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Choice Classic Radio Detectives | Old Time Radio
Sherlock Holmes: The Adventure of the Empty House
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Narrator
Welcome to Choice Classic Radio, where we bring to you the greatest old time radio shows, like us on Facebook, subscribe to us on YouTube and thank you for donating at choice classicradio.com Excuse me, Dr. Watson? Oh, yes, Jesse, what is it? There's a person to see you, sir. In the consulting room? No, here, sir. He didn't give a name that said you'd know him, sir. Oh, did he? Well, ask him what he. No, no, no, never mind. I'll see him. Send him in. Very good, sir. This worry. Come here. Yeah, I know your face. Men have been known to die of shock. And I imagined in those moments I might die to join my poor friend Holmes. I am that Dr. Watson, privileged for so long to share the adventures of Sherlock Holmes. I will tell you about the empty house. By then, after three years, I'd learned to live with the knowledge that Holmes was dead. Excuse me please, for just a moment. It was in the spring of 1894 that the Honorable Ronald Dyer was murdered in London under the most unusual and inexplicable circumstances. I remember thinking more clearly than ever of the loss the community had sustained by the death of Sherlock Holmes three years before. Matter of fact, I was thinking so much about Holmes and the adventures we'd had together that I got quite a shock when I bumped into a man in Oxford street and found it was his brother Michael. Have a care, sir. I beg your pardon, sir. Oh, it's Mr. Mycroft Holmes, isn't it? Of course, you're Dr. Watson. That's right. Good while since we met. Tell me though, have you kept up your own interest in crime since Sherlock's death? Well, in a way, you know. Usually read up the latest case and try to work it out as Holmes might have done. Just my own amusement, you know. Quite great. Now, what do you say about this Adair business? Sherlock would have loved this one. Honorable Ronald Adair, second son of the Earl of Maynooth. You know. That's right. Found shot in his room late last night. The mother and sister were out. Came home, couldn't get a reply. At his door though his light was on. Got it, burst in and found him there, bullet through the head. No weapon in the room, just a few gold and silver coins stacked on a table. And a list of some of the chaps he plays cards with regularly at his club. I say murder then. Little doubt about it. No clues though, by all accounts. The door of his room locked on the inside, no signs of a forced entry. And the rooms on the second floor overlooking Park Lane. No possible way of climbing up or down to it short of putting up scaffolding. What did the police say? Well, well. Ah, but was any of the windows open? Couldn't the shot have been fired from across the street? He was shot with a soft nosed revolver bullet. Oh, that ruled that out then. No man in this world could get someone plumbing ahead with a revolver from the other side of Park Lane. And at night? Precisely. And there are no reports of anyone hearing the shot. Well, it's a run business, Mr. Holmes. You're quite right. Your brother Sherlock would have delighted in it. Ah yes, come to think of it, I'll stroll around by Park Lane on my way home. Living in Kensington. Well do that. Dr. Watson. Number 427. The house is. I passed that way myself a few minutes ago. The usual crowd hanging about telling one another how it was done, you know. But between you and me, I don't think they're getting very near the mark. Tell you he did himself in. Chuck the gun out of the window if he fell to the floor. Don't say nothing here about no pistol found in Park Lane. I say his Mrs. Done it. It's always them Mrs. Has done it. Shot him through the keel. Oh, Blamy. I keep telling you he hadn't got no misses. He lived with his sister and his mom. Right Governor? Yes. There you are. What you bringing in a minute for? To ask for your opinion. Eh? Yeah. Opinion? I wasn't stating any opinion. And you, sir. Now look here, my good man, let me pass. Here. Look what you're doing. Those are valuable books you've knocked out of my head. Oh, confound it. I'll pick your blessed books up for you then. Yeah. And now good day to the lot. I wonder what song was last night. Having something? Excuse me, Dr. Watson. Oh yes, Jesse, what is it? There's a. A person to see you, sir. In the consulting room. No. Yes, sir. He didn't give a name that said you'd know him, sir. Oh, did he? Well, ask him what he. No, no, no, never mind. Ask him. Send him in. Very good, sir. This worry? No, sir. Yeah, I know your face. You should do. You knocked all my valuable books out of my hands in partly. Oh, well, that was an accident then. I picked them up for you. What are you doing here? You're surprised to see me, sir? Yes, I am. Well, I have a conscience, sir. And when I chanced to see you go into this house, as I came hobbling after you, I thought to myself I'd just step in and see that kind gentleman and tell him that if I was a bit gruff in my manner, there was not any harm meant. And that I'm