Sleight & Hand BBC at the Edinburgh Festivals

If men be truly gentle

and heedful of their lady's needs,

with tempers temperamental, pray caution now as you proceed.

We beg your patience and your nerve and swear we'll serve as best we can.

And through dark arts may shed some light upon the darker heart of man.

How am I doing? Is this what you wanted?

Perfect. Perfect, please, carry on.

It's not a little too...

A little too...?

Nothing. No, no, nothing.

And through dark arts may shed some light upon the darker heart of man.

So, watch us close, those keen of eye may some small secret understand.

So, simple folk, just see the smoke.

They missed the switch, this sleight of...

- Mr Sleight... - Edwin, please.

- Edwin. - Edwin Sleight.

Slim framed and nimble fingered.

Sharp of cheekbone and of mind.

Proud resident of the pulsating epicentre

of the greatest city in the world,

riding roughshod through streets on the brink of supernova,

chasing dreams and demons with equal alacrity and never drawing breath,

Edwin...

Edwin Sleight, roll up, roll up, step up, ladies and gents, don't be shy.

Come and see the incredible Edwin Sleight, man of a million mysteries!

Thank you.

Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.

Prepare to be amazed by the...

Oh...

incredible and amazing feats...

No, er, prepare to be incredulous.

Yes, incredulous at the incredible and amazing feats...

Get off!

You've been wonderful. Get a safe carriage.

That's Edwin Sleight, tell your friends.

Sleight with a E-I.

London was not kind to the young Edwin Sleight.

As a rationalist, he took the city's indifference in his stride.

But when met with the same response from its inhabitants,

the rejection stung a little more.

Furthermore, as a rationalist, he couldn't help but question

the judgement of the freethinking citizens who viewed him so unkindly.

For clearly he was blessed with many admirable traits.

A keen, enquiring mind, a natural intelligence,

a flair for artistry and a lean, agile fame.

Through any objective criteria, he reasoned,

there was nothing to suggest he shouldn't excel.

And yet, once accumulated,

Edwin seemed to amount to less than the sum of his parts.

Or rather, like a collection of excellent ingredients

which shouldn't necessarily be combined.

I'm like pineapple and herring.

Pineapple and herring and gin.

A way with words was not his strongest suit.

And the early performances of the amazing Mr Sleight

were not well received.

"Amazing...slightly" the papers would have declared,

had any been present to witness them.

Roll up, roll up, come and see the slightly amazing Edmond Sleight!

Ed-win. Edwin.

Edwin what?

- Is that a coin trick. - Oh, never mind.

But Edwin persevered.

Tenacity, another of his talents.

And I believe these, madam, are your pearls.

Oh, um...

And I believe these, madam,

are your pearls!

Oh, um...

And I believe these, madam, are your pearls.

Oh! Oh!

It isn't fair. It isn't the slightest bit...

And there you have it.

The very heart of all my woes. Sleight by name and slight by nature.

Slight hope, scant chance, the very faintest of impressions made.

Which should in my profession be a veritable boom,

to slip through shadows imperceptibly,

to vanish without the slightest trace,

and yet the act of disappearance is somewhat less impressive

when one's reappearance, and indeed departure, goes unnoticed.

And on this matter, his powers of perception were irrefutable.

However, a solution was suggested, an outlandish scheme

devised by his one friend and true confidant, Mr Ben...

Baker.

- This is absurd. - This is inspired.

Oh, Ben, please.

"Lend a hand", the advertisement read.

"If your surname is Hand, and your destiny is on the stage,

"report to 151 Mayfair on April 12 at noon

"and await further instructions."

I work alone.

You don't work at all.

Picture it, Edwin, Slight And Hand.

It's just what the act needs.

Look at these - the astounding Zanquanda, Amazon Queen.

Uri, the levitating Hun.

Prince Ulrich, Demon Voyager.

Now, you know as well as I do

that Ulrich has not a drop of royal blood in him.

Yuri is two midgets from Ealing.

And the only astounding thing about Zanquanda

is that she manages to spell her name the same way twice.

Image is everything.

But I don't even live in Mayfair!

Of course not, but there they will receive a series of directions

designed to test their cunning, resolve and moral fibre

to its breaking point, ultimately leading them

to a den of such iniquity, such extravagant squalor and decay,

such charismatic rot and intrigue,

it could only have been constructed for the purpose

by the greatest stage artist of the age.

You're talking about my apartment, aren't you?

Yes, I am.

Er, your name?

Herbert Hand, sir.

And your current occupation?

- Oh, I'm a butcher, sir. - I see.

Butchery and illusion are two quite different things, Mr Hand.

What makes you think this role would suit you?

On account of me not being a very good butcher, sir,

so you needn't worry about any unwanted transferable skills.

I see.

Tell me, is not having a full complement of fingers

likely to cause problems?

Capt Fitzwilliam Montgomery Hand reporting for duty, sir.

MIMICS BUGLE

Questionably discharged and ready for a front.

Wonderful. And in what way...?

Of course, I deciphered the true meaning of your rudimentary clues

were these. And I say the treasure's as good as ours.

I can sail with you tonight.

Although if you prefer to travel alone,

we can liaise in Budapest next week.

Ah.

And I say, Mr Sleight,

it was quite the strangest proposal I'd ever seen.

Of course, it will be my daughter's hand you're after.

Whoops! Not me own.

Although, if I was 20 years younger...

I think there may have been some kind of...

# Hold his hand, hold his hand

# And he will guide the way. #

- Um... - It's a good hand,

A Strawbridge hand.

Although if there are any other body parts you require,

I daresay we could come to some...arrangement.

Er, no, I don't believe that will be necessary.

Peter Paver, sir, at your service.

Mr Paver, the advertisement did clearly specify...

I'm his bestest friend. Happy hand worth a helping hand.

Next!

Are you offended?

I give you hand.

Monkey hand, grant three wishes.

Enough, enough, get out! Out, all of you, out!

Oh, sorry.

I didn't mean to trouble you. I'll be leaving then.

No, please, my apologies.

- Am I not too late? - No. Not at all.

I was just, um... Never mind.

- Please, come in, Miss... - Hand.

But of course, you knew that. Iphigenia Hand.

- It's a pleasure. - Oh, all mine.

- I'm most sure. - Oh.

Please, sit.

Oh, I'll stand, if you don't mind, Mr Sleight?

