

Everyone is so kind.

And Daddy's looking after me.

He wants me to say how much he misses you.

I have to go now.

Other people want to speak.

I love you.

It was a trick Doyle.

A description of the girl and the family history were probably obtained from a friend.

What about the reference to the medicine I tried to give the child.

There was another woman in the room with you, she saw everything.

I'm going to tell you something, that I would never confide to another living soul.

I once mentioned that something happened that made me unsure how to go on living.

I presumed you are speaking of your wife's death.

I was desolate.

And I even sought comfort and reassurance from a medium.

No, she was a fraud.

One night I grasped a luminous hand that materialized out of the darkness.

It belonged to an assistant dressed in black and hidden in the shadows.

Once this trick was exposed, the medium confessed to the entire cruel deception.

I'm sorry, but Miss Petchey, oh, you should see her for yourself.

Has she made a convert of you Doyle?

No.

Was there any photographic apparatus found at Dr. Ibbotson's house?

No.

So, Mitchell, is fast becoming our primary suspect.

What's he like?

He is one of the most remarkable men I've ever met.

He has tertiary syphilis.

His sight is going, his mind too, and the dementia makes him dangerous.

With my own eyes, I saw him try to throttle a taverner, and, there is this.

That's the second victim.

Taken two weeks ago.

Mitchell claims never to have seen him before or since.

Have you ever seen a posing chair Doyle?

No.

There's an adjustable headrest, that inhibits the movement of the subject, and prevents blurring during long exposures.

A two-pronged fork, with rounded ends, about five inches apart.

Oh no.

What is it Doyle.

Do you recognize her?

It's Mrs. Casey, the dead girl's mother.

He must've discovered her movements after she left the meeting.

What was the name of her neighbor?

Mrs. Johnson.

Right.

Besides Miss Petchey, did you see her talking to anybody else?

Elkins, General Grayson, Mrs. Norton, and Rhodes to whom I spoke, before the meeting began.

I think I rather gave offense.

Really, then may I suggest, you seek him out and apologize.

And then when we've finished here, I, will visit Mitchell.

Keep your eyes open.

Aye, alright.

He's always in his studio.

Mr. Mitchell?

Forgive my curiosity, I was wondering if my...

Dr. Doyle sir.

Come in.

Will you take sherry?

Thank you.

I have come to apologize for my, conduct last night.

It was not my intention to cast doubt upon Miss Petchey's motives or abilities.

Oh, then I shall forgive you, if you will overlook my reaction.

In matters pertaining to Miss Petchey, I'm inclined to be a little overprotective.

Of course.

Your very good health doctor.

Sir Edward.

Be honest with me Doyle.

You came here with more on your mind than an apology.

Yes .

Well.

Sir Edward.

I'm a man of science.

Your quiet realm of reason has been disturbed by voices from another world.

Come, sit down.

Doctor, I am not surprised that you are disturbed.

The shock of first contact with the spirit world, is much easier to weather, when one has actively sought it.

Three years ago I was much like yourself.

But when the doctors told me that my wife, was infected with the most, villian in consumption, my world began to crumble.

For two years she has suffered.

The last two weeks, the most terrible.

But I stayed by her side.

Her torment and my unanswered prayers, had stripped me of my faith in God, and almost of my reason.

But then, just at the moment of her passing, a miracle.

I saw her spirit Doyle.

I saw it leave.

A cruel prison of wasted flesh and, rise up into the night.

From that moment onward, I sought out anyone who could help me reach her.

I was disappointed many times.

But finally, I met Miss Petchey.

I've been so accustomed to charlatans, at first I was unwilling to believe the messages that came.

But at last, I heard Elizabeth's sweet voice.

Have the courage to accept the truth, and your path will become clear.

Trust Miss Petchey.

Judd, Judd.

I'm up here!

Where are you?

What have you done?

He ain't from no charity.

He was down here waitin' with the police.

Investigating the murders.

I just don't want to go out and get all strung up.

Ah, you've noticed my rogue's gallery.

Who are they?

Four different mediums I exposed.

Some of them photographed with their apparatus of deception.

Mademoiselle Michele Bonet and her ectoplasm, It was astonishing how much muslin that woman could swallow and regurgitate on demand.

France?

Spain.

Landscape studies, I, took of my travels.

They're very good.

I wish they were.

They're more for sentimental value than, technical merit.

Bell?

Bell?

He's not here sir.

He's been out since you were both called away this morning.

I want you to give him a message.

Tell him I'm watching Sir Edward's house and that he could be the man.

Have you got that.

You've gone to Sir Edward's house, he could be the man.

Good, the instant he returns.

Yes sir, the instant he returns.

(Groaning)

A couple of pennies for a poor, blind man?

A couple of pennies for a poor, blind man?

(Dog barking)

Come here.

Who's there, who's there?

I shall be late tonight Hoskins.

There's no need for anyone to wait up.

Very good, sir.

Whoa.

Fetch Dr. Doyle.

Dr. Bell is in urgent of attention.

I am perfectly all right Warner.

Fetch him.

He's gone out sir.

I was to tell Dr. Bell, he's gone to Sir Edward's house.

No, don't be afraid.

I saw fear, pain and grief.

Which seems nothing but an absurd memory.

Elspeth will be waiting for you, as surely as my Elizabeth waits for me.

You will you forgive me, just as the other have done.

You are embarking on a great quest.

If I'm able to photograph your soul as it leaves your body tonight, That image will offer undeniable proof, of the soul's immortality.

A miracle, that would change the course of human history.

Good luck, boy.

(Pounding on door)

Are you in there?

Doyle?

Break it open.

Quick, after him.

Damn you.

Keep your head up, come on now, breathe slowly, slowly.

Doyle, you should be resting.

So should you.

Is there any word of Mitchell.

Gone, vanished.

Leaving only this behind.

I have instructed Warner to desist from making any inquiries.

-- But the as*ault?

It was nothing less than I deserved, I was careless.

And I made false promises to win his confidence.

Perhaps a bodyguard should have been following you.

Yes, forgive the subterfuge Doyle, but I realized very quickly, you were in need of someone to watch your back.

No doubt you sensed their presence.

Not ghosts at all, but former officers of the royal marines.

Has the warehouse been searched?

Yes .

I found his journal and all the exposed plates.

How many victims?

Twelve.

People he met at s?ances or in the streets.

His charitable work brought him much into contact with the diseased and the desperate.

And Ibbotson?

We were right.

A member of the same Masonic lodge.

No doubt he lured him with promises of some novel debauchery he'd arranged.

Have the cameras been examined?

Not yet, Doyle, where are you going?

I have an appointment.

I beg you to remember.

Obsession with the supernatural has been the ruin of many an exceptional intellect.

You must go your own way.

The message is brief, but of great importance.

What is it?

Go back to the warehouse.

There's something you must see.