Vincent Price (9:55)

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes the original and immortal stories of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, dramatized anew with Sir Ralph Richardson as Dr. Watson and Sir John Gielgud in the role of Sherlock Holmes. To Sherlock Holmes, she was always the woman. The woman Watson, the most elegant, the most enchanting of her sex. Born in New Jersey in the year 1858. Prima donna, la Scala, Imperial Opera of Warsaw. Retired from the operatic stage to live in London. The woman Watson, Irene adler. I remain Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Yours very truly, Irene Adler. It was in 1888 that we encountered her. Seven years had gone by since my own first meeting With Sherlock Holmes, perhaps in my humble way I'd even enhanced his fame a little. Then I'd married and returned to medical practice in Paddington. But one March evening, returning from a visit to a patient, my way led me through Baker street and so towards the well remembered door of number 221B. Who is it? Ah, Watson, what a splendid piece of luck. I'm delighted, really. You're the very man I most wanted to see. You're very kind. Sit down my dear fellow, sit down. The old chair. Oh, you can't think how lost I've been lately without my Boswell. Oh, thank you, thank you. By the way, you didn't tell me you intended to go back into practice. But how'd you know I had? You know my methods, Watson. If a gentleman walks into my room smelling of iodoform and with a bulge in his top hat to show where he secreted his stethoscope, I'd surely be very dull indeed if I didn't know he was an active member of the medical professional. I poor myself, Holmes. It's the old story. It's as clear as daylight when you explain it. And yet I'd say my eyes were nearly as good as yours for observation, you know. Oh, you think so, do you? Then pray make use of them now Watson, and tell me what you see in this letter that has just come by special messenger. Read it. They will call upon Mr. Sherlock Holmes tonight, a gentleman who desires to consult him. His recent services to one of the royal houses of Europe. Oh. Have shown that Mr. Holmes may safely be trusted with matters of the utmost discretion. He is not to take it amiss if his visitor wears a mask. Aha. Well, well, just sir. Watson. Intriguing, is it not? What on earth do you imagine it can mean, Holmes? Well, I have no data yet and it's a fundamental mistake to theorize before one has some data. But the note paper man, what do you deduce from that? Oh, well, it's very thick, tinted pink. Couldn't be bought from half a crown a pecket I'd say. So the writer must be fairly well to do. It's rather a. Rather a peculiar paper. That's the very word, Watson. It isn't English paper at all, you see. Hold it up to the light and look at the watermark. Large E, small G, large P, large G with a small key which stands quite simply for gesellschaft. German for company. The P is for papier of course, and the eg for egria. A glance at the open continental Gazetteer on The table there will show you Watson. That. Huh. It's the only city in a German speaking country where the main factories are paper mills. You've marked it Holmes. Wonderful. Not so far from Carlsbad and in Bohemia. Quite so, Watson. And since our distinguished visitor. But here he comes, if I'm not mistaken. In a broom and pear by the sound of it. And a pair of beauties at that I'd guess. Look, there you see? 150 guineas a piece those horses, or I'm no judge. There's money in this case if there's nothing else, Watson. And here I break my narrative for a moment to describe our singular visitor of that far off evening. Six feet in height with the chest and limbs of a Hercules. A deep blue cloak lined with flame colored silk. An opulent and barbaric apparition indeed in our drab old England. And across his face a black vizard mask. You had my note, Herr Holmes. I did indeed, sir. Pray take a seat and tell me whom I have the honor of addressing. You may refer to me as the Count von Kramm, a Bohemian nobleman, sir. And this gentleman? Oh, this is my colleague, Dr. Watson, upon whose honor and discretion you may completely rely. Most certainly. I'm not in the habit of discussing my private affairs before a stranger, however discreet. Well in that case I. No, sit still Watson. You must confide in both of us or neither. Your Majesty. What? Why should you think. Watson? Pray take his Majesty's mask. It is a needless inconvenience. Yeah, yeah, you are right. I am the king. Why should I attempt to conceal it from your sharp eyes? Why indeed? Your Majesty had hardly spoken a word before I was aware that I was addressing Wilhelm Gottsreich von Almstein, Grand Duke of Castlefalstein and hereditary King of Bohemia. I have come incognito from Prague for the purpose of consulting you. Then pray consult your majesty. The doctor and I are all attention. The facts are these then. Gentlemen, when I was in Warsaw five years ago, I made the acquaintance of a lady whose name may be familiar to you. The adventurous Irene Adler. Adventurous, your majesty? I know of the celebrated prima donna, of course. And adventurous gentlemen. I use the word deliberately. I see. I take it then that your Majesty became somewhat indiscreetly involved with this young person? I did, I will not deny it. I was young. I was only the crown prince then. And there were some compromising letters, no doubt, which your Majesty wishes me to recover. Precisely. But how did you know? Because I know something of the world, your Majesty. Even Sitting in this humble room of mine in Baker Street. There was no secret marriage or anything of that sort? None, Herr Holmes. Well, I failed to follow you, sir. If the lady should produce her letters for blackmail or any other purpose, how would she be able to prove their authenticity, do you think? I did not ask her so here, Holmes, when I begged for their return, I asked her that very question. How was she to prove their authenticity? But you're writing, Wilhelm. It's so distinctive, I could swear it had been fortunate. Your private notepaper, Wilhelm. Stole your seal, Wilhelm. Imitate your photograph, Wilhelm. I will swear it all, Irene. And you are without the case again. You forget, Wilhelm. You surely forget, my dear friend. What do I forget? That we are both in the photograph together, hand in hand. Love. Love, Wilhelm. And a little too much champagne, perhaps. Just a little. That magic, magic Nile. Irene, you wouldn't dare to expose me. No, Wilhelm. But I may consider myself to have been deeply wronged. You can have half my fortune. You promised it to me before I. I beg of you, Irene. I am to be mad. So I've heard, your Majesty. To the second daughter of the King of Scandinavia. A most politic match. She will be enchanted, no doubt, when I send her the photograph. Irene, you cannot. On the day that your betrothal is proclaimed, my dear, that very day. Oh, Wilhelm, Wilhelm. Poor, compromised Wilhelm. Can't I tell you that she will do it here, Holmes? If only you knew her, you would never doubt it for a moment. She always keeps her word. There are no lengths she would not go to. Rather than that I should marry another woman. So it appears you've made some attempts yourself, sir, no doubt to recover the photograph Fife. And none successful. And when will your betrothal be made public, your Majesty? On Monday next. Oh, then we still have three whole days, Watson. It's really quite a pretty little problem in its own way. You must place yourself entirely at my disposal, Herr Holmes. That my marriage should take place is of political consequence to all Europe. I should be most happy to save all Europe as soon as I've dealt with one or two other small matters that are already engaging my attention at the moment. Your Majesty. Dr. Watson will show you out. But do you promise me success? Your manner is somewhat casual, I may say. If you leave me in address, I shall drop you a line. You will find me at the Langham under the name von Kramp. Thank you. And as to money, you have carte blanche for immediate expenses. This bag contains 300 pounds in gold and 700 notes. Oh, will you take Charge of this, Watson? Just one more question. Your Majesty, the photograph you speak of was cabinet sized. It was. And you will surely require Ms. Adler's address as well? Well, it might be as well to have it. Yes, it is. Briony lodge, Serpentine Avenue, St. John's