Yes. I must say, you are quite everything I expected.

Oh, and what might that be?

Oh, that would be telling.

Miss Hand, delicately, deliberately removes her lace gloves

with a palpable sense of purpose.

The image of the metaphorical gauntlet thrown down

not for a moment lost on Mr Sleight.

In truth, he found it a little obvious.

And smiled, a fleeting smile,

made all the more potent through its brevity.

Like the final sigh of a sexually charged mayfly.

A sexually charged Victorian mayfly,

who has been taught that such displays are scandalous,

shameful, but damn it all, a mayfly can only endure for so long,

and so, we throw caution to the wind

and wantonly remove her gloves to any gentleman mayfly she pleases,

laying bare indecently slender fingers

in all their soft, pink glory.

May I take your glove?

You may.

And my watch, Miss Hand.

Quite impressive.

Nonetheless, most impressive for an amateur.

Looking for this, Mr Sleight?

What did you say your name was again?

Iphigenia Hand.

Whose ancestry was not necessarily Greek,

but most definitely tragic.

My father was serious, my mother imperious, my cousins impetuous,

my uncles quite lecherous, my nieces vainglorious,

my nephews notorious, grandparents gone and good name long squandered.

The family as a whole maintains that sophisticated damp tang

of mouldering aristocracy.

Blue blood running deep through blue veins like vintage Stilton

laced with the unmistakable air of always being just on the turn.

Where something could still be salvaged perhaps,

but all is undisputedly past its best.

So now, when people ask me where I'm from,

I tell them I was raised by gypsies.

So, where are you from?

I was raised by gypsies.

Touche, Miss Hand, touche.

Well, do you not think it proper for a lady to retain

some air of mystery, a mystique, especially in our profession.

From one's audience, yes, but from one's partner...

Oh, I am to be your partner then!

One task remained.

To break the news to Iphigenia's parents.

She knew that without her family's

sincere and heartfelt condemnation of her chosen path,

she could never feel truly at ease.

Iphigenia rapped thrice upon the foreboding oak.

KNOCKING

Oh.

Rapped thrice upon the foreboding oak.

KNOCKING

Iphigenia's father was a kindly man,

straight-backed and proud-whiskered,

once radical, now tempered with the sagacity of late...

COUGHS ..early middle age.

Still, the twinkle in his eye remained more puckish than avuncular

and if found in the right mood

would surely take his daughter's seeming rebellion

as a fitting tribute. However...

..it was her mother who came to the door.

SQUEAKING

Darling...what a wonderful surprise.

- Mother. - This is so unexpected.

Her mother possessed a high, reedy voice,

lilting with its Mediterranean ancestry,

but run through with the unmistakable notes of Bow Bells

and the remnants of a crippling lisp that had plagued her formative years.

A strange, stooped woman.

With a club foot, but a ballerina's grace,

she would scuttle, float and spin across a room

with a strange, ethereal air that seemed more animal and human.

A sight that truly must be seen to be believed.

Er, let, er... Let me see if your father's in.

He wasn't.

Are you sure?

Oh, Mother, we have so much to talk about.

At length.

Walk with me.

And yet tragically, we are never to know

what they discussed that fateful day,

both parties refusing to speak of the incident again.

Whatever the details, the outcome was clear.

And Iphigenia received the denunciation she so sorely desired,

leaving her free to pursue her life on the stage unimpeded.

MUSIC HALL MUSIC PLAYS

WOLF WHISTLE

WOLF WHISTLE

AUDIENCE SHRIEKS

WOLF WHISTLE

APPLAUSE

APPLAUSE AND LAUGHTER

Ladies and gentlemen, the enchanting Iphigenia Hand.

- And the amazing Edward... - Edwin.

Edwin what?

Let's see, shall we?

Oh.

GASPS

And the astounding Edwin Sleight.

BOTH: Godspeed. God bless.

To you all, good night!

CHEERING AND APPLAUSE

Did they...?

- Did they really just...? - I think they did.

Is it always like this?

Hm? Oh, yes, yes.

Every audience is, er...

Well, there's always variations.

Is it customary to...? Shall we toast?

Oh, are there people we're meant to see?

Will they want to see us, the people?

I'm not sure which people exactly, but...

Yes, there may very well be people.

And would they want us to...?

Oh. Oh, do you think maybe there aren't people?

It's very hard to say, really. Maybe we maintained a sense of illusion.

A mystique, if we...

A little mystique never hurt anyone.

Precisely.

Well, good night, Mr Sleight.

Good night, Miss Hand.

Good night!

Extra, extra, see the stunts of our magic duo!

Sleight and Hand leave London spellbound.

Most enchanting evening.

You'll laugh, you'll gasp, you won't believe your eyes.

Three dead in Cheapside fire.

- Huh? - I mean,

double the delight with new illusion show.

Oh, success, it seemed, was to come overnight.

As if it could come in any other way.

This was the night the city could not sleep.

Its mind still racing from the wonders it had seen.

No rest for Edwin or Iphigenia either.

And now this worry had kept them from their beds.

A worry they now discovered to be joyously unfounded.

And as yet unknown to them, another figure stalked the moonlight.

Footfalls, soft as shadows, their actions no less impossible.

But thanks to the antics of the Playhouse,

had been pushed from the front page.

Jewel thief strikes city!

Diamonds disappear from the duchess's ball.

No connection. None to the untrained eye.

But those of Scotland Yard

build their careers from joining unexpected dots.

And the following morning, Edwin and Iphigenia

were to receive an unexpected visit.

Oh.

Jeremy.

A g-g-gentleman to see you, sir.

- A gentleman? - Y-Y-Yes, sir.

An inspector, sir, from S-S-Scotland Y-Yard.

Oh, well, send him in, send him in.

Y-Y-Yes, sir.

- Mr Sleight? - Yes.

Inspector McCaffrey.

Scotland Yard.

What can I do for you, Inspector?

Well, sir, that rather remains to be seen.

Perhaps it would be better if I could speak to you both at once.

Your good self and your partner.

- My partner? - A Miss Hand?

Oh, my assistant.

Your partner, yes.

Of course. Er, Miss Hand?

Miss Hand.

Well, I'm sure she's here somewhere.

Please, take a seat.

- Thank you. - You called?

Oh, Miss Hand.

Inspector McCaffrey.

