Storytime! The Bruce-Partington Plans

"Ah," said the Supervisor, still invisible behind his newspaper. "Miss S."

How can he tell it's me? Izzy wondered. And why does he want to read the journal of the Chartered Institute of Lizard Collectors anyway?

What she actually said, or rather croaked, was "Yes."

"You don't sound too healthy, Miss S," the Supervisor remarked, turning over a page. "Laryngitis?"

"Yes."

"So you're wondering what you're going to do about Story Time?"

He folded his paper. Izzy, now that he could see her, merely nodded rather than trying to talk.

"Well, I believe I can help you."

Before Izzy could try to thank him for his kind offer to take over, he'd rummaged in his desk drawer and produced a small jar of purple capsules.

"Try these," he said. "They'll set you right in no time."

Izzy glanced at the bottle. "Doctor Mehendri Solon's Pill For Every Ill," she read — silently, of course. "Take when required and allow to dissolve slowly in the mouth. In rare cases may cause drowsiness, headaches, megalomania, regeneration, spontaneous combustion or transformation into gigantic scorpion-like monster. If any of these effects occur, discontinue treatment."

"There you are," the Supervisor said expansively. "Another minor crisis overcome." And taking up his paper, he plunged back into a sprightly account of the Lizard Collectors' Annual Supper and Dance.

With the children settling down around her, Izzy took another look at the warning label on the bottle. Perhaps there was no way to avoid risking one of the pills, but with a careful choice of story she could leave most of the talking to someone else.

She popped a pill in her mouth, and tried speaking.

"Today you'll have a Sherlock Holmes story," she said, finding to her delight that her voice was audible. "The adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans."

Izzy / Narrator:
It was November 1895. For four days London had been covered by a pea-souper fog.

Izzy sat back in the hope that Watson — whoever that would be this time — would carry on.

[221B Baker Street. Liz Shaw is playing Sherlock Holmes, and the Brigadier is playing Doctor Watson; both are dressed appropriately. They are also playing chess, at which Liz is comprehensively winning.]

Brigadier / Watson:
Oh, not again! I suppose I'll have to make the best of things. [He feels his upper lip.] A moustache. That's something.
[He continues in voiceover.]
My comrade's impatient and active nature could endure this drab existence no longer. He paced restlessly about our sitting-room...

Liz / Sherlock: [positively calm and relaxed] :
Check, and mate in six. Anything in the paper, Watson?

Brigadier / Watson:
There have been numerous petty thefts.

Liz / Sherlock:
Not interested. Now, if I were a criminal, I'd have lured me to a deserted warehouse and killed me by now.

[There is a long pause while the Brigadier / Watson tries to work this one out.]

Liz / Sherlock:
Anyway, let's wait for some terrible crime to occur. Shouldn't take long.

[Chantho enters, dressed as a maid.]

Chantho:
Chan. A telegram for you. Tho.

Liz / Sherlock:
Ah, thank you.

Chantho:
Chan. What a very small part for me this is. Tho. [She leaves.]

Liz / Sherlock:
Now, let's see what's in this. [Opens it.] Oh, I see my brother Mycroft is paying us a visit.

Brigadier / Watson:
So what?

Liz / Sherlock:
Mycroft would never do such a thing without an extraordinarily compelling reason.

Brigadier / Watson:
I suppose it's too much to ask that the telegram says what the reason is.

Liz / Sherlock:
It just says 'Must see you over Cadogan West. Coming at once.'

Brigadier / Watson:
Typical. Absolutely typical. But that name — Cadogan West — it sounds familiar.

Liz / Sherlock:
Not to me. By the way, I suppose I'd better recap who Mycroft is in case anyone watching doesn't know.

Brigadier / Watson:
You said he had an extraordinary facility with figures, so he worked as an auditor for the Government.

