Helen Stoner (Liane Aukin) leads a lonely existence in the rambling home she shares with her remote, forbidding father Dr. Grimesby Roylott (Felix Felton). Over the last few years, she’s felt even lonelier – ever since her beloved sister Julia (Marian Diamond) died in very mysterious circumstances.

Julia had been engaged to be married and was due to shortly leave them – but tragedy struck before this could happen. And her last whispered words to her sister (“the speckled band”) have stayed with Helen ever since.

Shortly before her death, Julia was convinced that something would happen to her (she claimed to hear strange whistles in the dead of night, which she found very unsettling). Now, two years later, Helen is engaged herself and it seems that the same pattern is happening all over again. In desperation, she consults the one man who can help her – Sherlock Holmes.

One of the most famous of all the Sherlock Holmes stories, The Speckled Band was originally published in 1892. Given its enduring appeal, and the fact it’s an intriguing “locked room” mystery, it was an obvious story to kick off the series. Although when it first aired, in 1964 as part of the Detective series, it wasn’t a certainty that a series would be commissioned. But this was clearly successful enough to ensure that another twelve stories followed in 1965.

The first twelve minutes take place in and around Dr Roylott’s house at Stoke Moran. Although this means we have a little wait before we get to see Wilmer, this scene-setting works well, since it establishes the claustrophobic location (which is certainly dark and forbidding) as well as Holmes’ client Helen and her father, the tyrannical Dr Grimesby Roylott.

When we do see Holmes for the first time, it’s a very low-key appearance. Helen has already clearly outlined the facts of the case to Holmes and our first glimpse of Wilmer is just a back view. Watson (Nigel Stock) then enters the room, greets Helen as Holmes steps out the frame and tells the Doctor that Helen “has brought a strange and tragic tale to our breakfast table.”

Holmes then offers Julia some coffee, but his face remains unseen until Julia tells Watson that she trembles not through cold, but fear. The camera then switches to a close-up of Wilmer as he assures the woman that “you must not fear. We shall soon set matters to rights, I have no doubt.” It’s an unshowy, but impressive introduction.

If Nigel Stock sometimes ventures into Nigel Bruce territory (he can lack the subtlety that later Watsons, such as David Burke and Edward Hardwicke brought to the role) it’s also clear that even this early on, Wilmer is pretty much perfect. He displays many of Holmes’ key attributes during Julia’s consultation him (being both charming and aloof).

Liane Aukin is very appealing as Helen and Felix Felton invests Dr Roylott with just the right touch of mania. It’s pleasing to see that one of the signature moments of the story – Dr Roylott warns Sherlock Holmes off by pending a poker, which Holmes then straightens – is present, correct and done well (although the poker does seem to bend rather easily!)

Any Sherlock Holmes adaptation tends to stand and fall on the interaction between Holmes and Watson. The Granada Watsons (especially Hardwicke) expressed their dismay at how the character had sometimes been portrayed in the past (as a buffoon, basically). It seemed to them quite clear that Holmes wouldn’t spend his time with an idiot.

There’s a touch of the idiot with Stock’s portrayal – as Watson, musing on the case, tells Holmes that “if the lady’s correct and the window was shuttered and the door was locked, then no-one could have entered the room.” Holmes’ response (delivered so well by Wilmer) of “marvellous, Watson” is clearly ironic, but we’ll also see plenty of good humour between the pair as we proceed through the series.

A sinister, atmospheric story, The Speckled Band serves as a fine introduction to both Wilmer and Stock’s interpretations of Holmes and Watson.

Holmes is distracted from the pursuit of a daring young criminal called John Clay (David Andrews) by the arrival of Jabez Wilson (Toke Townley) who has a most curious tale to tell.

Wilson makes a decent, if not particularly profitable living, as a pawnbroker.  But then his young assistant Vincent Spaulding draws his attention to the following newspaper advertisement.