Iphigenia Hand. It's a pleasure.

The inspector has come from Scotland Yard.

Oh, my. No problems here, I trust.

No, ma'am, quite the opposite, in fact.

The opposite? I'm afraid I don't understand.

Did something happen last night at the theatre?

Not at the theatre, no.

Oh, well, I must say, you're being very mysterious, Inspector.

Edwin, don't be rude.

I assure you, sir, that was not my intent.

Of course it wasn't. Can we get you anything, Inspector? Tea?

Oh, no.

Not if it's any bother.

No, it's no bother at all. Percy, Percy!

- I don't think Percy is in today. - Oh, of course not.

Doris?

Right...

- Yes, Miss? - Tea for three, please.

Of course, Miss. Sugar, Inspector?

- No, thank you. - Any cakes, Miss?

No, thank you, Doris.

Any cakes for you, Inspector?

- No, thank you. - Righto.

Oh, any scones for you?

That will be all, thank you, Doris.

Of course, Miss, thank you, Miss.

Thank you, Inspector.

Thank you, Doris.

Wonderful. So, if we are all settled...

Yes, Inspector, what exactly brings you here?

A request for your expertise.

Not made by us, I feel duty bound to add,

but a direct appeal from the Duchess of Bedford herself.

- From who? - The Duchess of Bedford.

Oh, gosh, I remember, dreadful woman, awful,

likes to patronise the Playhouse at their fundraising galas

with "patronise" being the operative word.

Aye, sir. Then you might also know

that dreadful woman's patronage

is the only thing keeping this theatre open.

- So, here we are. - My apologies, Inspector.

Do go on.

You said she requested our expertise.

Aye, Miss.

Last night, I'm sure you're aware,

was the Duchess's annual Michaelmas Ball.

- Of course. - We talk of little else.

And no doubt you'll also know she was taking the opportunity

to showcase the priceless Monta Rosa Diamond.

Long thought lost, recently discovered

and now vanished once again.

- Vanished? - You mean stolen.

Perhaps, ma'am. But most certainly magicked away.

And that of course is where you come in.

My word!

You can't think us responsible?

No, sir, in fact, "who" is not the question at all, but rather "how".

And that is why the Duchess wanted you, as experts in the impossible.

Oh, well, you flatter us, Inspector.

Please, carry on.

Thank you. As I say, the culprit is no great mystery at all.

She even left a calling card.

The Lady Electra, gentle woman thief.

Oh, thank you, Inspector.

It's a pleasure, Inspector.

But how? How is the question at hand.

During the daytime, the jewels are locked behind six inches of steel

and guarded by men with iron rods, Inspector.

Inspector, the jewel itself is set in a silver necklace,

sealed in an airtight glass case

and flanked by two stout guards that never leave its side.

- Isn't that right, Inspector? - Absolutely, Inspector.

The evening goes without a hitch

until finally the Duchess ascends the grand staircase

ready to raise a glass, thank her guests and bid all a good night.

But before she can speak, suddenly someone cries out...

Do you have the transcript, Inspector?

Indeed I do, Inspector.

The jewels, they cry. Look at the diamond.

And there it is, still within its glass case, but now glowing

bright and hot-cold, bright as the fires of hell themselves.

- The Duchess screams. - Aargh!

Panic descends, but after a minute or two, the flame dies out,

the glass case filled with smoke, but otherwise unharmed.

And then the key...

That's right, the key is fixed.

The one key that has been held by the Duchess all evening.

The case is flung open. A cloud of noxious gases belch out.

The smoke clears and there within

the twisted remnants of the silver casing,

but the diamond nowhere to be seen!

- Gosh! - Very thorough, Inspective.

Inspect-or.

Inspector.

Well, we'll see what we can do.

Truth be told, the Monte Rosa was no stranger to mayhem and mystery.

Magic flowed through it as much as it did through

the veins of Edwin or Iphigenia.

An observation the likes of which Mr Sleight was wont to make,

receiving sage nods and considered hummings from the constabulary.

And yet when Miss Hand was unfortunate enough to comment...

SHE CHUCKLES Hardly surprising!

Of course, I'm sure you must have heard the damn jewel is cursed.

Cursed, ma'am?

Well, that's what they say, isn't it?

I assure you, Miss, that is not what they say at the Yard.

Oh, well, I only meant that, of course, I don't believe...

Please! There's no need to get hysterical.

I am NOT getting...!

Calm yourself, woman!

Can you believe that?

You really needn't worry, Inspector...

All this conjuring talk, sir, it befuddles the enfeebled female mind.

Oh, that's not my experience, Inspector.

But hard for you to see it, sir! A great man such as yourself.

Oh, well, that's very kind of you to say so, Inspector.

But they're talking of women in the Force these days!

If you believe it.

But this is the modern age we live in.

Do you know, I once saw a horse that was taught to perform calculus.

No, sir?! Is that so, sir?

I swear it. Barnstaple, I think was.

And you saw it with your own eyes?

Indeed.

Straight from the horse's mouth.

CHUCKLING

Gentlemen!

Whoo... Erm...

Don't you worry your pretty little self about it, Miss.

We'll get to the bottom of this in a jiffy.

And they were not to hear from the inspector again for quite some time.

Indeed.

Yes...

Such exchanges were not uncommon for the young Iphigenia...

Cursed as she was with the twin afflictions of youth and beauty.

Truly fatal to the fairer sex.

And though such sleights still smarted,

they would not distract her from the task at hand.

Oh, that's very good.

"Sleights", "at hand".

It was funny, because you're...

- Mm. - And I'm...

- Oh. - Oh, never mind.

No, er... Nothing was to distract her from...

- The diamond! - The diamond, yes.

The Monte Rosa diamond.

TING!

More information was required - that much was clear.

And so...

a visit was planned to the grieving duchess,

still inconsolable at her loss.

Perhaps you might wait outside for this one, Miss Hand.

No need for us both to go in.

I thought you couldn't stand her.

No, but given the circumstances...

What circumstances?

It might just be easier if I were to -

alone, it would enable you to...

You would be available to be the...

Please, Mr Sleight, I insist.

You Ladyship!

Coming!

Thank you so much for meeting me.

Oh, er, not at all, Miss...?

Hand. Miss Iphigenia Hand.

It's an honour, ma'am.