Liz / Sherlock:
Now here's the retcon. "His position is unique. He has made it for himself. There has never been anything like it before, nor will be again. He has the tidiest and most orderly brain, with the greatest capacity for storing facts, of any man living. The same great powers which I have turned to the detection of crime he has used for this particular business. The conclusions of every department are passed to him, and he is the central exchange, the clearing-house, which makes out the balance. All other men are specialists, but his specialism is omniscience. We will suppose that a minister needs information as to a point which involves the Navy, India, Canada and the bimetallic question; he could get his separate advices from various departments upon each, but only Mycroft can focus them all, and say offhand how each factor would affect the other. They began by using him as a short-cut, a convenience; now he has made himself an essential. In that great brain of his everything is pigeon-holed and can be handed out in an instant. Again and again his word has decided the national policy. He lives in it. He thinks of nothing else save when, as an intellectual exercise, he unbends if I call upon him and ask him to advise me on one of my little problems." Got that?

Brigadier / Watson [who has been dozing off during this piece of exposition] :
What? Oh, yes. Got it.

Liz / Sherlock:
Have you remembered who Cadogan West is yet?

Brigadier / Watson leafing through an old newspaper] :
Yes, I thought I'd heard of him. He was found dead on the Underground on Tuesday morning.

Liz / Sherlock:
Oh yes, him. But wasn't that an accident?

Brigadier / Watson:
So everyone thought at the time. But there's been an inquest since, and it looks like there's more to it than meets the eye.

Liz / Sherlock:
Let's hear it, then.

Brigadier / Watson:
His full name was Arthur Cadogan West, and he was a clerk at the Woolwich Arsenal. He left Woolwich suddenly on Monday night. Was last seen by his fiancee, Miss Violet Westbury, whom he left abruptly in the fog about 7:30 that evening. There was no quarrel between them and she can give no motive for his action...

[Flashback. A foggy street. Rose and the Tenth Doctor are walking along hand in hand, eating (inevitably) chips. Suddenly the Doctor lets go of her and dashes off.]

Brigadier / Watson (vo) :
And he turned up at six the next morning, dead, just outside Aldgate Station.

[Aldgate Underground station, 6am. Pigbin Josh, dressed as a railway worker, emerges from the tunnel and finds the Tenth Doctor lying beside the track.]

Pigbin Josh:
Ooh arr. Oooh arrr. Ooooh arrrr. Ooooooh —

[A tentacle reaches from the tunnel, grabs him by the collar, and drags him away.]

Brigadier / Watson (vo) :
The only way the body could have got there was if it fell out of a train. Had it been carried down from any neighbouring street, the man on the ticket barrier would have been sure to notice it.

[The ticket barrier. A Dalek is on duty. Several people pass through, holding their tickets up for it.]

Dalek:
SINGLE TO MARK LANE. YOU MAY PASS.
RETURN TO PADDINGTON. YOU MAY PASS.
TWO SINGLES TO MOORGATE. YOU MAY PASS.

[Harry Saxon approaches, holding the Tenth Doctor's body in his arms.]

Saxon:
Call me suspicious, but I think this book is trying to insinuate something about us.

Tenth Doctor: [opening his eyes] :
What, and the televised series isn't?

Saxon:
Oh, go back to sleep.

[He steps forward.]

Dalek:
SINGLE TO WESTMINSTER. ALERT. EXCESS HAND LUGGAGE. EXTERMINATE.

Saxon:
You'll all pay for this —

[Cut to black. A Dalek gun is heard, followed by the Wilhelm scream.]

Liz / Sherlock (vo) :
That part seems clear enough.

[Flashback ends.]

Brigadier / Watson:
He could have been on one of several trains, but they don't know which one or where he got on.

Liz / Sherlock:
His ticket would say.

Brigadier / Watson:
He didn't have one.

Liz / Sherlock:
Dear me, Watson, this is really very singular. According to my experience it is not possible to reach the platform of a Metropolitan train without exhibiting one's ticket.

[The ticket barrier again. The Tenth Doctor, this time alive and unaccompanied, reaches the head of the queue.]

Dalek:
TICKET PLEASE.

Doctor:
I, er, I'm sure I had one. [searches vainly in his pockets].

Dalek:
TICKET PLEASE.

Doctor:
Here you are. [Holds out the psychic paper.]

Dalek:
ALERT. FORGERY. EXTERMINATE.

[Cut to black. Dalek gun. Scream.]

Harry Saxon's voice:
And so perish all enemies of the Queen.

[Flashback ends.]

Liz / Sherlock:
So if he didn't have a ticket, what did he have?

