Dr. Watson

Scotland Yard itself harboring an enemy agent.

On my soul, Holmes.

You've done it again.

I must say you've got sharp eyes.

I didn't see those pigeon feathers on Hendrick's collar.

If you'd spent the night in a prison cell, I should never have heard the end of it, I'm sure.

Never.

Ah, there you are, Mrs. Hudson.

Come and sit down.

In the first place, Mrs. Hudson, you may tell your sister that she needn't worry anymore.

I'm sure she'll find no more pigeon feathers in her room on the first floor back.

I'm very glad you did, Mrs. Hudson.

Thanks to your information, an enemy espionage ring has been broken, and the British government is deeply grateful to you.

Anything, Mrs. Hudson.

What is it?

Yes, indeed.

Mr. Martell, when you're a detective like Holmes or a doctor like myself, well, you've got to be prepared to meet the unexpected every once in a while.

Of course, you wouldn't know about things like that, being a wine expert yourself.

Well, now, next week, Mr. Bartell, I'm going to tell you a weird adventure that Sherlock Holmes and I had in the East End of London.

It concerns a most unusual stage play, a badly frightened actor, and a blood-stained razor.