I must say, I was hoping to speak to your superior -

Mr Sleight.

He sends his apologies.

Yes.

I'm sure he's very sorry indeed.

Maybe we could begin with...

Such a charming man.

Yes. Now, to begin, if I could ask you about the...

And SO handsome.

If we could just focus on the diamond, your Ladyship.

Oh, as you wish.

Perhaps we could go right back to the very beginning.

The beginning?

If you could. And please don't leave anything out.

Ah, very well, then.

The beginning.

Why, that takes us back almost a hundred years.

1754, that's when the jewel first came to my family -

or back 500 more if you want the very start.

That's when the natives first discovered it.

And of course they'd been hacking each other apart over it ever since.

All that changed once my great-grandfather came along.

He struck some landmark deal with the East India Company,

and it was his reward.

- And... - Well, yes, of course it upset them.

Greatly peeved the local Maha-whatsit, their ruling chappie.

But you can't make an empire without breaking heads.

Oh, they...

..did have rather an odd name for it, yes, you're absolutely right.

The Blood Rock,

on account of all those lives lost,

and the reddish hue the stone possesses.

If I could...

I agree, it looks far more pink to me, too.

It was my great-grandfather who re-christened it the Monte Rosa

and had it reset.

A far more civilised title, I'm sure you'll agree.

- But... - Then it disappeared, yes.

The curse, they called it. Seems no family could hold on to it for long.

Lost at sea somewhere in the South Atlantic in a great storm

- some five years later. - But...

My great-grandfather sunk with it, that's right.

Though why you dwell so callously on such tragedy is beyond me!

- If I could... - Oh, very well.

- I accept your apology. - Oh, I...

And don't grovel, girl, it's quite unseemly.

- But... - And don't rush me, either.

Besides, that was the last anyone heard of it for almost a century.

Until, quite out of the blue,

a merchant sailor called at the door and requested an audience.

He'd been trawling for his own lost cargo,

and by some inexplicable stroke of fortune

had discovered the stone instead.

His cousin was a jeweller, you see,

and he recognised the locket

from some old sketches we'd had made at the time -

sketches I knew only too well.

- But... - Of course I didn't buy it from him!

The jewel was mine to begin with.

He was happy enough to hand it over.

He did suggest I could make some charitable donation as thanks,

should I feel so inclined.

And now, after all this mess, I thank the Lord I have not.

- And even... - Miss Hand!

Do not dare presume to put words in my mouth.

Your dashing superior Mr Sleight would never be so contemptuous.

- I... - Do be sure to send HIM next time.

- If I could... - Excuses, excuses.

And don't forget, Miss Hand,

it is my good fortune that directly funds yours.

Should you wish to continue with your little performances at the

theatre, I'd suggest this mystery is solved as quickly...as...

possible.

- Of course, and... - Nothing else mysterious about it,

no. Except for the box, I suppose.

The box? AUDIENCE EXCLAIMS AND APPLAUDS

Just an ordinary box.

An absolutely ordinary box, Mr Sleight.

And if you could demonstrate that for us, Miss Hand.

With...pleasure.

WOLF WHISTLE

And it was in such a box that Her Ladyship received the diamond.

A very similar box, Mr Sleight.

A box especially constructed for the purpose.

The purpose of protection?

Indeed.

Observe, if you will, the delicate filigree that surrounds the stone.

To prevent oxidisation,

the jewels are hermetically sealed within the case.

Quite impenetrable.

Unquestionably impenetrable, Mr Sleight.

And yet one need only say the magic words...

Grand Larceny!

A-a-a-and...

SHE GASPS

The diamond is nowhere to be seen.

APPLAUSE

Very impressive, Mr Sleight.

But this is just a trick, after all.

An illusion, Inspector.

And the Duchess' box was nothing like this one.

For illustrative purposes only.

We tore the original apart -

had our best men deconstructing it piece by piece.

No mirrors, no hidden compartments, no jewel, sir,

lodged in any deep corner.

Any secrets, we would have discovered them.

There WAS something unusual, though, wasn't there, Inspector?

In the base.

Canisters, grilles - a ventilation system,

all to do with protecting the silver.

The Duchess had it all explained to her -

it's to do with moisture or air pressure, or...ugh.

Unusual, yes, but nothing untoward about it.

If you insist, Inspector.

But if you'll indulge me,

would you like to see another disappearing trick?

You're indulged, sir.

Observe.

Have you lost your senses?!

Mm! Delicious.

To solve this mystery, Inspector, you needn't consult jewellers,

boxmakers or even magicians -

merely your local confectioner.

A boiled sweet - that was Mr Sleight's theory.

Sugar, treated correctly - heated correctly, worked with -

at a precise temperature, could set clear as glass.

Clear as diamond, should it not be handled too closely.

The case, then, was a double blessing.

It prevented any nearby from getting sticky fingers,

but also, in his opinion, held the secret to the jewel's disappearance.

The base did not remove moisture,

but could deliver a jet of superheated steam

from the canisters -

enough to dissolve all trace of the sugar diamond.

The real jewel, of course, having been switched at some earlier date.

Edwin, ever impressed by his own genius,

expected nothing but slack-jawed admiration from the Yard,

music to his ears - to be told...

Utter codswallop, sir, of the highest order.

Edwin was given no further opportunity

to explain or finesse his theory,

and quite unceremoniously was informed...

Duchess or no, your services are no longer required.

Despite the mystery remaining resolutely unsolved.

And yet...

A...letter for you, Inspector.

- It's-It's just come through. - Where from?

Oh, erm, no address, Inspector.

It's quite mysterious, sir, you'll want to hear this.

Well, go ahead then, lad.

"Dear Inspector,

"your magical consort hit closer to home than you might expect.

"Of course, the first amongst us to sugar the pill were chemists,

"not confectioners.

"A way of making their medicines more palatable.

"But to swallow this story you'll need an iron stomach -

"not just a sweet tooth.

"Potassium, sir, looks just like tarnished silver when freshly cut,

"but it's far more volatile a thing.

"Exposed to water, it burns - blazes like the sun,

"quite hot enough to melt your sugar crystal in a matter of moments.

"Your most humble of servants,

"Gaslight Jackson."

Gaslight Jackson?

What kind of a ludicrous name is that?

Well...

"Gaslight Jackson -

"lantern-jawed, steely-eyed scourge of villainy." Huh!