Brigadier / Watson:
Two pounds fifteen shillings, a check-book, two tickets for the Woolwich Theatre, and a small packet of technical papers.

Liz / Sherlock:
What's the betting those technical papers are what's upset Mycroft so much? Ah, but here he comes now.

Brigadier / Watson (vo) :
A moment later the tall and portly form of Mycroft Holmes was ushered into the room.

[The decidedly short and slender form of Zoë is ushered in by Chantho. She is wearing her uniform from 'The Wheel In Space'.]

Izzy gulped down what was left of the mysterious jujube. This sort of miscasting was not to be borne, and she had a strong suspicion that it was no accident.

Izzy / Narrator:
Now look! Mycroft is supposed to be male, tall, older than Sherlock, and very fat. You are none of these things. You're not even wearing the costume.

Zoë:
Would you believe it didn't fit me? I suppose I could put some padding in my uniform, if that would help.

Izzy / Narrator:
No, it would not. Mycroft doesn't wear catsuits. Oh dear, I wish I hadn't just imagined what I just imagined.

Zoë:
But I'm perfect for the role, because of how clever I am. All that stuff about the Government using Mycroft as a central clearing house - that could have been written for me. It's what I do in my day job all the time.

Izzy / Narrator:
Ye-es.

Zoë:
Would you rather have Adric or Adam?

Izzy / Narrator [after a pause] :
I'm beginning to wonder.

Zoë:
Or if you're so shallow as to be interested in looks rather than brains, I could go and get one of the Slitheen. They'd fit the costume.

[Liz and the Brigadier ostentatiously hold their noses.]

Izzy / Narrator:
All right, you can stay.

Liz [blandly] :
Actually, though, shouldn't I be Mycroft? After all, she's only got one degree, and I've got several.

Zoë [getting worked up] :
But the advanced learning techniques of my time mean my qualifications are worth ever so much more than yours.

Liz [still blandly] :
A likely story. What with grade inflation a degree in your time is probably easier than the O-levels I did.

Zoë [outraged] :
Well!

The effect of the medicine seemed to be wearing off. Izzy decided to put a stop to the argument while she still could.

Izzy / Narrator:
I'm not wasting any more time on casting. You keep your current parts and I don't want any trouble. Carry on, Brigadier.

Brigadier / Watson (vo) :
At Mycroft's heels came Holmes's old friend Lestrade, of Scotland Yard.

[Jamie enters.]

Jamie:
So I get tae play the thick policeman? Well, at least it's a man this time.

Zoë / Mycroft:
I take it you've read up the case?

Liz / Sherlock:
We have just done so. What were the technical papers?

Zoë / Mycroft:
Ah, there's the point. They were the plans of the... hang on... I'll have it in a tick...

Liz:
I thought your memory was infallible?

Zoë:
So it would be, if the Time Lords didn't keep knocking holes in it whenever they felt bored. Now, where were we? Oh, yes. They were the plans of... Almost got it... It's on the tip of my mind...

Liz:
Is it too late to ask for Mel instead?

Zoë / Mycroft:
Got it! [Triumphantly] They were the plans of the Dillon-Wagoner Gravitron Polarity Generator.

[The others just look at her.]

"But that's not what you said the plans were called," little Nyssa protested. "There must be somefing wrong wiv Zoë's bwain. Can we take it out and have a look at it?"

"Yeth," Martha agreed. "I'm sure I can put the bits back togevver afterwards. I know what they're all called."

"No-one is to take anyone's brain out," Izzy declared. "Now sit quietly and listen to the story."

"Awwww..." chorused Nyssa and Martha. Baby Zoë gave them both an I'll-get-you-next-time-Dick-Barton look.

Zoë / Mycroft:
Surely you've heard of it?

Liz / Sherlock:
No, I don't believe I have.

Izzy / Narrator:
Um, that's because...

Zoë / Mycroft [talking firmly over the narration] :
Its importance can hardly be exaggerated. You may take it from me that naval warfare becomes impossible within the radius of a Dillon-Wagoner's operation.

[A late 19th-century battleship floats at anchor. Suddenly it is surrounded by a spherical force field and shoots vertically upward at immense acceleration. The view pulls back, showing the battleship leaving the atmosphere, then the vicinity of Earth, then the solar system.]