much obliged to him for picking up my books. Well, there's no need at all. Still says civil of you. Ah, good day. Oh, don't mention it, sir. My little bookshop's just round the corner from you. A corner of church Seat, you know. I see. And maybe you collect yourself, sir. No, no, no. Oh, pity, pity. Now here's British Birds. Oh, lovely book. Wag in price then. Works of Catullus, the Holy War. A bargain, every one of them. What about it? Well, I. With five volumes you could just fill the gap on that second shelf behind you there. It looks untidy, does it not, sir? Where? Behind you, sir. Oh, yes, yes, I see, yes. Well, Benson, how much you wish to. Holmes. My dear Watson. Dear me. He looked as though he'd seen a ghost. Well, I suppose he had. Just another sip, my dear fellow. Brandy and water seems to work for all your patients. So it should work for you. Holmes. I. I can't believe it. Oh, my dear Watson, I owe you a thousand apologies. No, no, no, no, no. It was inexcusable of me to drop my disguise as dramatically as that. I had no idea that you'd be so affected. I should have prepared you. But Holmes, you're. You're alive. I don't understand. You went over the Reichenbach Falls. You and Moriarty. Moriarty went over the falls. I remained alive. That was three years ago. Three long years, Watson. But you see, as I stood on the brink trying to get my breath back, it came to me in a flash what I must do. I knew that Moriarty wasn't the only man who sworn to have my life. There were at least three others. One of them would almost certainly get me off my guard someday. But if the world was convinced that I was dead, they would drop their guard and sooner or later I could destroy them. I see. My brother Mycroft was my only confidant from then on. Oh, but surely you would. Oh, I owe you another apology, Watson. But you understand I had to stay hidden, as it were, until my would be assassins were accounted for. And are they all but one? And he knows I didn't die with Moriarty, so there's no point in pretending further. You mean he's recognized you since then? That's it. Well, Holmes, it's a remarkable business. It's remarkable. And this is about the happiest day of my life. Thank you, Watson. Tell me, where have you been all this time? Oh, I haven't been idle. I was unable to come back to London, where I'm too well known. But I traveled for two years in Tibet, looked in at Mecca and paid an interesting visit to the Carlyford cartoon. Then I returned to France. There I learned that there was only one of my enemies left in London. I came over here at once. Found that Mycroft had had 221B Baker street kept just as I had left it. Mrs. Hudson had hysterics when she saw me, by the way, and I was going to look you up quickly as possible. Won't this Park Lane business intervene? The Adele murder? But what's that got to do with you? What's it got to do with you, Watson? You were conspicuously prominent in that little crowd opposite the house this morning. Well, silly truth, I often like to try to puzzle these cases for myself. Wonder what you'd have done about them. Don't you brought back the good old days to me. Well, the good old days are back now. I came here to ask for your cooperation. Again. Oh, like a short Holmes. But I warn you, we have dangerous work ahead of us tonight. All the better. What is it about? We need a bite of dinner here this evening. By your leave, of course. Oh, don't worry about that. Then we must take a cab to somewhere about Cavendish Square. Yes, we'll go from there on foot. There are plenty of small lanes and news. I'm not ready to be generally recognized yet, since this disguise, which I think house is Princeton. Now, where we be walking to? To Baker Street. 2 to 1B almost, but not quite. The house opposite. Opposite? Camden House. You meet. That's it. Well, Holmes, I don't know what you have in mind, but Camden House has been empty for ages. I was passed there again only the other day. Exactly. What are we going to do now, Holmes? If I'm not mistaken, we shall be meeting someone. Who? A Colonel Moran. Mean anything to you? Moran? Moran Health Insurance doesn't have to break the bank. 80% of Oregonians received financial assistance through the Oregon Health Insurance Marketplace last year. And you might qualify, too. At oregonhealthcare.gov you can explore quality health plans from trusted insurers and find one that fits your budget and your needs. We're here to get you covered. Visit oregonhealthcare.gov to get started. Not so astute after all. Got a who's who? Yes, yes, here we are. Last year's edition. Will it do? Capital. Ah, then let's see. K L L M M Sebastian, listen to Ms. Watson. Moran, Sebastian. Colonel, unemployed. Formerly first Bangalore pioneers. Born London, 1840. Son of Sir Augustus Moran, CB. Once British Minister to Persia. Educated Eton and Oxford. Served in Jawacki Campaign, Afghan Campaign. Mentioned in dispatches Shapur and Kabul. Never met up with him. In your service, Watson? No, I don't think. Well it goes on. Author of Heavy Game of The Western Himalayas, 1881. Three Months in the Jungle, 1884. Read that address. Cunted street