"A blazing beacon of insight and ingenuity."

Is that really what it says?

Lantern-jawed and steely-eyed?

Except, of course, he's never been seen without his mask.

Or any closer than a hundred yards away.

- Must be a most penetrative gaze. - Indeed.

"6'6" at least, gravel-toned..."

Steel AND gravel?

"..and a rugged, craggy..."

Is this a character sketch or a geological survey?

Your point, Miss Hand?

Well, it's absurd, isn't it?

These fantasies the press creates.

He could be a hunchbacked oaf or a pimple-faced schoolboy

for all we know.

Yes, or lantern-jawed and steely-eyed.

I suppose.

Whoever he is, most fortunate he should arrive to save the day

just as the Yard and the Duchess were losing patience with us.

His reasoning seemed much the along the same lines as yours.

Yes, most fortunate indeed.

Nothing, of course, compared to...

"The Lady Electra,

"gentlewoman thief.

"Enchanting, enigmatic, dastardly and desirable in equal measure."

A brilliant mind, however warped.

Potassium and a boiled sweet!

Quite remarkable, yes.

Your family made their money in the sugar trade,

did they not? SHE GULPS

What little they ever did.

Not that I would have had any notion...

Oh, don't apologise.

We both should have deduced it sooner.

Ingenious, all the same.

"The femme fatale, whose scandalous and secretive nature

"has led many to believe that she may be some well known -

"though potentially deformed - member of the aristocracy."

My point exactly - pure conjecture, not a shred of evidence in any of it.

Well, then again, you can't fault the logic.

Beautiful women don't hide away.

No - they must be seen. It is their raison d'etre to be admired, adored.

She is admired, is she not?

Yes, but not for her beauty.

If she were a Helen of Troy

she wouldn't have to go to all this trouble -

she'd have all the attention she needed.

No, believe me, I don't look unkindly upon an unattractive woman,

Miss Hand, for through their plainness,

they find a far greater motivation.

I'd no idea you were such an expert on the female mind.

No. Expert? Only an enthusiastic student.

Please, you needn't take offence

on behalf of your lesser-blessed sisters, Miss Hand.

Of course, this is just my point.

You wouldn't understand,

for one such as you would clearly never wear a mask.

You were not made for the shadows, Miss Hand.

What makes you so sure?

For one as beauteous as you...

So now you flatter me by saying I have no ambition?

That was your argument, was it not?

No, I...I...believe...

Please, much depends upon your diagnosis.

Am I a show pony for display

or an old cart horse to be trotted out to work?

No, I never said...

Shall we put ribbons in my mane or blinkers over my eyes?

Just so long as you may find the best use for me.

I-I apologise, I misspoke...

I am more than set dressing, am I not?

More than an elegant solution?

- Of course! - And we are partners, are we not?

Yes.

Equals?

Indeed.

And yet we are "Sleight and Hand", not "Hand and Sleight".

Oh, well, that's just a saying - you can't go...

No, because clearly one must not put the horse before the ass.

Oh, please...!

I think I might have an early night.

Wouldn't want to look too tired for the crowds, after all.

Unforgivable, in my position.

Ugh! Good night...

Mr Sleight.

Good night, Miss Hand.

RAIN PATTERS

HE SIGHS

Tensions grew between HAND and SLEIGHT.

And soon their bickering began to make its way on stage.

PIANO PLAYS

APPLAUSE

If men be truly gentle and heedful of their ladies' need...

And what need would that be, Mr Sleight?

With tempers temperamental, pray caution now...

Indeed, to caution any man who deems his lady needs him.

Miss Hand!

No, call it not misandry, merely sense.

And ladies, vow to treat your husbands hence -

pray always flatter, always be demure, your triumphs his,

and all his fallings yours.

Remember, count your blessings and be sure to blow him kisses

as he walks out the door.

Ladies, I give you the housewife's delight.

LAUGHTER

You cannot just decide - you have no right!

The audience were entertained, were they not?

That does not give you carte blanche to...

Oh. PIANO PLAYS

Another trick.

If I could take a note from your wallet, Mr Sleight.

Of course, Miss Hand.

A trick all husbands will be familiar with.

In a matter of moments, she can make its entire contents disappear.

LAUGHTER

And yet I bow to the master - Mr Sleight,

who with his presence alone can make whole rooms of ladies...

vanish. LAUGHTER

Very good.

Now, for this next section of our performance,

it is vital that Miss Hand remains absolutely...

silent.

This has no bearing at all on the trick,

merely my sanity.

I believe what Mr Sleight means is...

Alas, no, it seems that would require a miracle beyond even my talents.

LAUGHTER

I...erm...

I...er...ooh...

Can it be true?

Ladies and gentlemen, my greatest achievement!

The eighth Wonder of the World,

a silent woman!

LAUGHTER

APPLAUSE

I cannot believe you.

The audience were entertained, were they not?

That is not the point!

Then, pray, tell me, what is, Miss Hand?

I will not be treated like a refuse. This can't go on!

I agree! I...

I-I...

SHE WEEPS

I do. I agree. I apologise.

I'm sorry, too.

Believe me,

you mean far more to me than just a mere...

And if I've struggled, it is only because, you...

Miss Hand, these past few weeks, I can tell you,

without any hesitation...

The paper, dear. I thought you'd want to see it.

Very well.

COCKNEY ACCENT: "Chaos in the capital! London, once more,

"thrown into turmoil by a..."

Iphigenia, whatever are you doing?

Oh, sorry, sir, I don't know what...come over me, sir.

Hmm.

Here. Let me read.

Eh, "..thrown into turmoil

"by another inexplicable act of brazen befuddlement,

"perpetrated by none other than the elusive..."

Of course! Who else?! Miss Hand!

Yes, Mr Sleight.

Oh. I believe this may interest you, as well.

Too kind.

Yes. Sleight and Hand were soon to learn that theirs were not the only

problems in the city.

Overnight, the Lady Electra had struck again and, as her notoriety

spread, so, too, her crimes became more ingenious, more audacious,

more baffling.

More baffling still were the nature of said crimes.

If you could even call them crimes, at all.

- Indeed. Pranks, perhaps. - Jokes. Tricks.

Illusions.

Illusions, yes.

And yet, an illusion suggests something unreal.

And while these acts were inexplicable,

they most certainly did occur.