Wood. Here. Gutenacht. Here. Holmes. Und sie auch Dr. Ratzen. Good night, you, Majesty. So began then our problem of averting the threatened scandal in Bohemia. I called on Holmes next evening and found him in the disguise of a drunken looking horse groom. Pass me my makeup tray, would you, Watson, and I'll tell you the whole thing while I remove the semblance of the inebriated Bert Stevens. Then back to Sherlock Holmes? Well, no, into someone else, I fancy. Yes, an amiable nonconformist clergyman. I think that should serve admirably. Really, Holmes, Rather simple minded perhaps. White haired and short sighted. Now look here, I have the whole outfit ready, you see. Baggy trousers, broad black hat, extensions on the waistcoat. I suppose you want me to serve as your curate. Even more simple minded. No, no. Nears yourself, Watson. Oh, forgive me, my dear fellow, I didn't mean. Well quite so. Now, while you're making up, tell me the tale of your adventures, Holmes. Very well. It happened like this, Watson. There was I, Sherlock Holmes got up as a horse coper, sitting in the pub opposite, watching Briony Lodge. Of course I stood the local cabbie to a beer and soon got all the information I wanted about Miss Adler. About Miss. She's the daintiest thing under a bonnet. It appears she's turned the head of every man in the neighborhood. Pass me the cold cream, would you, Watson? Does she have a great many male visitors? Only one. That's the very crux of the whole matter. One moment, I must just whiten my eyebrows. This visitor of Ms. Adler's, Watson, a certain Mr. Godfrey Norton of the Inner Temple. Very dark and dashing. So my friend the cabby told me. When you were the Osler. Exactly. And while I was watching, our dashing gentleman friend rushes up to the house in a tearing hurry, stops there for half an hour and then rushes out again shouting for a cab. Drive like the devil. Kevvie Gross and hankies and jewelers in Regent Street. Then The Church of St. Monica in Edgewell Road. Half a sovereign if you do it in 20 minutes. And a moment later out of Briony Lodge dashes someone else. Watson. What? Miss Adler. You saw her? Yes. At last. And it's true. What a lovely. Though I only caught a glimpse of it through her veil. And she called a cab too. The Church of St. Monica in the Edgeware Road and half a sovereign if you reach it in 20 minutes. On which of course Mr. Sherlock Holmes called a cab in spite of his own somewhat disreputable appearance and reached the church at precisely five minutes to 12. Inside was a surpliced clergyman with Ms. Adler and Mr. Norton. Norton, seeing me rush down the aisle, took my arm and cried. Quick, quick my man, you do. Three minutes to 12 and the license expires. Then we need a witness to a marriage man. A witness to a marriage, Watson, my humble self. All done in an instant. Tying up Irene Adler, spinster, to Godfrey Norton, bachelor. Go ahead. And a sovereign as a tip from the bride, which I shall wear on my watch chain forever. Well, this certainly is an unexpected a development home. Indeed it is, my dear fellow. What's more unexpected, they parted at the door of the church and I heard her say that she'd drive as usual in the park from 5 till 7. So all is well. Our schemes can go ahead now. Black overcoat, yes, badly rolled umbrella. Oh, and hand me that little parcel. Would you mind, Watson? Thank you. Now we are quite ready for our little visit to one of my most charming parishioners at Briony Lodge. Good, good. Here we are, Watson, almost there. Now let me give you your final instructions. I'm all eagerness. You don't mind breaking the law of course? Not in the least. It'll hardly be the first time in your company. Very well then. Now whatever happens, simply do exactly what I tell you. Do I ever do anything else? You'll find rather a busy scene when we reach the house. I've already made arrangements. Some little unpleasantness perhaps. A fight among some drunken guardsmen for instance. I take it there'll be confederates of yours? Certainly. The street will be full of my confederates. I think I've engaged almost every out of work actor in London. Oh, the place will be thronged, Holmes. What am I to do? Just take this parcel, Watson, quickly. Put it in your pocket. What on earth is it, Holmes? A kind of bomb. A kind of bomb? Don't drop it yet, Watson. It's just an ordinary plumber's smoke rocket fitted with a cap to make it self lighting when it's thrown. And what do I do with this remarkable device? Why you throw it, Watson. You'll station yourself in the shelter of a laurel bush which you'll find growing immediately outside the sitting room window. And when I'm inside the house. But how do you manage to get in. Just wait and you'll see. Ah, here we are. The house itself and everyone ready in their position. I've never seen more admirably stage managed effect. Let's observe the group of guardsmen particularly Watson, stationed just at the spot where Ms. Ab. Mrs. Norton's carriage will arrive. Those soldiers look spectacularly drunk. But of course they do. They're my star performers. Now there's the bush you have to hide behind. You see it? The definite areola. Paul was so well informed, Watson. Precisely. The windows open as you see, and you'll be able to hear me say, all I want is a glass of water, please. Which is my cue, I take it? Precisely. Then you throw the rocket through the window into the room and start to shout fire. The place will fill with smoke, there will be complete confusion. I shall reappear to join you and then we shall return to Baker street, wiser than we came. Wiser? What do you mean? Ms. Adler would have shown me where the photograph is hidden. I can't believe it. Aha, but here she comes. Watson, look. That's her cab. Now get undercover man, quickly, while I begin to play my part. Good luck, Reverend. You sir. Lie awkwardly, Williams. Gentlemen, gentlemen, I pray you to restrain your souls. I beg you to stand back, gentlemen. Let the lady alight from her carriage. Step aside there. How dare you create a disturbance before my house. Gentlemen, gentlemen. Step outside. I say. Let me pass. You shut your face, will you shout. Reverend, you get home. Oh, my head. My, my head. Poor old fellow. Is that my lady? Well, what's wrong? Oh, it's the old minister, is it? My lady? We can't leave him a lion ear. Bring him into my sitting room then. Poor old fellow, when he was only trying to help me. Here, here you give us. Will you be careful now, through this way. Watch the step, my man. Oh, thank you. How very kind. Thank you, thank you. I. I'm better now. Please, please don't let me be any trouble. Just lie quietly for a moment. Sir, it was most good of you to come to my assistance. The wretches ran off when you fell. You're very kind indeed, ma'am. All I want is a glass of water, please. Certainly. I'll have it fetched for you at once. Thank you. Fire. Fire. Fire. Well, Watson. Good old Watson. Well, I'm delighted, Holmes. Your team played their parts to perfection. Well, so did you, my dear fellow. I knew I could rely on you. Ah, so you got the photograph? Of course not, Watson. What was it then? What in heaven's name was it all about? I wanted to find out where it was hidden. My dear fellow. And did you? Of course. I told you, Ms. Adler showed me. Showed you or come home? My dear Watson, when a woman thinks that our house is on fire, she rushes for the one thing she values most. A married woman grabs her baby, an unmarried one. Her jewel box in Ms. Adler's case. Ah, of course. Exactly. The photograph is hidden in a recess behind a sliding panel close to the right hand bell pull. I even caught a glimpse of it before she realized that the fire was a false alarm and thrust it back again. And what will you do now? Send a telegram to his Majesty and have some dinner. Tomorrow morning we shall visit Briony Lodge again. His Majesty will come with us. About 8:00 before the lady is yet up. We shall be shown into the sitting room to await her. And when she comes down she will find neither ourselves nor her photograph. No doubt it will delight the King to get it back with his own hands. Wonderful. A Holmes. It's a masterpiece. Well, here we are, home again. Or at least you are. I've still to get back to Paddington. Oh, you would insist on getting married, Watson. But come in won't you while I take my disguise off and stay for a bite of dinner. Good night, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. What? Did you hear