On account of the bequest of the late Ezekiah Hopkins, of Lebanon, Pennsylvania, U.S.A., there is now another vacancy open which entitles a member of the League to a salary of four pounds a week for purely nominal services. All red-headed men who are sound in body and mind and above the age of twenty-one years are eligible. Apply in person on Monday, at eleven o’clock, to Duncan Ross, at the offices of the League, 7 Pope’s Court, Fleet Street.

Wilson and Spaulding duly apply and Ross (Trevor Martin), most impressed with Wilson’s fiery red hair, offers him the position on the spot.  His duties are quite straightforward – each day he has to copy out pages from the Encyclopedia Britannica.  But he has to remain within the offices of the League the whole time (if he leaves for any reason, then he forfeits his position).  Spaulding tells him that he’d be happy to run the shop whilst Wilson is working at the League, so all seems well.

For a while, everything is ticks along nicely.  But then, without warning, Wilson arrives one day to find that the office is shut and nobody else in the building has ever heard of the Red-Headed League.  Was it all just an elaborate practical joke or is there a more sinister purpose at play?

The Red-Headed League (originally published in 1892) is one of my favourite Sherlock Holmes stories, although I do find this adaption to be a little flat.  This is partially because it’s a tale that works better on the printed page than on the screen, but there are other problems.  The story rests on the notion that Jabez Wilson has such a head of fiery red hair that Duncan Ross, once he sees him, instantly sends all the other applicants away.  It’s difficult to show this in black and white though!

The major difference between Anthony Read’s teleplay and Conan Doyle’s original is that in Read’s version we know about John Clay from the start, whereas in the Doyle original we open with Wilson’s strange story and it’s only much later that Holmes realises that Clay is involved.  I’m not sure whether Read’s embellishment is an improvement or not, but it helps to bulk out the running time somewhat.

Toke Townley (best known as Sam Pearson from Emmerdale Farm) doesn’t look much like Doyle’s description of Wilson (he described him as a stout, florid-faced elderly gentleman) but he has decent comic timing and is quite a sympathetic character.  Although Carla Challoner (as Wilson’s maid) only has a small role, she’s rather striking and coincidentally one of her other 1965 television appearances (as Zenna Peters in the Out of the Unknown episode Thirteen to Centaurus) has also recently released by the BFI and is well worth a look.

The other notable guest turn comes from David Andrews as Vincent Spaulding/John Clay. He had an interesting career, and had begun to make the change from an actor to a director at around this time. Along with Trevor Martin, Andrews discusses this and numerous other matters on a chatty commentary track moderated by Toby Hadoke.

This is a wholly studio-bound production which is competently handled by Peter Duguid, although the opening scene does have some quick cuts which maybe don’t quite work as well as they should.  Whilst this episode has a certain charm, for me the later Granada version with Jeremy Brett edges it.

Holmes and Watson are summoned to the Abbey Grange by Inspector Hopkins (John Barcroft) to investigate the murder of Sir Eustace Brackenstall.  His wife, Lady Brackenstall (Nyree Dawn Porter), was also attacked, but only received superficial injuries.

Holmes is irritated to have been called out as the solution seems obvious.  The district has been plagued by the Randall gang (a father and two sons) who have committed several burglaries in the neighbourhood.  After listening to Lady Brackenstall’s story, there seems no doubt that the Randall gang were responsible for this outrage as well.

But on the way back to London, Holmes isn’t happy.  It’s only a small point which worries him (concerning three wine glasses) but it’s enough to make him return to the scene of the crime and look again at the evidence.

The Abbey Grange was originally published in 1904 (it was one of the stories published directly after Holmes’ remarkable return from the Reichenbach Falls).  Sadly, this is one of two episodes which are incomplete in the archives.  Each story was made up of two 25 minute reels – and in the case of The Abbey Grange the first reel is missing (for The Bruce Partington–Plans, the second reel has been lost).

The DVD has filled in the missing section in a novel way – with a reading by Douglas Wilmer.  Since the adaptation made a few changes to the original story, the text has also been slightly adjusted – but it’s basically the same as Conan-Doyle’s original.  This reading runs for around twenty minutes and works pretty well – although it might have been better to have reduced the text to a summary of around half the time.  But kudos to the BFI and Douglas Wilmer for making it happen, it’s certainly a nice bonus feature.