As many would bear witness.

Ascot, Miss Hand!

The highlight of the season, Mr Sleight.

DISTANT THUNDER OF HOOVES

- The ladies in their finery. - The gentlemen in their finery.

- The horses in their finery. - The rabbits in their finery.

I beg your pardon?

Indeed! May I take your hat, Mr Sleight?

Too kind, Miss Hand.

So, you see, so it was when all the gentlemen in the Royal Box

removed them, placing each, as was the custom, upon the ledge

before them.

There was a shuffling.

A snuffling.

And to their amazement...

Oh, rabbits!

A rabbit within every one!

The young Queen stands, appalled by such effrontery.

When, quite without warning, a whole host of hares

dashes forth from beneath her underskirts.

Argh! Pandemonium ensues!

And when finally, one of the blighters is caught...

- The legend on the collar, really. - The Lady Electra declares

the game's afoot!

And again, less than a fortnight later.

The House of Commons, no less.

The usual crying and clamouring.

- Baying and braying. - Tears, jeers and assorted waffling.

- Bah! - Bah!

- Bah! - Ba-aah.

And it takes quite a while, far longer, in truth,

than any sane person would find credible...

..to find, somehow,

the back rows were now entirely filled with actual sheep.

Ba-aah.

Affixed to their underside a note that begs...

"The Lady Electra prays you pull the wool from your eyes."

Five nights after that,

at the Midas Club on Threadneedle Street.

Where the city's best and brightest come to lose what they can't spend

and win what they don't need.

The empty bottles worth more than most men's houses.

To toast their ingenuity, being blessed with such good fortune.

And, most of all...

to play cards.

Here, couched in dark oak and ox-blood leather,

hearts are broken and diamonds snatched.

Men are beaten the clubs or buried with spades.

All with the finest trappings of civilisation.

All to scratch the itch of want for those who want for nothing.

- All for the win. - Always the win. Above all things.

And yet, on the night in question, when their hands are dealt...

..each man looks to his cards...

- ..and feels that shiver... - ..that tingle...

- ..that prickling of hairs... - ..quickening of pulse...

- ..the thump of an animal heart

straining against its Savile Row straitjacket.

- But the face betrays nothing. - The benefits of breeding.

They raise and counter raise, raise and raise again.

Until, with a great ruddy-cheeked cry, each man declares...

BOTH: Royal flush!

..as each man lays down an identical hand.

- Panic! - Confusion!

- Accusation! - Voices raised.

- Tempers fraught! - Explanations demanded!

By men well versed in demanding them!

Until, in a fit of rage,

the expensively felted table is tipped over.

And there, pinned to the underside, a solitary card declares...

"The Lady Electra wishes you bonne chance."

Remarkable, I must say. Quite remarkable.

And yet, baffling as such acts were, they could not be impossible.

The notion that they might be, the only impossibility.

Given time, given thought, given the correct process of reason

and deduction, logical progression and lateral leaps...

..slowly but surely, the pieces would begin to fall into place -

if not the who or even the why, then, gradually, the how.

And yet, each time, just as Sleight and Hand were preparing to share

the brilliance of their insight with the Yard...

COCKNEY ACCENT: "Another letter for you, sir."

SCOTTISH ACCENT: "Another one?"

"Yes, sir, from the Gaslight gentleman, sir."

"Let's have it."

And, each time, with the same superior tone,

the casual genius...declaring...

Providing the seemingly irrelevant titbit that would somehow

provide the key to the whole affair, declaring...

"Look, Inspector, to the three

"newly-replaced screws in the far right corner,

"and the Duke of Cornwall's walnut allergy.

Or...

"Surely you haven't overlooked the June solstice?

"And the Right Honourable Member for Chorley East's rugby accident?"

Or...

"If your porcine officers could raise their heads from the trough

"for one moment they would surely realise the dealer was left-handed

"and the butler on duty had family visiting from Catalonia."

And each time the news would trickle down to Mr Sleight and...

Of course!

It's so obvious, Miss Hand, but do they listen me?

To us, Mr Sleight.

No, no, they don't listen at all.

It must be very frustrating to be so overlooked.

- Hm? Yes, you can only imagine. - Indeed I can.

This Gaslight Jackson - what do you make of him?

I don't know. I hadn't given him much thought.

No? Oh. As dangerous as the Lady Electra in my book.

And we must find both of them before the authorities do

if we're to retain the Duchess's support.

I suppose.

Don't you find him impressive?

- His insights into... - To a layman, perhaps.

The deductive reasoning - I'd say he's a professional.

Perhaps, or a hack that got lucky.

Time will tell, Miss Hand, time will tell.

Indeed it would.

But, for now, society buzzed with talk

of a second mystery woman returned to the capital.

Ms Amelia Arkwright.

The Queen of the Jungle and original girl gone wild.

AMERICAN ACCENT: Daughter of a mining heiress and a British ambassador.

Or, should one believe the rumours,

a Flemish privateer, an Afghan prince or the Archbishop of Canterbury.

Born in Shanghai, christened on the banks of the Amazon,

educated in the Congo.

Now, after 16 years in the wilderness,

her parents returned to London

and Amelia's indoctrination into polite society began in earnest.

The young Amelia had seen more than her fair share

of bizarre rituals and occult superstitions,

but nothing that could prepare her for negotiating the silverware

or passing the port at a Kensington Palace dinner.

But nothing gets monkey blood out of a Nepalese bridal gown!

Oh, I'm sorry, your Excellency, would you like a taste?

Of course, back in the Andes we drank it straight from the vulture's skull!

Amelia lasted precisely one season in the wastes of London

before the call of the wild grew too loud to ignore.

HOWLING

And she scurried back to the four corners of the earth

without so much as a backward glance.

SPLASHING, RAINFOREST SOUNDS

Now, another 16 years on, she returns for a second homecoming

recounting exploits and presenting artefacts at the Royal Academy.

And that, gentlemen, is how I came to be engaged

to the high shaman of the eastern plains,

a direct descendant of Ursa Pad -

the bear god of Peru.

"Daddy," I said, "if I wed this man I shall become a deity made flesh,

"the living embodiment of the eternal spirit."

He said, "Yes, Amelia,

"but if you marry an Englishman you may have the service at St Martins

"and your mother can serve her pink lemonade on the lawn."

Such are the great philosophical struggles of our age.