that Watson? What was? A young man there going down the street. Yes, yes, but I thought I recognized the voice. Something about its tone, you know. Oh no, just a passing acquaintance. I dare say I am delighted here Holmes, quite delighted. I take back my suspicions about your lack of interest. Your Majesty is very kind. I presume all we have to do now is to search the hidden panel while they go to fetch her. Simplicity itself. I'll ring the bell and you tell me she's really married till, Holmes? To the English lawyer named Norton. But here's her housekeeper. Well gentlemen, good morning. May we see Miss Irene Adler please? You are Monsieur Sherlock Holmes, I presume? I am. How did you know that, pray? My mistress told me to expect you. She left with her husband by the 5:15 from Charing Cross to the continent. She's left England for good, monsieur. Her. Holmes, the photograph. Quickly. Through this way, monsieur. Great heavens, Watson, she can't be gone. Looks like it. Ah, look, there's the panel you mentioned, open and empty. No, no Doctor, look, there's something still there. Oh, the photograph itself. What? No, no, it's a different photograph, your Majesty. Different? Yes, look sir, a photograph of Ms. Adler alone, without your hand in hers. Von Goddess venn what does it mean here, Holmes? Why, she's actually fooled me. Me, Sherlock Holmes. Oh, there's a letter to Watson with my name on it, dated midnight. Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes, you really did it very well. I had been warned against you and told that if the King employed an agent, it would certainly be you. Even after I had shown you what you wanted to know, I still found it hard to think evil of such a dear and kind old clergyman. But I have been trained as an actress myself, you know. Male costume is nothing new to me. I slipped it on as quickly as I could while the bomb still smoked, and followed you and your friend to Baker street, and so made sure I really was an object of interest to the great Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I even imprudently wished you good night. Of course, that boy who passed us in the street. My husband and I both thought that flight was best when faced with so formidable an antagonist. Aha. Thank you. As to the photograph, your client may rest in peace. I love a man better than he ever was and suddenly decided this very morning to agree to his proposal of marriage. Did you know that too, I wonder? Mr. Holmes, I only kept the wretched photograph to safeguard myself. But I give your client my assurance that I will never use it. I leave instead another photograph of myself, alone, for him to keep as a memento. And I remain, dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes, very truly yours, Irene Norton. May Adeline. What a woman. What a woman. She would have made such a queen, if she had only been on my level. Yes, from what I've seen, she's indeed on a very different level from you, your Majesty. You failed, Holmes. What? For once you've failed. No, Herr Doctor, she will not break her word. She will never trouble me again. I am safe. I am relieved to hear your majesty say so. Pray tell me in what way I can reward you. Sir, this emerald ring. Oh, thank you. But your Majesty has something that I should value even more highly. What then? That photograph, sir hired us certainly her. Holmes, I'm very much obliged to your Majesty. I have the honor to wish you a very good morning. Well. And that was how a great scandal threatened the kingdom of Bohemia, and how the clever plans of Mr. Sherlock Holmes were beaten by a woman's wit. But sometimes he glances at that first photograph upon his table, and then he speaks of her, always with such affectionate admiration. The woman, Watson. The woman. The adventures of Sherlock Holmes, based on the original stories of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle have been dramatized anew with original music composed by Sidney Torch. Sir Ralph Richardson played The part of Dr. Watson and Sir John Gielgud, that of Sherlock Holmes. The program was produced by Harry Allen Towers. This episode from the Life of Sherlock Holmes will be transmitted to our men and women overseas by shortwave and through the worldwide facilities of the Armed Forces Radio Service. Petri Wine brings you Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce in the new adventures of Sherlock Holmes. The Petri family, the family that took time to bring you good wine, invites you to listen to Dr. Watson tell us about another exciting adventure he shared with his old friend, that master detective, Sherlock Holmes. Say, and I've got a little something to tell you myself. I want to tell you that if you haven't sent in for your free recipe calendar, I think we've still got enough on hand to take care of you if you hurry. The requests have been pouring in like mad, Literally, by the thousand. No wonder. It's really a terrific offer. It's a calendar for 1945 and 46. It's in full color and it tells you all you have to know about cooking with Petri wine. Write to Petri Wine P E T R I Petri wine, San Francisco, 26, California. San Francisco, 26, California. But better hurry so we can get your recipe calendar to you immediately. And now let's drop in on our good friend, Dr. Watson. Good evening, Doctor. Good evening, Mr. Foreman. Where are the puppies tonight? Well, I. I found them playing with a dead seagull, so they've been sent up to bed in disgrace. Well, you certainly look comfortable yourself, Doctor. What's that small blue book you're reading? The latest bestseller. No, no, no. Indeed not. This book was never a bestseller, my boy. It's entitled Practical Handbook of Bee Culture with Some Observations on the Segregation of the Queen. Quite a catchy title. Who's the author? Fellow by the name of Sherlock Holmes. He was engaged in writing it when the adventure I'm going to tell you about took place. Well, you told us last week, Doctor, that a pair of canaries played an important part in the story. That's quite right, Mr. Foreman. It was in the summer of 1908, I remember, and I persuaded Holmes to leave his Sussex bee farm for a few weeks and to join me in a holiday. The little fishing village of Kingsgate, Kent. We were staying at a charming little inn called the Fisherman's Arms. And for the first few days, our holiday was delightful one. And then. And then, I suppose, Doctor, strange things began to happen. They did indeed, Mr. Foreman. They did indeed. Very strange thing. One afternoon, we just finished a late Tea, I remember, and were sitting outside on the lawn sunning ourselves and enjoying our pipe. Holmes lay back with his long thin fingers cast behind his head, gazing thoughtfully at the multicolored fishing boat bobbing at anchor in the harbor. After a moment or two he spoke to me, your splendid companion. I can't think of anyone else who would let me smoke my pipe in silence for half an hour without asking me what I'm thinking about. That's not very surprising, Holmes, after all the years that we've been together. Nevertheless, the gift is a rare one, old chap, and I appreciate it. Oh, thank you. By the way, since the half hour's up, what have you been thinking about? Lack of enterprise, of a modern criminal. Audacity and romance seem to have passed forever from the criminal world. Read this note I received this morning. Old fellow. See for yourself how low I have sunk. Mr. Holmes, I am staying in the same inn as yourself and as I have had a very frightening experience, I thought perhaps you would help me. Please do. It's signed Mary Victor. An exciting document, isn't it? Written on lavender note paper, reeking of perfume, and the handwriting is obviously that of an adolescent girl. You haven't bothered to answer the course. Oh, yes, I have. I sent a message back by our good landlord that I would be glad to see her. Why, Holmes, you came down here to complete your handbook on bee farming. Oh, confound it. Those two wretched canaries are getting their sunbath on the windowsill above us. I think it's rather jolly to hear those fellows chirping away up there. I find the sound most distracting. Let's go inside. You know, Holmes, those birds are owned by a charming couple, Mr. And Mrs. Wainwright. I was chatting with them on the stairs this morning. I'm afraid their charm will escape me as long as their pets continue to tweet in that irritating manner. We've spoken of the peace and quiet of the