clubs, Anglo Indian, Tankerville, Bagatelle Card cub. Pretty impressive. Yes, there's plenty it doesn't say though that is that he's the most dangerous man in London. So he's moved up the scale in recent years. While Moriarty was alive, Moran was only the second most dangerous. He was Moriarty's chief of Staff. Oh, see. Oh, the man did honorably enough in his day. But whatever the cause, Colonel Moran began to go wrong. Without any public scandal. He made India too hot to hold him. He retired to London and Moriarty pretty soon sought him out. Moriarty kept him liberally supplied with money and used him only in one or two very high class jobs beyond the scope of the ordinary criminal. So, well, how's all this fit in with tonight? You see, let it be sufficient to say that Colonel Moran is the one man remaining who'd like to assassinate the moment he gets his opportunity. For my part, I've been waiting these three years for an opportunity of laying him by the heel. But what could I do? I couldn't shoot him on sight. Couldn't you put it in the hands of the police? Useless. Not a shred of evidence against him. No, Watson, I knew there was nothing I could do. Until what? Well, until tonight if you like. Looking at an empty house. Looking from an empty house, Watson, in the direction of our former humble abode. And now I'm thankful to say, mine again. 221B Baker Street. Oh, I don't think much of this place looks better from outside. Carefully neglected out here, but all the better for our purpose. Shall we we have a light, Holmes? No, no, better not. Don't want to attract the attention of the first constable who comes along. Besides, our friend the Colonel might not like it. But Holmes. Sorry. Meeting him here like this place, I mean. Say you, you say he'd stick at nothing. Only say when I meet him. Somewhere in the open, don't you think? Oh, forgive me if I've misled you. We have no appointment to meet the Colonel here. In fact he meant he didn't come, but I rather fancy he Will. And for heaven's sake, would you mind telling me what we're doing in this musty home? Can't it command so excellent a view of that Picturesque pile number 221B? Now might I trouble you, my dear Watson, to draw a little closer to this filthy window? Careful, Watson. Sure. It's hard for anyone to see us through this. Now rub a little patch clear where no one will notice. And then tell me whether my years have happened have taken away my fire to surprise you. Great heavens. Holmes? Yes, Spotson your silhouette up there in the window of 221B. Ah, you recognize Lydia. Oh, it's marvelously done. If you weren't here with me I'd swear that was you sitting up there against the light. Age cannot wither me, nor customs fail my infinite variety. Then. No, no, I must say it really is hollow like me, isn't it? I swear it was you. The credit belongs to Monsieur Oscar Mounier of Grenoble. It's a bust in West. It took him several days to mold it. I arranged the rest during my visit to 221B this morning. And now perhaps you'll tell me what it's for. Simple. I have the strongest possible reason for wishing certain people to think I'm idling indoors when I'm really elsewhere. Who? Colonel Moran and others. Members of that charming society whose former leader lies at the foot of the Russian Dark Falls. They would know from Moran that I was still alive sooner or later. They believed I must come back to my room. They watched continuously and this morning they saw me arrive. How do you know? I recognize their sentinel. He's a harmless enough fellow. Parker by name, but I knew he would pass the word on quickly enough to his leader. But weren't you in disguise when you arrived? Oh yes. But Parker knew Watson. I could tell he knew me. But home, this silhouette, it's very fine indeed. But surely if I need to keep their eyes on it for long enough, see that it never moves. Have you been keeping your eyes on it, Watson? Well yes, yes, yes I have. Then pray do so for a little longer. Holmes, I really don't see the point. Great heaven. Yes, it moved just then. Of course it moved. Watson, am I such a farcical bungler that I should erect an obvious dummy and expect some of the sharpest men in Europe to be taken in by. Listen. Quick Watson, he's coming. Quickly and quietly away from the window and into this corner. This is the Lucia. Come on now what? Important. Yes, you'll come. Quiet now. Good work. Mr. Holmes. That you leave? Yes sir, we got your message at the Yard and I ought to be good on this case myself. It's a great pleasure to see you back in London, Mr. Holmes. Thank you. Lestrade. I thought you needed a little help here. Three unsolved murders in one year won't do you. No, no Mr. Holmes. Oh you didn't do so badly with the moles industry. I grant you you handled it with less than your usual. That's to say you handled it fairly well. You never think. Ah, here's our friend in talkative mood. Well Colonel, journeys end in lovers meeting. As the old play says, view cunning. Cunning thief. But I'm surprised that my very simple stratagem could deceive so old a shikari. It must be very familiar to you. Have you never tethered a