Amelia cast a strange figure at the Academy,

as alien in her own way as any of her keepsakes and curios,

the stuffed shirts and stiff lips hanging on her every word.

And now, gentlemen, for my final act -

my final exhibit, I should say -

I've shown you many titbits and trinkets from my travels,

but nothing thus far in the flesh.

And she gestured then

to a tall wooden shipping crate at the back of the room.

My friends, I'm afraid I just couldn't bring myself

to leave my love behind, and so here he is -

the great Ursa Pad!

Flinging the case open,

there - saints above! - is a Goliath of a man.

A square-jawed Incan chieftain built like a mountain.

Be not afraid! My gentle giant is in a deep, deep trance,

making him placid as the dead.

Amelia takes a bundle of dried herbs...

..singeing them on an oil lamp beside her -

a pungent, acrid stench beginning to fill the little room.

These sacred herbs are the only things to calm him.

Whoo-whoo-whoo!

Sleep well, my love.

And smiles benignly, despite the audience's growing alarm as...

HE COUGHS

..thick black coils of smoke begin to...

HE COUGHS

..coil out from within the packing crate as...

HE COUGHS

Er, um.... Oh, this really is quite a lot of smoke, Miss Hand.

Perhaps you could...

Gentlemen, calm yourselves. All is quite well.

Immolation is the very noblest end for members of the tribe,

and his ancestors await him.

But the hour grows late and I must leave you, too.

So, remember, if you have enjoyed yourselves this evening,

you have, in truth, been listening to the exploits of...

the Lady Electra!

SHE CACKLES

MAN: And with that, she let out a great cackle

and opened wide the crate door -

an inferno blazing within it.

Men would swear they saw her step inside and, smiling,

slam the door behind her, but in a moment she is gone.

A moment later and the fellows are on their feet,

the fire is soon stubbed out, but as they prise open

the warped and blackened crate, they find it...

empty.

No chieftain, no Amelia.

Nothing, save a few singed scraps of cloth.

SCOTTISH ACCENT: Right, I want a perimeter setting up

around this whole block. Men on every corner.

And will somebody please find what she's taken?

Mr Sleight.

I don't believe your presence was requested.

An oversight on your part, Inspector. But I'm prepared to forgive it.

I've got no time for you tonight.

Your men won't find her on the streets, you realise that?

And that's not where they're looking.

The corner of every rooftop, Mr Sleight.

We don't need you to solve THIS mystery.

We found a window ajar right behind that shipping crate

and a set of footprints in the snow heading out over the slate.

We'll have her soon enough.

The only thing you'll have is a bill from the Academy

for property damage.

As your men are currently discovering,

no-one can walk on slates that old without breaking them,

not if they were as light as a bird.

Besides which, the ice crystals show those footprints were planted

hours before the talk. You've been played, Inspector.

How else did she get out, then? There were men downstairs all evening.

- Quite simple. She never left. - What?!

Mere misdirection, Inspector.

I assure you, your culprit is still in the building!

No. She's... There's no way she could have...

Oh, Jesus Christ!

Wentworth, Martin, with me, now!

You're welcome, Inspector. There's really no shame in asking for help.

- ENGLISH ACCENT: Mr Sleight! - Miss Hand!

Whatever are you doing here?

Oh, I... I was passing by, just by chance, in fact, on my way from...

I heard all the commotion and slipped in downstairs.

- Oh. - You?

Yes, yes. Much the same.

Funny that I didn't see you when... Oh, never mind.

- So...care to fill me in? - The long and short of it was this.

No sign of the Lady Electra could be found inside or out,

and the constabulary were still no closer to apprehending her.

One matter, that of the disappearing chieftain, was resolved soon enough.

Of course! It isn't a chieftain after all, but a waxwork in the fire!

It's just like the melting diamond. She's getting bigger, bolder.

- Who knows what she'll do next? - Yes, who knows indeed?

The Yard believe they did,

identifying her next target all too quickly.

The Madonna of the Mount.

A vast oil canvas from none other than the great Leonardo da Vinci.

A masterpiece described in many records of the day,

but never seen, until it was discovered walled up

within a remote chapel near Modena.

Loaned to Queen Victoria as a gesture of diplomatic goodwill,

it was to form the centrepiece of a new exhibition

at the National Gallery.

How she would go about it, the police had no idea.

But they were certain she would try to make it hers.

Despite their best efforts, they knew in their hearts

only one man and one man alone stood between her and her goal.

Gaslight Jackson!

Brooding, enigmatic man crumpet, Gaslight Jackson,

had come to realise something.

- It was all a sham! - No.

Perhaps "sham" was too harsh a word.

But to borrow a term from Sleight and Hand's vocabulary,

it had all been an act of misdirection.

After scouring their catalogue in great detail,

the fellows could find nothing stolen from the Academy,

and further investigations into the whereabouts

of the genuine Miss Arkwright suggested she was still...

Quite happily gallivanting through deepest, darkest Peru.

And so, Jackson began thinking back,

right back to the very beginning and...

the Duchess's diamonds!

Again, there was no physical evidence to suggest

the jewel had ever been rediscovered.

Only the Duchess' strange story of the mysterious merchant sailor

and his cousin, the jeweller, who had identified them.

Had they ever been re-found at all, then? Far easier...

- He supposed. - ..to make something vanish

if it had never truly been there in the first place.

The other acts...

The rabbits at Ascot and the sheep at Parliament!

Nothing had been gained or taken there, despite the opportunity.

Even the card trick at the Midas Club.

Although each man duped was furious not to have won anything,

neither of them left with their wallets any lighter.

So, the Lady Electra is no gentlewoman thief after all.

And then he saw it!

It isn't riches that she seeks, but notoriety.

She wishes to create a legend.

And now the missing Leonardo fitted an altogether different pattern.

Who can actually account for its existence?

No-one had yet seen the painting in the country.

Plenty of gossip, rumour, speculation.

But as for hard proof, any solid record...

- And so a painting appears. - Or is said to.

Not a soul is to be allowed in the room

while the painting is being hung.

In fact, no-one, not even the gallery manager shall see it

until its grand public unveiling.

Jackson could see it now.

The curtain falls...to reveal a bare wall. Or an empty frame.

And amongst the chaos and confusion, no-one would stop to think

that perhaps the picture had never been there at all.