When we get to the existing section, it’s a chance to observe Holmes at his analytical best – puzzling over the three wine glasses and the severed end of the bell-rope.  His observations are enough to reveal the identity of the true murderer (which is something the police never discover).  As with several stories in the canon, Holmes elects to take the law into his own hands, calling on Watson to act as the jury.  Watson finds the man not guilty – so he’s allowed to go free.

The gorgeous Nyree Dawn Porter is effectively winsome as Lady Brackenstall, a woman who now finds herself freed from the clutches of a cruel and abusive husband.  Peter Jesson has the small (but important) part of Captain Croker, whilst Peggy Thorpe-Bates (later to be a formidable “She” opposite Leo McKern’s Rumpole) is Lady Brackenstall’s faithful maid.

With a large portion of the story missing, it’s difficult to assess how effective it is overall – but what we do have is impressive, and it works particularly well as a showcase for Wilmer’s Holmes.

Inspector Lestrade (Peter Madden) pays a visit to Baker Street and recounts a strange tale to Holmes and Watson.  Someone in London seems to have such a hatred of the late Emperor Napoleon that they’ve taken to smashing miniature busts of him.  What’s even odder is that they’ve resorted to burglary to do so.

Dr Barnicot (James Bree) is a collector of Napoleonic memorabilia, and he’s disturbed to find both his office and house have been burgled and in each case a bust of Napoleon has been smashed to smithereens.  When another burglary takes place, at the home of a journalist called Horace Harker (Donald Hewitt), Harker not only finds his statue smashed, but a dead body as well …..

Like The Abbey Grange, The Six Napoleons was one of the stories published after Holmes’ return from his tussle with Moriarty at the Reichenbach Falls (later collected in the volume entitled The Return of Sherlock Holmes).

The farcical side of the story is emphasied in Giles Cooper’s adaptation.  Bree’s Dr Barnicot is a character who’s certainly played for laughs – he’s depicted as a highly eccentric devotee of Napoleon who advances three theories (all of them bizarre) to Holmes, Watson and Lestrade in order to explain who could have committed such an outrage.

Wilmer, Stock and Madden have little to do in Bree’s scene – but Wilmer especially is a joy to watch as he rolls his eyes at Barnicot’s wild flights of fancy and beats a hasty retreat as soon as he politely can.  When Barnicot is alone again, he takes out a Napoleonic hat and, after putting his arm inside his jacket, strikes a suitably heroic pose by the mirror.  You get the feeling that he does this a great deal!  James Bree was certainly an idiosyncratic actor, capable of performances of depth and subtlety (series one of Secret Army) as well as turns which verged on the bizarre and unwatchable (the Doctor Who story, The War Games).  He’s quite odd here, but since he plays it as scripted and only has a small cameo appearance, it’s quite acceptable.  Had he appeared throughout, it might have been quite wearying though.

The opening of the next scene is nice – Watson is striking a Napoleonic pose back at Baker Street, to the amusement of Holmes and Lestrade.  It’s only a little throwaway moment, possibly worked out in rehearsal, but it does help to reinforce the bond of friendship between them.  Since Wilmer’s Holmes tends to be quite serious, the odd lighter moment is welcome.

The Six Napoleons sees the first appearance of Peter Madden as Lestrade.  Characteristically, Wilmer’s Holmes doesn’t pretend to be particularly pleased to see him at the start of the story – he offers him a chair with the air of a man who’d be equally happy if he left straightaway.  But as soon as he piques Holmes’ interest, the Great Detective is clearly much more kindly disposed to him!

It’s a studio-bound production, but director Gareth Davies does manage to make the most of the limited space and he offers the viewer a few good flourishes.  My favourite is the scene set immediately after the burglary at Harker’s house.  The camera tracks past a number of statues, as well as a policeman standing so immobile that he could be mistaken for a statue.  Which is almost what Watson does, as we see him walk down the line, identifying each statue to Holmes – before giving a double-take as he reaches the policeman.