country inn, Watson, and yet I find that. Come in. Ah, Miss Mary Victor, I presume. Yes, Mr. Holmes. Please come in. Close the door, won't you? Thank you. This is my good friend Dr. Watson. You may speak quite freely in front of him. How do you do, Ms. Victor? How do you do, Doctor? Now sit down, young lady, and tell me what's troubling you. Mr. Holmes, I came down here from London to get away from someone, but I've been followed. I've been afraid to leave the inn until last night I felt I couldn't stand being cooped up any longer, so I Went for a walk in the seashore. Someone followed me, Mr. Holmes. I ran back here as fast as I could but now he knows where I live and I'm frightened. Please help me. My dear Miss Victor, I'm afraid you must be much more specific before I can help you. Who has followed you down here and why are you afraid of him? I'll tell you the whole story. It'll sound strange to you but I swear it. There is again down by the gate. I'm going to my room. No, don't you be fighting Ms. Victor. I'm sure we'll be. I don't see anyone outside who might frightened her. There are two or three fishermen loitering about. Wait a minute, here's a young fellow walking up the path. Come on Watson, out through the French windows again. Gracious me, here we go again. I think we'll take the liberty of accosting it. Excuse me sir. Yes? Are you looking for Miss Mary Victor? Is she young and pretty? Yes sir, she is extremely so and I'm looking for her. Where can I find her? I can see you're being facetious, sir. Well there's no harm in that, is there? By the way, who are you gentlemen, may I ask? My name is Holmes and this is my friend Dr. Watson. I'm Basil Carter. You're not Sherlock Holmes, are you? That is my name. I thought you seemed familiar. I know your brother, Mycroft. Indeed. Then I presume you're connected to the Foreign Office? Yes, I'm in the consular service. Are you staying at the inn, young man? For a few days. It's funny that I should run into the great Sherlock Holmes, I may I ask? I was planning a murder. Oh really? But with you gentlemen here I see that I shall have to be very discreet. Who is your intended victim, may I inquire? There are two of them. The two canaries in the room next to mine. Oh, canaries. For a moment I thought that you were really serious. But I am serious. The wretched creatures have been driving me mad. I quite sympathize with you, sir. I've been thinking of committing a slight case of mayhem on the myself. We can take one apiece, Mr. Holmes. Well, I'm glad to have met you both. I'll probably see you again. Goodbye. Goodbye sir. Goodbye. I don't like that fellow Holmes. If you ask me he's the man who's been frightened. The poor girl that came with us, he had peculiar look on his face when you asked me he was looking for Mary Victor. There's Only one person who can settle the question, and that's the young lady herself. Come on, old fellow, let's go back and do it. Here comes Wainwright, the owner of canaries. Good evening, Mr. Wainwright. Good evening, gentlemen. This is my friend, Sherlock Holmes. I am honored to meet you, sir. How do you do, Mr. Wainwright? Beautiful evening, isn't it? I just took a stroll down to the store to get some more birdseed. By the way, Mr. Holmes, I hope our canaries don't bother. You little fellows are such comfort to my wife and me. Oh, no, the doors up. I find their chirruping very soothing. Why, I'm so glad. Good night, gentlemen. Good night, sir. Good night, Mr. Wilson. Not Wilson, Mr. Holmes, Wainwright. Oh, I take your partner. I'm so sorry, I thought you said Wilson. Good night. Not like you to mix up names, Holmes. I didn't mix them up, old fellow. I never Forget a face. Mr. Wainwright is in reality Wilson, a notorious canary trainer who might have the pleasure of sending to prison for a seven year stretch of 95. Some years later, he made one of the most spectacular escapes from prison in the history of crime, and has since managed to evade all efforts to recapture him. Scott. He seems the sweet old one. Possibly he's reformed, but I doubt it. Our stage is set for an intriguing problem, old chap, and our cast is an interesting one. A frightened young girl, a diplomat of uncertain integrity, and a noted criminal. Watson, I have a feeling that once again the game's afoot. Holmes, why are we strolling along the pier instead of staying at the inn? I thought you said that you were expecting trouble. I am, old chap, and I'm sure it will find us out. You know, Holmes, I'm still completely mystified by the behavior of that girl, Mary Victor. I knocked at her door last evening, again this morning. I couldn't get any answer. And the landlord told me that she was not seen at dinner last night nor at breakfast this morning, and yet her room had not been vacated. Curious. Hello. There's the village constable sunning himself at the end of the pier. Good morning, Sergeant Blake. Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson. How are you, gentlemen? Yes, thank you, Sergeant. And very appreciative of the weather that you've provided for us. Think nothing of it, sir. We always arrange that for our really distinguished visitors. By the way, Mr. Holmes, I was reading one of your friend's stories about you last night. The one called the Adventure of Mysteria Lodge. That was Wisteria Lodge, you, you foolish fellow. Maybe it was. Anyway, I was reading it aloud to me old woman. And if you don't mind my day in, sir, Mr. Holmes, we both thought you made a bad mistake. Though of course you come out all right in the end. Dear me, Sergeant, I stand reproved. Excuse me, Sergeant. Holmes. Holmes, look. With that figure standing by itself right at the end of the pier, our friend Wilson, the canary trainer. He's got a revolver here. We don't want any of these goings on in Kingsley here. You. What are you doing leaving that revolver about? Keep back the three of you. Son in law here. Don't tell me what to do, Beck. I say I'm not afraid to fire. Don't do as he says, Sergeant. You don't want to trifle with. Just exactly what are you up to, Wilson? You've caught up with me once again, Sherlock Holmes. But this time you're not going to send me back to a prison again. And maybe the gallows. If I can't escape you then I'll take my own way out with this revolver. Wilson, what in thunder are you talking about? A murder. At the inn last night. I. I did it. Murder? I'm confessing in front of the three of you. Oh you leave my wife alone. She didn't know anything about it. Now I Hope you're satisfied, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. He's pointing the revolver as he fools. Stop it. Strike me pink he done it. Over the pier and into the sea. Get help Sergeant. It's possible he isn't dead. Roger. Come on Watson. Going back to the inn I suppose? Of course we are just heard a murder confession. But we don't know who has been murdered. Holmes. Holmes. What was the telegram that you, you sent off just now? A message to my brother Mycroft, the innkeeper informed me that Basil Carter, the young diplomat, moves miss yesterday in rather hurriedly in the early hours of this morning. Come on, let's go upstairs. Well, we'll have to break the news to Mrs. Wainwright I suppose. Before we do that I think we'll see if Miss Victor's in her room. Which one is it? Here, top of stairs. Take the liberty of looking in. Ms. Victor has been seen since last night? Uhuh. Unlocked. Lord, what a mess. Those two are all over the place. Open suitcases look as if the young lady had been planning an immediate departure. Where can't you be? I wasn't seen her since last night. Oh. Oh I beg your pardon gentlemen. I thought I heard Mary Victor come in. I'm Mrs. Wainwright. Mrs. Wainwright, I'm afraid we have some rather bad news for you. Your Husband shot himself a quarter of an hour ago at the end of a pier and his body fell into the sea. Is he dead? We must presume so, madam. I left the police sergeant there searching for him. Sergeant Blake should be back here any moment now. Very bitter after all. You don't seem surprised, madam. He threatened to do it. Mrs. Wainwright, before your husband shot himself, he confessed to committing a murder in this inn last night. A murder? Whose murder? The moment we're not quite. Quite sure. Oh, he must have been out of his mind. Mrs. Wainwright, I'm afraid I must ask you some rather painful questions. Are you aware that your husband was a criminal? That he served a prison sentence