Izzy / Narrator:
All right, we can work with that.

Zoë / Mycroft:
Two years ago the Government spent a very large sum to buy the plans and keep them secret. The security was foolproof.

[Flashback: The secure office at the Woolwich Arsenal. Zoë and Jo inspect the security arrangements.]

Zoë / Mycroft (vo) :
I even took our best fool —

Jo:
Hey!

Zoë / Mycroft (vo) :
— Sorry, best spy along to test it. The plans are kept in an elaborate safe in a confidential office adjoining the arsenal, with burglar-proof doors and windows. Under no circumstances were they to be removed. If anyone wanted to see them, they had to go to the Woolwich office.

[Flashback ends.]

Zoë / Mycroft:
And suddenly they turn up in the pocket of a dead junior clerk in the heart of London. It's simply awful.

Liz / Sherlock:
But you have recovered them?

Zoë / Mycroft:
Not all of them. The three most important ones are still missing. So we want you to find out what happened and try to recover the lost plans.

Liz / Sherlock:
If you're so clever why don't you do it yourself?

Zoë / Mycroft:
Oh, all right then. Lestrade, have your men search the following premises: 13 Great George Street...

[Jamie nudges her.]

Zoë / Mycroft:
Sorry. I think I'm supposed to say that I'm too lazy to lie on my face with a lens to my eye looking for clues.

Liz / Sherlock:
It'll make a change from playing chess with the Brig all day. Let's have some more facts.

Zoë / Mycroft:
The actual official guardian of the papers is the famous government expert, Sir James Wossname. [Exasperated, she produces a piece of paper, and finds the actual name.] Sir James Walter. He is one of two who have a key to the safe. The papers were undoubtedly in the office when he left and spent the whole evening with Admiral Sinclair in Barclay Square.

Liz / Sherlock:
Has the fact been verified?

Zoë / Mycroft:
Yes. His brother, Colonel Valentine Walter, has testified to his departure from Woolwich, and Admiral Sinclair to his arrival in London.

Liz / Sherlock:
Who else had a key?

Zoë / Mycroft:
The senior clerk and draughtsman, Mr. [with another annoyed look she consults her notes] Sidney Johnson. He is a man of forty, married, with five children. He is a silent, morose man. According to his own account, corroborated only by the word of his wife, he was at home all Monday night.

Liz / Sherlock:
And Cadogan West?

Zoë / Mycroft:
He's been ten years in the service and we have nothing against him, except that his duties brought him into daily contact with the plans. Here, you'd better have these notes, because they've got the addresses for all these people.

Brigadier / Watson (vo) :
We then discussed the question of who might have taken the papers, and how. Holmes quickly adopted the working hypothesis that West had taken the papers to sell the secret to a foreign agent, and a violent scene had taken place in which West lost his life.

Zoë / Mycroft:
Suppose that's true, why would he arrange to take his young lady out to the theatre instead of keeping the evening clear?

Jamie / Lestrade:
A blind. [The other three jump and look at him.] Aye, I'm still here.

Zoë / Mycroft:
If he did meet a spy, what happened to the other three papers? You'd expect him to have them all so he could replace them in the safe. And where's the money the spy paid him?

Jamie / Lestrade:
Simple. He meets the spy but they canna agree on price. The spy thinks this is where he saves some money, so he follows West onto the train, kills him, and takes the more important papers. Then he throws his body off the train.

Liz / Sherlock:
Well, that's the best theory anyone's come up with so far.

Jamie / Lestrade:
D'ye really mean that?

Liz / Sherlock:
Certainly. And if you're right, it's too late to do anything, because the spy has got the papers and has escaped.

Zoë / Mycroft:
Then for all our sakes, you'd better try to prove Jamie - er, Lestrade - wrong. Apart from anything else, it would be terribly embarrassing if he can outthink both of us.

Liz / Sherlock:
Fine. Can I borrow him, by the way? I promise I won't break him.

Zoë / Mycroft:
What?

Brigadier / Watson:
What?

Jamie / Lestrade:
Now, jist hang on a minute...

Liz / Sherlock:
Don't worry, all I need you to do is come with me to Aldgate Station. I'll let you know how we get on, Mycroft, since the script says you're far too lazy to come with us.