Elsewhere, the limitations of the studio environment are more apparent.  There’s a brief scene set in the garden outside Harker’s house, which shows the sky to be a rather wrinkled backdrop.  Moving clouds are projected on it – had the backdrop not been so tatty it would have been quite effective.

The comic turns contunue throughout the story.  Later, Holmes finds himself caught in the middle of Josiah Brown and his wife (Arthur Hewlett and Betty Romaine) who are a rather voluble couple.  Wilmer’s pained expession is priceless.

Indeed, this is a story where the solution of the mystery is somewhat secondary to the performances.  Giles Cooper’s adaptation is good fun and certainly allows the cast plenty of scope to produce some ripe turns.

Holmes’ brother Mycroft (Derek Francis) is a man of regular habits. Nothing (except the gravest crisis) would make him deviate from his normal schedule.  So when he turns up at Baker Street, with Inspector Lestrade in tow, Holmes knows it’s serious.

But his brother’s arrival is just what Holmes needs, as prior to this he had bitterly complained to Watson about how dull the London criminal had become. Now, Mycroft offers him an intriguing case of the most pressing urgency.

A clerk from the Royal Woolwich Arsenal, Arthur Cadogan West, has been found dead on the Underground tracks near Aldgate tube station. On his body were several documents relating to the top secret Bruce-Partington submarine. Several more vital documents about the submarine are missing and Mycroft urges Holmes to use all of his powers to track them down.  It seems obvious that Cadogan West stole the plans and had intended to sell them to the highest bidder. But as we’ve seen in previous stories, the truth is sometimes not quite so straightforward ….

The Bruce-Partington Plans was originally published in 1908.  It featured the second and final appearance of Mycroft Holmes. He first turned up in The Greek Interpreter, which was adapted for the second series of Sherlock Holmes (starring Peter Cushing).  Sadly, that episode is missing.

We’re slightly more lucky with this one, as the first half of the story exists (and there’s an audio copy of the second half).  For this DVD, the audio for the missing half has been nicely cleaned up and is synchronised to a reproduction of the script (with images of the cast in the background).

This works pretty well, although since the soundtrack is so clear it probably wasn’t necessary to have the script on-screen at the same time as the audio.  Instead, a decent reconstruction could have been made with images taken from the first half, along with on-screen descriptions for any visual sequences.  But while the script is sometimes distracting (mainly because it often varies from the actual dialogue spoken) it still clearly allows the viewer to understand how the story concludes.  It’s also interesting that the soundtrack for the existing half of the story doesn’t seem to be in the greatest shape – at various points the odd word is inaudible.

But although the ravages of time have rather compromised this story, what remains is very decent fare.  Derek Francis is a rather good Mycroft and though this story doesn’t have the same sort of one-upmanship that The Greek Interpreter did, there’s still some nice moments between the brothers (mainly visual ones).  For example, when Holmes offers Mycroft a seat, Mycroft promptly takes Holmes’ own – much to Holmes’ annoyance (and Watson’s amusement!).  Later we see Mycoft very freely use Holmes’ tobacco – and again there’s a slight flicker of annoyance from Sherlock.

An effective piece of model-work (a rather nice train!) and a smoky studio set help to bring the railway section of the story alive in the first half of the story and, as ever, The Bruce-Partington Plans boasts the usual quality cast (even in the smaller roles).

John Woodnutt (a highly familiar face during four decades or more of British film and television) is the station-master, whilst Gordon Gostelow (again, another very well-known actor) plays Sydney Johnson, Cadogan West’s superior.  Allan Cutherbertson, whose lengthy career included a visit to Fawlty Towers as well as a stint acting as Tommy Cooper’s straight-man, was no stranger to dramatic parts – and he’s well-cast as Colonel Valentine Walter.  It’s a pity that his more intense scenes come at the end of the story, when we don’t have the visuals.