under the name of Wilson? Yes, I knew that. He told me when we were married two years ago. But he said that he'd gone straight ever since he'd come out of prison. That's why he changed his name. He was trying to make a fresh start. You know of no reason for his planning to kill anyone at this inn? None. And unless you find someone murdered, I wouldn't give too much thought to. Yes. If you'll forgive my saying so, madam, you seem remarkably unmoved by your husband's tragedy. Why should I pretend? We were very unhappy together. This might be the best way out of it for both of us. My husband carried quite a large amount of life insurance in the event of suicide. Would that be payable? And on a policy, madam. Then I must say that from your attitude, I begin to doubt that your husband is dead. What do you mean? I mean that if Mr. Wilson, or if you prefer it, Mr. Wainwright, wished to disappear in spectacular style, what could be simpler than to pretend to shoot himself, drop into the sea? I'm up here, Sergeant. Ah. Did you find him? Yes, Mr. Ams. He fished him out right away. Dead is a door name. Shot himself to the ed, he did. Well, that disposes of your last theory, Holmes. Did you find the revolver, Sergeant? This man got it right here with me. One bullet missing. Have you found out if anyone here has been murdered, Mr. O? I found out very little as yet. Wait a moment. Listen. I don't hear anything. Exactly. You hear nothing yet. We're within a few feet of the Wainwright's room. What do you mean, Mr. Elmer? I mean that there is one sound we should be hearing very clearly at the moment. Why did I think of it before? The sound of your canaries chirruping. You've heard little else for days. Come on, Watson. Where are you going? Your room, madam. I'm afraid I must dispense with asking your permission. You're already in my room. It seems a little late even to mention the subject. Here's the bird cage in the windowsill. The holy birds are gone. No old chap, if you look more closely you'll see them on the bottom of the cage. Let me open this door and get one of them out. Go. Holmes, they're dead. And yet when we entered the inn a few minutes ago they were still chiroping. But who on earth would want to kill a couple of birds? That, my dear fellow, is one of the things we have to find out so far. I must admit I'm puzzled. We have a self confessed murderer and the nearest thing we can find to a corpse is a pair of dead Canari. We'll bring you the rest of Dr. Watson's story in just a second. A second? I'll take, if you don't mind, to ask you if you've ever had a glass of Petri California sherry. Because if you haven't, boy, you want to remedy that situation pronto. Try that Petri sherry before dinner some evening. Look at its clear amber color, smell the fragrance of those luscious grapes and get a sample of that Petri flavor. That Petri sherry can turn the usual before dinner lull into a main event. And say if you like your sherry dry as I do, wait till you taste Petri Pale dry sherry, is that ever good. But after all, when it's a Petri wine it's always a good one. And now back to tonight's new Sherlock Holmes Advent. Strange events are taking place in the Kentish fishing village of Kingsgate. A self confessed murderer has committed suicide, but his victim cannot be found. As we rejoin our story, the great detective and his old friend Dr. Watson are once again examining the room of Mary Victor, one of the missing guests. You know, Holmes, the murder that Wilson confessed to before he committed suicide might be in the killing of those two canaries. I think not, old chap. Wilson obviously loved the creatures get them in spite of the fact that they were dangerously up to identify him with his criminal past. Uhuh. Interesting. Very interesting. Huh. What have you found? This note lying on Miss Victor's dressing table. Here. You think you can hide from me Mary, but you can't. Wherever I go I shall follow you. So why not get wise to yourself and stop running away? Sounds as if the poor girl was in danger all right. Possibly. But the writer of that note was certainly obliging. Though the letter is unsigned, he at least gives us a clue to his identity. Oh, what clue? The phrase get wise to yourself is very un English. It's American. Come on, old chap. Where are we going now? The envelope to this letter has the Kingsgate postmark on it. I should be surprised if that count of all knowledge the village post mistress can't help us find an American visitor. Yes, I know the young man. You must be looking for a gentleman. His name's Walter C. Bunker. He's been in here to send telegrams and his accents are strong. You could cut a tooth, a knife. Just like one of the very Indian fellows you read about. Can you tell me where he lives, madam? Very ken, sir. He's been rumoured at Mrs. Bell's house. 15 La Burnham Grove, down behind the guest room. 15 Laburnum Grove. Mrs. Bell. Thank you. Thank you very much, very Much obliged you, Mrs. Bell? Yes, sir. What can I do for the gentleman? Well, we understand that Mr. Walter Bunker has been staying with you, madam. There he is. A nice young American gentleman. Is he at home, may I ask? No, sir, nothing worried about him. This morning when he goes out, he asks me what nearest cemetery is. Cemetery, I tell him. And then he gives a queer kind of laugh. I'm not sure I'll see you anymore, he says. And then he walks off and I haven't seen him since. I tell you, I'm worried about him, gentlemen. And where is the nearest cemetery, Mrs. Bell? The one you directed him to? About three miles from here, just beside a Branson Woods. Thank you, madam. Come on, Watson. Cemetery seems deserted. It really comes from the church. Lord, it's a funeral or a wedding. Come on. By Jove, it is a wedding. Home. Afraid we're on the false trail, but we'd better make sure. Quiet, gentlemen, please. The ceremony is just ending. Just one question. Can you tell me the names of the company? Just been married, Miss Mary Think from the inn and a young American by the name of Punka. Thank you. As we have been following a false trail confounded. The frightened young lady was merely frightened by her persistent American fiance. Threatening lift of the dissenter. Ambiguously worded when you come to think of it. Anyway, we can cease to worry about Ms. Victor. She is now, Mrs. Bunker. I think we can assume that she's out all danger. We got to start all over again. Oh, no, no, my dear fellow. The field is narrowing. We'll head back to the inn now. And I have a feeling that we're on the last lap of our strange advent. Yes, here's another suspect eliminated. This tip, Gran, is from my brother. Mycroft I telegraphed him earlier on today to check on the movements of Basil Carter, the young man who left the inn so mysteriously in the early hours of this morning. His answer informs me that the gentleman in question was recalled to the Foreign Office suddenly and arrived quite safely a few hours ago. Well now I'm completely puzzled. And I, old fellow, at last sea daylight. Wish I did, mister. Go upstairs and get dead man's widow and bring her to my room, please. Then I think I can give you the solution to this problem. What do you put me, Mr. Holmes. Madam, you and Sergeant Blake make yourself comfortable. Now in the first place, the murder occurred this morning and not last night. I know what you're hinting at. The canaries, I admit I killed them, but you can't do anything to me for that. Why did you kill those birds? I hated them as much as my husband loved them. And when I knew he was dead, their scene drove me mad. So I killed them. They must have been already dead when we told you of your husband's suicide, Watson. But the lady was fully aware that her husband was dead when we informed her of the fact. You see, she murdered him. You're talking rubbish. Yes, Mr. Holmes. How could she have murdered him? We saw him shoot himself before our eyes. Because when Wilson raised that revolver to his head, he was convinced that it contained blank cartridges. Unfortunately for him, his wife had deliberately replaced the blanks with live cartridges. Great heavens, why? How? Let me reconstruct the case for you. Wilson, with the conniving of his wife here, had contrived a disappearance plot. He knew that I had spotted his real identity and so he planned this rather dramatic exit, confessed to a non existent murder. And then? Well had his plan materialized. He was to shoot himself with a