It's audacious, brazen, inspired!

But no match for Gaslight Jackson.

- The stage was set, but this time... - This time...

I will be ready.

All society is present at the gallery.

All bar Sleight and Hand whose invitations must have been misplaced.

COCKNEY ACCENT: D-D-Doris... Didn't know you'd be here.

Oh, Jeremy. They asked if I could give a hand with the teas.

Quite a do.

IRISH ACCENT: Doris! Wonderful to see you.

I trust you are taking good care of our Mr Sleight.

I believe that's my daughter's job nowadays.

Mr Baker, Lady Philomena Hand.

Iphigenia's mother.

AMERICAN ACCENT: Amelia. Charmed.

Sorry about the... Only just arrived this morning.

Our ship capsized out of Dover and we rode up the Thames on porpoises.

POSH: Oh. Miss Arkwright.

Such a pleasure.

We've all heard so much about you.

POSH: Captain Fitzwilliam Montgomery-Hand, my lady.

SHE IMITATES BUGLE

Served with your father in Nagpur.

Oh, marvellous!

COCKNEY: Mind your backs. Side of beef coming through.

Captain, you...

Ichabod Hand, of the Sawbridge Hands.

We saw to your late husband's arrangements.

Yes, of course.

Captain.

All right, kiddies, who wants to see a trick? Gather round!

Excuse me. Captain Hand...

FOREIGN ACCENT: Forgive me, friend. Read palm. Tell fortune.

Yes. Let go of me. Just shoo, shoo.

SCOTTISH ACCENT: Right, is everything set to Mr Jackson's specification?

Just as you requested, Inspector.

- So, everyone here really is... - Aye.

One of ours.

- Scrub up nicely, don't they? - So they did.

For these glamorous great and good were not, in fact,

the chattering classes after all,

but highly trained undercover officers of the law,

officers who, at a given moment, would, in perfect unison,

drop to the floor, leaving only one person standing.

A solitary slender figure in a crimson crinoline.

A decorative fan held up high, obscuring her face.

The Lady Electra, I presume.

If she is surprised by her discovery, she does her best to hide it.

Reaches into her purse to produce a small vial,

which she swiftly sends dashing to the floor.

CRASH

A cloud of billowing smoke fills the room and, in an instance,

she is gone.

The officers, clumped together, give quick pursuit,

and, convinced they see a flash at her at the end of the long hallway,

turn right and give chase.

Jackson, however, knows better, knows they have, in fact,

seen her reflection in the grand ornate mirror at the corridor's end.

So left he goes.

Turning a corner, he spies an open door

leading up to the rooftops, up to the darkening skies and icy slate.

But, no, she's played this hand before.

And besides, she'd never be so careless as to leave a door ajar.

He takes the closed door instead.

SQUEAKING

A small spiralling service station that winds down to the sewers.

A labyrinth down there.

It's a warren.

That's where he'll find her.

And so close now he can taste it.

WOMAN: The door slams shut behind him.

BANG

And Jackson feels all the light sucked from his world,

the putrid reek of the hot, wet air making him gag.

But then he hears it. DRIPPING

A pitter-patter of footprints echoing off the dripping walls.

One breath to get his bearings, and the chase is on.

Little by little, he can feel himself gaining on her,

his eyes gradually adjusting to the murk.

And there, up ahead, a pinprick of light that grows and grows.

A grate, an exit pipe,

a means of escape.

Electra knows she might just make it.

MAN: But can he let her, having come this far?

Her silhouette now right within his sight!

WOMAN: Wait!

- Miss Hand. - Mr Sleight!

No. It can't have been. You?

The Lady Electra?

All this time?

Gaslight Jackson? You! Lantern-jawed and steely-eyed.

- Yes, well... - You knew all along, knew that I...

No, I didn't know. I deduced what Electra was planning, but I didn't...

- I would never have dreamt that... - No?

So I got something past you after all.

- What is this, Edwin? - You wouldn't understand.

Try me. What is your purpose?

Do you hold us women in such contempt that you look to discredit

or ridicule our sex?

Deny? No, no, I never intended...

What, then? Or is it simply just another trick?

Another act of misdirection? Something no-one would suspect?

- Please. - What, then? Why?

- What possible reason... - I might ask you the same!

Hmm? To out-man the menfolk, I suppose?

Emasculate them further? Beat them at their own game?

To be heard!

With all your power, surely that is simple enough.

To be heard, Edwin.

Do you think I wanted this?

Do you think, if I had any hope of speaking in my own voice,

under my own name, I'd humiliate myself in such a way?

But each time I spoke, I was shouted down.

By you, by the Yard, by anyone who wanted to listen.

Please, I am well aware of how ridiculous I must look,

but, no, it is born only out of desperation.

Do not insult me further to think I would stoop to this

if I had any other choice.

I apologise, Miss Hand. I believe we have both misjudged each other.

Explain yourself, Edwin.

You owe me that.

I told you once, though you won't thank me for repeating it,

that a plain woman must work harder than one blessed with beauty.

Imagine, then, the difficulties a plain man must face

should he seek the same end.

Of course, I could never be a beauty in the flesh.

I'm well aware of that, but in legend...

Without once showing my face,

I had the whole city comparing me to Cleopatra!

But, of course, it's far more than that.

Electra was everything that I could never be so effortlessly.

The toast of the town.

The centre of attention.

Whereas the more I clamoured, the more they looked away.

I owe you so much, Miss Hand.

But you only further proved my point.

Only hiding behind a beautiful and brilliant woman

could I enjoy any kind of success.

That isn't true. You are brilliant, Edwin. You don't need to be...

Oh, but I do need it.

It's who I am, or who I should have been.

The grass is always greener, my lady.

Indeed it is, Miss Hand.

Gaslight Jackson.

Iphigenia.

- Jenny. Please. - Jenny.

So, where do we go from here?

I will come quietly, but only if it is you that brings me in.

But which of you am I to arrest?

Besides, if these items never truly existed,

then the Lady Electra, wherever she may be,

has surely committed no crime.

That is quite the quandary.

And the sewers are quite the maze down here.

No way to tell where she might have got to.

True. But... What of the Duchess? The theatre?

I'd say our silence is worth even more than our success,

unless you want the whole world to know how she was taken in.

We will have to tell them something, though.

Of course.

But then, a great magician never reveals ALL their secrets.