The Sign of Four

There's a very pretty young woman

crossing the street

and I think she may be coming here.

Incidentally, I have glanced over

your latest account of my work.

Oh, yes.

Honestly I cannot congratulate you upon it.

Detection is, or ought to be, an exact science.

Observation, deduction,

a cold and unemotional subject.

You have attempted to tinge it with romanticism,

which has much the same effect

as if you'd worked a love-story or an

elopement into the fifth proposition of Euclid.

Oh, who can that be?

There's a young lady to see you, Mr. Holmes.

It's Mary Morstan.

I have no recollection of the name.

Don't go Doctor, I may need you.

I was right.

Thank you.

Miss Morstan.

Good afternoon.

I have come to you, Mr. Holmes,

because you once enabled my employer,

Mrs. Cecil Forrester,

to unravel a minor domestic complication.

She was much impressed

with your kindness and skill.

Thank you.

I can hardly imagine anything more strange,

more utterly inexplicable,

than the situation in which I find myself.

State your case.

You will, I am sure, excuse me.

If your friend would be good enough to remain,

he might be of inestimable service to me.

Of course.

Briefly, the facts are these.

My father was an officer in an Indian regiment.

My mother died when I was still quite a child

and he was forced to send me home,

despite the fact that I had no relatives here.

I was placed in a

comfortable boarding establishment

at Edinburgh, and I remained there

until I was 17 years of age.

In that same year, my father,

who was a senior captain of his regiment,

obtained 12 months' leave and returned home.

He telegraphed to me from London to say

that he had arrived all safe

and directed me to come down at once,

giving the Langham Hotel as his address.

His message, as I remember,

was full of love and kindness.

On reaching London

I drove straight to the Langham Hotel

and was informed that Captain Morstan

was staying there,

but that he had gone out the night before

and had not returned.

So I waited

all day

without news of him.

And that night,

on the advice of the manager of the hotel,

I communicated with the police,

the next day we advertised

in all the newspapers.

Our inquiries led to no result,

from that day to this

no word has ever been heard

of my unfortunate father.

He came home with his heart so full of hope

to find some peace,

some comfort,

and instead-

The date?

The 3rd of December,

exactly 10 years ago.

His luggage?

Remained at the hotel.

Oh there was nothing in it to suggest a clue --

some clothes, some books,

and a considerable number of curiosities

from the Andaman Islands.

My father had been one of the officers

in charge of the convict-guard there.

Watson, this place is a mess.

Had he any friends in town?

Only one that we know of,

Major Sholto, of his old regiment,

the 34th Bombay Infantry.

We communicated with the Major, of course,

but he did not seem to know

that his brother officer was in England.

It's a singular case.

I have not yet communicated to you

the most singular part.

4 years later

an advertisement had appeared in the Times

asking for the address of Miss Mary Morstan,

and stating that it would be to her advantage

to come forward.

There was no name appended.

I had at the time

just entered the family of Mrs. Cecil Forrester

in the capacity of governess,

and on her advice I published my address

in the advertisement column.

That same day there appeared through the post

a small cardboard box addressed to me,

which I found to contain

a very large and lustrous pearl.

No word of writing was enclosed.

And since then every year upon the same date

there has always appeared a similar box,

containing a similar pearl,

with no clue as to the sender.

They have been pronounced by an expert

to be of a rare variety

and of considerable value.

You can see for yourself

that they are very handsome.

Your case is most interesting.

Something else has occurred to you?

Yes, and no later than today.

That is why I have come to you.

This letter arrived through the post this morning,

which you will perhaps read for yourself.

Envelope, please.

London postmark, October 7th.

Man's thumb mark on corner,

probably the postman.

Best quality paper.

Sixpence a packet.

Particular man in his stationery.

Watson.

Be at the third pillar from the left

outside the Lyceum Theatre

tonight at seven o'clock.

If you are distrustful, bring 2 friends.

You are a wronged woman and shall have justice.

Do not bring the police.

If you do, all will be in vain.

Your unknown friend.

Well, really,

this is a very pretty little problem.

What do you intend to do, Miss Morstan?

Well, that is exactly what I want to ask you.

Well then, you and I shall go together.

Dr. Watson is the very man.

Your correspondent says 2 friends.

But would he come?

I shall be proud and happy

if I can be of any service.

You are both very kind.

I have led a retired life

and have no friends whom I could appeal to.

If I'm here at 6 it will do, I suppose?

Yes, but you must not be later.

Goodbye, Miss Morstan.

Goodbye, Mr. Holmes.

Au revoir.

Au revoir.

Buy a flower, dearie.

Buy a flower.

Buy a flower, dearie.

Excuse me.

What a very attractive woman.

It is of the first importance

not to allow your judgment to be biased

by personal qualities.

A client to me is a mere unit,

a factor of the problem.

Holmes, you are an automaton

and a calculating machine.

There's something positively inhuman in you at times.

I assure you

the most winning woman I ever knew

was hanged for poisoning 3 little children

for their insurance money,

and the most repellent man of my acquaintance

is a philanthropist who has spent nearly

a quarter of a million upon the London poor.

However, in this case,

I never make exceptions.

An exception disproves the rule.

I'm going out. I'll see you in an hour.

Had he any friends in town?

Only one that we know of,

Major Sholto of his own regiment.

There is no great mystery in this matter

the facts appear to admit of only one explanation.

Oh, so you've solved it already?

I have found,

on consulting the back files of the Times,

that Major Sholto, of Upper Norwood,

late of the 34th Bombay Infantry,