bank, all from the pier. An apparent suicide. What a fantastic demon. How did he plan to get away? Well, he would have swum under the water, safe distance and so made his escape. Oh, his plan couldn't work. Possible? Probably not, probably not. But at least it was ingenious. He would have destroyed his true identity and have had his revenge on me by making the search for a murder that had never been committed. Unfortunately for him, his wife was his accomplice and saw in the scheme an excellent way of killing her husband. You think yourself Very clever, Mr. Holmes, but if it were true, how could you prove it? Observe this revolver, Mrs. Wilson. It's the one your husband shot himself with. What can you prove from that? Ever hear of fingerprint tests? I've heard of them, but that revolver's Been under water. True. Quite true. But thanks to the research of my excellent friend, Dr. John Thorndyke, an infallible test has been discovered for recording fingerprints even after immersion in seawater. I applied the test to the prints on the revolver and the bullets and compared them with some that we found on the water glass in your room. They are the same, Mrs. Wilson. Now, does a man let his wife load his suicide weapon? Sergeant Blake, I think it's obvious that the time has come for you to take over the case. All right, all right. So I did change the billets. I hated him. I'm glad he's dead. What's more, I. Do it again, Mr. Oh, Sergeant Blake. Now that I've taken Mrs. Woodson to the station, booked her on a murder charge, I wonder if you'd mind answering a question. This fingerprint. I'd like to know about that. I've. I never heard of being able to take prints after a revolver has been handled two or three times and soaked in salt water. And I'd like to know when you perform the test. Took the prince off the glass in her room. I thought that I was with you all the time. You were, my dear fellow. Well, then I can give you the answer in one word. Bluff. What? There is no such test. My dear Watson. It would be almost impossible to expect clear prints after so much handling. And totally impossible after submersion. Fortunately for us, though, Mrs. Wilson was double enough to believe me and give me a confession. And there's no such person as Dr. John Fonda. Oh, yes. Yes, indeed. There is a great success in the case of the Red Tar. You didn't tell me about that case. No, no, I didn't. It was deliberate. OJ with your taste for writing sensational stories, I was afraid you might publish the affair. Would it have mattered? It I heard. Oh, yes, it would. Huh? You would have given away, what shall I say? Professional secrets. You'd have provided the public, and in particular the criminal public, with a complete education on fingerprints. And when that happens, my dear Watson, we shall have no tricks left. That will be a sad day for detectives. Tonight's Sherlock Holmes adventure is written by Dennis Green and Anthony Boucher and is based on an incident in the Sir Arthur Conan Doyle story, the Adventure of wisteria lot. Mr. Rathbone appears to the courtesy of Metro Goldwyn mayor and Mr. Bruce the courtesy of Universal Pictures, where they are now starring in the Sherlock Holmes series. The Petri Wine Company of San Francisco, California, invites you to tune in again next week, same time, same station. This is Bill Foreman saying goodnight for the Petri family. Sherlock Holmes comes to you from our Hollywood studios. This is the Mutual Broadcasting System. This episode from the Life of Sherlock Holmes will be transmitted to our men and women overseas by shortwave and through the worldwide facilities of the Armed Forces Radio Service. Petri wine brings you Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce in the new adventures of Sherlock Holmes. The Petri family, the family that took time to bring you good wine, invite you to listen to Dr. Watson tell us another exciting adventure he shared with his old friend, that master detective, Sherlock Holmes. And if you don't mind, I'd like to suggest something that you might share with your friends. And that something is a glass of sherry before dinner, Naturally. A glass of Petri California sherry. I say Petri sherry because it's the perfect before dinner wine. You couldn't think of a better way to begin a meal. That Petri sherry has a beautiful inviting color like. Like dark amber. And for flavor, well, you've heard sherry described many times as having a rich nut like flavor. But if you want to learn for the first time what those words rich and nut like really means, you just taste Petri sherry. It's wonderful. Serve Petri sherry by itself or serve it with hors d'oeuvres or those little cocktail sandwiches. And incidentally, if you prefer sherry dry, you know, not sweet, just ask your wine merchant for Petri pale dry sherry. Well, the important thing to remember is if you want sherry, you want Petri sherry because that means good sherry. And now let's look in on our genial friend and good host, Dr. Watson. Good evening, Doctor. Good evening, Mr. Bartel. Punctual to the minute as usual. Never keep a doctor waiting, I always say. Particularly Dr. Watson. Draw up a chair, my boy. Thank you. That's it, that's it, that's it. All ready to tell us the Sherlock Holmes adventure of the Speckle band, Doctor? Yes, I'm all ready, Mr. Bartow. Say, Doctor, just what does speckled band mean? You wait until I've told you the story, young fella, my lad, you find out for yourself. I'm sorry. The floor is all yours, Doctor. The adventure of the speckled band began on a rainy April morning in 1883. An urgent call from one of my patients had kept me up most of the night before, and in consequence, I came down to my breakfast rather later than usual to find that Holmes had already left our house some hours earlier. As I sat there reading the morning paper and consuming my two lightly boiled eggs, there was a Knock at the door. It opened to disclose a typical example of the British working man. A bag of tools in one hand and a grimy cap in the other as he spoke to me from the doorway. You sent for me, Mr. Holmes? I'm not Mr. Holmes. Oh, beg your pardon governor, but I've come to mean the gas bracket over the mantelpiece. Oh, what's wrong with it? I caught a leak in it. Oh, Link will be work. Yes sir. Hope I won't be disturbing yourself. No, no, no, that's all right my man. Don't mind me, don't mind me. Oh dear. Very untidy man, Mr. Holmes, sir. What do you mean by that? Well, you can't help noticing the mess this room's in. Our bird say he was as tidy as any when he started, but he learned bad habits from a blunt what lived with him. Dr. Watson, I think his name is. You impertinent fellow. How dare you talk to me like that? I've got a good. Oh, where does he go to? Here you come out of there. That's Mr. Holmes room. I'd be angry with him, Watson. What? Slipping out of these grimy rags into a dressing gown. Good gracious me, serves you well. Upon my soul I've never recognized you. But why in a disguise? A case, my dear Watson, a case. One of those small problems which a trusting public occasionally confides to my investigation. Uh huh, to the British workman, old chap. All doors are open, his costume is unostentatious and his habits are sociable. Tool bag is an excellent passport and a tawny moustache will secure the cooperation of maids. But what's the case, Hol? A modest little drama of life in the kitchen. One of those seemingly inconsequential affairs. And yet, Watson, the honor of a duchess is at stake. A mad world, my masters, a mad world. Ah, now I feel a little more comfortable. Let's return to the sitting room, shall we? A strong cup of tea would be most acceptable. I wish you'd tell me about the duchess life in the kitchen. Home. Some other time, old fellow, some other time. At the moment, suppose you tell me what you know about Ms. Helen Stoner. I received a letter from her this morning in which she informed me that she would be calling here at 11 and also that she was a friend of yours. Helen Stoner. Oh yes, yes, a charming girl indeed. Call me a cup of tea, Watson, and tell me about her. Well I befriended her at the time of the tragic death of her sister two years ago. I told you about the case. Don't you remember the sudden death of Violet Stoner at an old house in Stoke Moran? Yes, yes, yes, it all comes back to me now. There was a, there was an inquest, wasn't there? With a string of stupid ineffective witnesses. I was one of them. Oh I'm sorry old fellow. Then you were the exception of course. Wait a minute, wait a minute. Let me see. I docketed the evidence on the case. Where is it? My scrapbook. Ah, here we are, here we are. Let me see. Yes. S S Salisbury, Hatchet murder, Lords and Son. Here we are, here we are. Stoke Moran. Yes, I remember the affair well. How? The villain of the piece was Dr. Grimsby Roylott, wasn't he? Yes, a dreadful fellow. He's the stepfather of the two girls. Violet, the one that died so mysteriously. Helen, the one who's coming here to see you. Dr. Roylott is a pretty record. 