young goat under a tree, lain above it with your rifle and waited for the bait to bring the tiger to you? Well Colonel, this empty house is my tree and you are my tree. You see the parallel is exact. You, Inspector, or whatever you are, you may or may not have cause for arresting me, but at least there's no reason why I should be exposed to the giants of this, this person and in the hands of the law let things be done in a reasonable way. Well that's fair enough I suppose. Mr. Holmes, is there anything more you want to say before we take him along? Only to ask what charge you intend to prefer. What charge, sir? For the attempted murder of Mr. Sherlock Holmes of course. Not so. Not so, Lestrade. I don't prefer Sophia in the matter. No, no, le to you and to you alone must go the credit for this remarkable arrest. I congratulate you. With your usual happy mixture of cunning and audacity. You've got him. Got him? Got who? Why the man your whole force has been looking for. The man who shot the Honorable Ronald Adair through the open window of the second floor front of number 427 Park Lane. Colonel Sebastian Moran. Great. Get what comes with answer. Prove it. I'm sorry Colonel, but I must attain you for questioning. Constable. Sir. Right this way, sir. Take your hands off me, sir. And now, my dear Watson, I dare say you're burning to visit our old home again. And as soon as possible bring the Colonel's rifle with you. And if you can endure the draught from a broken window, I think half an hour in my study over a cigar may afford you some profitable heat. Oh, never mind a bit of broken glass. Mrs. Hudson, I'm pleased to see you're undamaged yourself. Oh I did just as you told me, Mr. Holmes. Dr. Watson can't make out how the dummy managed to move about every now and then. Perhaps you'd tell him. Yes. Come on Mrs. Hudson, what did Mr. Holmes put you up to? Oh there was nothing to it. I went to it and my knees suggested Mr. Holmes told me kept well out of sight and shifted the figure about Tibet. That will it. Here's the bullet Mr. Holmes. I picked it up off the carpet. Thank you. Must have flattened itself against the wall. Well Mrs. Hudson, thank you for your valiant assistance. It was a pleasure sir. Oh gentlemen, it is nice to have you both back here again. Thank you. Thank you. So now you know Watson. Hold on a minute. Let's see that bullet. Here you are. Yes, flattened out, soft nose. But it's a revolver bullet Holmes. Quite right. But it was an airgun he used. Where'd he put him? Guilty. Oh yes, it's an airgun. But you've never seen one like it before. I wait all I've known of its existence for years. I met the man who made it, a German named Von Herder. He was blind by the way. Hard to believe isn't it? It was an airgun. The fire of vulva bullets. Tremendously powerful, virtually silent. Put a thing like that into the hands of a man who can shoot like Moran and you see the result. Two murders with two bullets. Or it would have been if this wax dummy had been our humor. The idea one as well. Yes, a soft nosed revolver bullet the papers said. No reports of a shot being heard. No possibility of anyone having shot so accurately from so far away with a revolver. As soon as I heard the news I knew my chance had come. All these years I waited for Moran to do something that could furnish proof for the police and put him out of the way for good. This was it then? This business this evening was exactly. But for my return he'd no doubt be out of the country by now, lying low with that precious weapon well hidden away as it was. He decided to tarry long enough to deal with me while he was alive. Well I see it now. Capital accepted. Oh dear. Well I don't understand the connection with the honorable Rupert Adair. Ronald Adair. Oh Ronald Adair of course is. Yes. Why did Moran kill him? Idea. What? You read up the reports of the case after you got home this afternoon, didn't you? Certainly I did. Well then the card party. Card party? There you go again. What card party? When the late Ronald Adair returned home last night he'd been to a card party, had he not? Near his body were found several piles of gold coins and a list of names with amounts written against them. Yes. You recall those names? Well sir, somebody or something? No. A general I think. A Colonel Watson, Sir John Hardy, a Mr. Murray and a Colonel Moran. By Jove there's room for improvement in you Watson. Yes sir. Dare had been playing cards with Moran and those others when he was shot. He was working out his winnings, all his losses. Then what? Ah, here we enter the realms of conjecture. Moran has always been a notable cheater of a card. Perhaps Adair caught Moran cheating and threatened to expose him. Such a scandal would mean Moran's exclusion from the clubs and the ruin of many of his schemes, not to mention his ill gotten income. Yes, I think that'll do. Will you accept it? I know that you're as right as you always were. It'll be verified or disproved of the trial. And once again Mr. Sherlock Holmes is free to devote his life to examining those interesting little problems which the complexity of human life so plentifully.