As we’ve previously seen, Wilmer’s Holmes can be incredibly rude and off-hand at times.  His dismissal of Lestrade early in the story is a case in point and Stock’s Watson covers well for him – Holmes is clearly a man for whom social niceties count for very little.  But although he can be chilling at times, he’s also able to extend a degree of courtesy – witness his interview with Cadogan West’s fiance Violet Westbury (Sandra Payne).  Violet was convinced that her late fiance was innocent and though Holmes couldn’t hide his irritation when he realised she had little useful to tell him, he was still able to reassure her that he would do everything he could to restore Cadogan West’s honour.

Few actors have ever quite managed to capture all the nuances of Holmes’ character quite as well as Douglas Wilmer did – and he’s a major reason why this series should continue to be enjoyed by anybody who loves the original Sherlock Holmes stories.

Lady Eva Brackwell (Penelope Horner) has become the latest victim of master blackmailer Charles Augustus Milverton.  Milverton has acquired a bundle of rather indiscreet letters that she wrote to a young army captain.  If they fall into the hands of her intended husband,is the preferavle version.the Earl of Dovercourt, then there’s little doubt that their forthcoming marriage would be in serious jeopardy.

Holmes agrees to act for Lady Eva, but when Milverton holds all the cards, what can he possibly do?

Charles Augustus Milverton was originally published in 1904.  It’s a rather interesting story, mainly because Holmes doesn’t provide any resolution to the tale – a third party does – and therefore he needn’t have appeared at all.  Plot-wise, it strongly resembles A Scandal in Bohemia (both revolve around an incriminating item, which Holmes decides to retrieve via burglary).

Barry Jones’ Milverton isn’t demonstratively villainous.  Since he knows that his position is unassailable, he’s able to project a relaxed persona (although there’s little doubt of the evil that lurks beneath).  Holmes is well aware just how formidable a foe he is, as he tells Lady Eva.  “You have fallen into the hands of a very dangerous man. Charles Augustus Milverton is far from commonplace. In fact, one may safely call him the king of blackmailers. There are hundreds in this great city who turn white at his name.”

Holmes quickly discovers that Milverton can’t be threatened or intimidated and he won’t negotiate.  His price is seven thousand guinees – no more, no less.  When Holmes tells him that surely it’s better to accept a smaller amount than to expose Lady Eva for no personal gain, Milverton replies that it would suit his purposes very well.  If it become known that he had ruined Lady Eva, then his other victims would be all the more anxious to settle.  Penelope Horner’s Lady Eva is the nominal central figure, but it’s Lady Farningham (Stephanie Bidmead) who brings the story to its conclusion.  She had previously suffered at Milverton’s hands and we see her return to exact a measure of revenge.

If the main plot is quite linear, there’s a great deal of incidental business (mostly centered around Holmes and Watson) which make this one very enjoyable.  Nigel Stock is on fine form from the start – he’s disgusted with Milverton’s treatment of Lady Eva (indignantly calling him “a blackguard”) and later picks up a chair to attack him!

When Holmes decides that the only course of action is to burgle Milverton’s house, Watson insists on coming with him – despite Holmes’ protests.  Eventually Holmes agrees and tells him that “we have shared the same rooms for a number of years, my dear fellow. I suppose it might be amusing if we ended up by sharing the same cell.”

Wilmer has some lovely comic business when he’s disguised as a plumber who’s been courting Milverton’s maid (he later tells a shocked Watson that he’s become engaged to the girl) .  The pair enjoy a kiss and it’s obvious how discomforted Holmes is.  He gingerly places his hands on the girl and then shortly afterwards attempts to break free of her tight embrace.  Once they’ve finished, his first thought is to check that his false moustache is still in place!

The Granada adaptation was extended to two hours (and was broadcast under the name of The Master Blackmailer).  It kept the same basic plot as the original short story,  but the two hour running length ensured that a great deal of additional material had to be added.  This means that the Wilmer adaptation does bear more direct resemblance to Conan-Doyle’s original and so, for me, is the preferable one.