55 years of age. Killed his kit maga in India once in an insane asylum. Married money, wife died. Distinguished surgeon. Well Watson, I wonder what the distinguished surgeon has been up to now. Some devil trail? Fear. Why do you say that? You remember that Miss Violet Stoner's death followed close upon the announcement of her engagement? Yes. Well I met Miss Helena on the streets a few weeks ago. She told me that she'd just become engaged to a young fellow in the army who was leaving for the Far East. She was very upset at the thought of being alone with her stepfather. That Stoked Moran. Naturally it was. Dr. Roylott stands to lose a considerable sum of money in the event of his stepdaughter's marriage. Yes, they both had a trust fund which he administered only as long as the girls were unmarried. That fact was brought out of the coroner's inquest two years ago. But if Roylott did poison the other stepdaughter and I'm pretty convinced that he did, it seems unlikely that he'd try it again. Two sudden deaths in the same household could hardly pass the coroner. Oh no, my dear Watson, you're making the mistake of putting your normal brain into Rolliat's abnormal beam. Oh that. That beam is stolen out. Yes, let me see. It's precisely 11 o'clock. Well let's see what we can do for her. Well I hope you can help her, Holmes. She's an extremely nice girl. Captain. Yes, Mrs. Hudson? There's a Ms. Helen Stoner to see you, sir. She says she has an appointment. Show her in please, Mrs. Hudson. Aye sir. Come in my dear. Thank you. Ms. Stoner, I'm. I'm so glad to see you again. How do you do, Dr. Watson? And this must be your friend. Yes, Ms. Stoner. I'm Sherlock Holmes. Sit down by the fire, won't you? Yes, please do, my dear. Hello. Your. You're trembling with cold. It's not cold that makes me shiver. Tell me, Mr. Holmes, has my stepfather, Dr. Grimsby Roylott, been here? No, he hasn't. He saw me in the street. I dashed by him in a hansom cab, but he saw me. Our eyes met and he waved me to stop. But I came here as fast as I could. Very sensible move. Dr. Watson has already given me several hints as to your present problem, as well as having refreshed my memory as to the circumstances of your sister's death. My problem is a simple enough one, Mr. Holmes. I'm. I'm waiting to be murdered. No, no, no. My explicit, Ms. Donor. Very well, Mr. Holmes. My fiance is leaving for the Far east today. When he leaves, I shall be alone with my stepfather at Stoke Moran. He plans to murder me just as he murdered my sister. What makes you say that, Miss Donah? Many strange things have happened recently. For instance, he's just moved me to the bedroom in which my sister died. What reason did he give for changing your room? That my old one needed repainting. It didn't need it. But Dr. Roylott did need to move me into that horrible room. And other things have happened. I. I've heard the music again. Music? What music? My sister first heard it a few days before she died. I heard it myself on that dreadful night she breathed her last. Oh, Mr. Hong, I'm terrible. My dear, please don't worry anymore. You have friends to help you now. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions? No, of course not. Now it's music. Does it seem to come from inside the house or outside? Well, it. It's hard to say. It. It sounds so faint. What's it like? A sort of soft droning sound. Like a fruit or a pipe. Yes. It reminds me of native music I heard during my childhood in India. India? One other thing that puzzles me, Mr. Holmes. What's that? My sister's dying words. As she lay in my arms, gasped out two words. What were they? Banned and speckled. You remember that evidence from the inquest, don't you, Dr. Watson? Yes, yes, yes, I do. I couldn't make her to tell them. Bands speckled Indian music. Ms. Stoner, do you sleep with your door and windows fastened? Yes, Mr. Holmes, but. So did. Poor Violet. It didn't save her though. What did you gather from your sister's dying allusion to the band, the Speckled Band? Well, sometimes I thought it was merely the wild talk of delirium and sometimes that it referred to a band of people. Oh yes, I remember that there were some gypsies in camp quite near us at the time of Violet's death. Gypsies, eh? Yes, and it occurred to me that these spotted gaily colored kerchiefs which so many of them wear over their heads, might have suggested the unusual adjective which my sister used. Mr. How long is it since you heard this strange music that you've told us about? I heard it last night. Your fiance lives today you say? Yes, Mr. Holmes. Well, Miss Turner, I shall do everything I can to help you. If we were to come to Stoke Moran today, would it be possible to see over your rooms without the knowledge of your stepfather? Why I think so. He told me this morning that he intended to take a late train home tonight. Ah, that's splendid, Watson. Out with the timetable old fellow and look up the trains to Stoke Moran. Right. Your Holmes. That's my stepfather. I know it is. Oh yes, yes, there he is on the doorstep. Oh, Mr. Holmes, he's followed me. What shall I do if he finds me here? Don't worry Ms. Dona, please, please don't worry. There's a private exit through that room there. Watson, show her the way, will you? Come along with me, my dear young lady. And you will come down today, Mr. Holmes? Certainly, my dear. Miss Turner, I'll telegraph you the entire time of our arrival. Goodbye and courage, my dear. Goodbye Mr. Holmden. Thank you. Come along Mr. Quickly, come in. Yes, Mrs. Hudson? It's a gentleman, sir. I told him you wouldn't see anyone without an appointment but he. Out of the way, woman. Push me like that. I'm sorry, Mr. Holmes. That's all right, Mrs. Hudson, you can leave us. What kind of gentleman does he call himself pushing an old lady? So you are Sherlock Holmes. You have the advantage of me, sir. Your name is? My name, sir, is Roylott, Dr. Grimsby. Roylott of Stoke Moran. Yes, yes of course. A charming place I hear. And obviously good for the lunge. You won't trifle with me if you know what's good for you. Watson. There you are. And how was the, the experiment? Very successful, Holmes. Good day to you, Dr. Roylott. I haven't seen you since I gave evidence at your stepdaughter's inquest. Yes, yes, I remember you, Dr. Watson. Now listen to me you two. My stepdaughter's been here. I placed her. What's she been saying to you? Little cold for this time of the year, isn't it? You answer me. I hear that the crocuses promise. Well do you dare to try and put me off, do you? I know you, you scoundrel. Your Holmes the meddler, am I? Holmes the busybody. I believe that a man should occupy his time. Holmes the Scotland Yard, Jack in office. When you go out close the door, won't you? There's a draft. I'll go when I've had my say. Keep your nose out of my affairs, you hear? Oh yes, my hearing is excellent, thank you. And your diction and delivery most forceful. But time flies my dear doctor, time flies and life has its duties as well as its pleasures. Goodbye. Insolence for rascal. Here, see this poker. Oh, the fire doesn't need poking. Thank you Doctor, but I. I should be obliged if you'd put some more coal on for me. You laugh at me. You don't know my strength. Look there, your poker's bent double and that's what I'll do to both of you if you don't keep out of my affairs. I had a presentiment that he'd slammed the door. He's an ugly customer as well as figuratively. Watson, I'd be much obliged if you get your revolver. It may prove to be an excellent argument with a gentleman who twists iron pokers into knots. Fellow's amazingly strong, just look at it. I don't want to appear flamboyant, but there we are. Great Scott, Holmes, you straighten the poker out again. Yes, but it's utterly useless and it's former shape. And now watching the timetable will catch the next fast train to stoke Moran. Oh, Ms. Holmes. Dr. Watson, I'm so relieved that you've come, but don't you think my stepfather might have followed you down here? Take that chance Ms. Stoner. A few hours delay might mean the difference between our life and death. It was imperative that we examined this room of yours before Dr. Roylott returns. Anyway, my dear, you mustn't worry anymore. We're here in your house and we're going to take good care of you no matter what harm befalls you. Thank you. Dr. Watson. This is the room in which your sister died, is it? It's much as I pictured it. And Dr. Roylott's room adjoins this one. You say Ms. Stella? Yes doctor. On that side the room which adjoins it. On the other side is my regular bedroom. No one that's being so conveniently painted, eh? Yes. Well, let's examine this room. No trap doors or sliding panels, I suppose. It sounds solid enough. Yes, I think it is. Hello, what's this? Are you aware that this bed is clamped to the floor, Ms. Stoner? Why no, no, Mr. Holmes, I didn't know that. What an extraordinary thing. Was the bed in your other room anchored also? I know. I don't think it was very illuminating. And this bell pull hanging against the wall above your bed? Oh, that. It doesn't work. Doesn't work? If you want a ring, there's another one on the other wall over there. Now why this one? Well, I don't know. My stepfather made a number of changes after we came here. Yes, quite a burst of activity apparently, and it took some spring shapes. Why are you standing on the bed, Holmes? I'm curious, my dear fellow. Aha. It may interest you to know that this bell rope is fastened to a brass hook. There's no wire attachment. It's a dummy. A dummy? But why? There's a small screen above it. It's a ventilator, I suppose. Yes, Mr. Holmes, yes, a ventilator leading into your stepfather's room. Curious. I notice there's no means of opening the ventilator on this side. It can only be operated from your stepfather's room next door. I wonder if you'd mind taking us in there. Of course, Mr. Holmes. Follow me. What do you make of it, Holmes? There's devil's work a foot old chap. Here we are, Mr. Holmes. It's much the same as the other room. A bit bigger perhaps. That large safe against the wall seems to be an unusual piece of bedroom furniture. What is it, Ms. Donor? My stepfather's business papers. Oh, you've seen inside it then? Only once, some years ago. I remember that it full of documents. What's this saucer of milk doing on top of it? Does Dr. Roland keep a cat? No, but he does have a cheetah and a baboon as pets. He brought them with him from India. Well, Holmes, cheetah is just a big cat. True, but I doubt if the saucer of milk would go very far in satisfying the appetite of a cheetah. Well, I think I've seen enough. This matter is too serious for hesitation. Your life may depend upon your following and my instructions, Ms. Homer. I'll do anything you saint, Mr. Holmes. Anything. That village in I see through the trees from this window. Yes, the Queen's arms. Your bedroom windows would be visible from there. Yes, Mr. Holmes. Very well then. Watson and I will go there now and obtain accommodations. When your stepfather returns, you must confine yourself to your room on the pretence of a headache. You follow me? Perfectly. When Dr. Roy returns for the night, you must open your bedroom window and put your lamp on the sill as a signal to us at the end. Then withdraw quietly to your usual bedroom, the one that's painted. I'm sure that you could manage there for one night. Of course. But what will you do when we get your signal? Dr. Watson and I will come here and spend the night in your dead sister's room. We are going to solve this mystery of the dummy bell rope and the unusual ventilator and the strange music in the night. You'll hear the remainder of Dr. Watson's story in just a second. So I'm just going to point out that at any really important dinner, you know, like when diplomats get together, you'll find wine on the table. Because for years it's been a known fact that good wine makes good food taste better. Prove that to yourself tomorrow night by having your dinner together with a glass of Petri wine. If you prefer a red wine for any meat or meat dish, try a Petri California Burgundy. That rich, hearty red Pet Burgundy is really out of this world. Now, if you'd rather have a subtle, intriguing white wine, let's say, to go with chicken or fish, then try Petri California Sauterne. But Sauterne or Burgundy to make sure it's good. Make sure it's Petri, won't you? Well, Doctor, it's a rattling good story so far. What happened next? You went to the local inn, I guess, and waited for that lantern to appear in the bedroom window at Dr. Roylott's house. That's right, Mr. Bartel. We had an early dinner at the Queen's Arms and then retired to our upstairs bedroom and sat there side by side, puffing away at our pipes, our eyes straining through the darkness that telltale lantern to give us a signal that there was dangerous work ahead for us. As we sat there discussing the various aspects of the case, I remember that Holmes was very concerned about my own safety. Watson, I really have some scruples about taking you with me tonight. This is an infernally dangerous business. What about that poor girl alone in the house with that fiend Roylott? I can handle the case by myself, old chap. I'm coming with you. Holmes, you speak of danger. You haven't seen more in those rooms than was visible to me. But possibly I've deduced a little more. And I imagine you saw all that. I did. I saw nothing, remember? Remarkable except the bell rope. And what purpose that could answer, I confess, is more than I can imagine. So the ventilator too? Yes, but I don't think such an unusual thing to have an opening between two rooms so small that a mouse could hardly pass through it. True, but at least you will admit there was a curious sequence of coincidences. A ventilator is constructed. A bell cord is hung from it. A lady sleeps in a bed directly below the ventilator. A bed that is anchored to the floor. The lady dies. I begin to see what you're driving at, Holmes. Look, look, look, look. There's a lantern in Ms. Turner's window. It's our signal all right. Come on, Watson. Our night's vigil be. What a foul night. Foul night's a foul business, Watson. Come on through these laurel bushes. It's only another 50 yards from the house. The lantern's still burning away in the bedroom window. Yes, all the other lights are out, including the one in Dr. Roylott's room. He must have gone to sleep. The dead? Possibly, Watson, but not, I think, to sleep. Great heavens, Holmes, look at that frightful creature leaping about in the moonlight. It looks like some hideous child. That's Dr. Roylott's pet baboon. But it looks positively human. Yes, probably a great deal more so than its master. They directly blow the window. Now this eye group provides a most convenient ladder. I'll go up first. Careful, Holmes, careful. Wait a minute. I hope the thing's strong enough to hold us both. He looks, which is stupid. On our backs in the mud. Get hand me. Holmes, I can't quite get my leg up over this window ledge. Keep on. Oh, say phew. Now to close the window shutters. This room looks exactly like the same as it did this afternoon. Sound would be fatal to our plans. Keep the lamp covered so that if the ventilator is open from Dr. Roylott's room, no light will show from in there. That's it. Why are you carrying that stick home? I'm prepared for a visitor that I expect before the night is over. A visitor who herald his entrance with faint music from an Indian pipe. You mean the music is a signal? Exactly, old fellow. The signal to an accomplice who can enter a room with locked doors. An accomplice who kills and leaves no trace. You mean that sh. We're Talking, Watson. I think on the edge of the bed. Here. You sit on that chair. Have your revolver ready in case you should need it. Light you. Are the lantern ready too? When I shout now, turn the light along the top of the bell rope. You understand? Yes, perfectly. Good. Now we must wait, perhaps for some time. Don't go to sleep, Watson. To go to sleep, your very life may depend on it. Watson. Yes? You're not smoking, are you? No arms. I smoke tobacco. Smoke must be drifting through the ventilator. Exactly, Dr. Roy. Let us up. Look, look, look, look. There's a tiny shot of light showing up in the victory. Shh. Listen. There's the music. Yes, heralding the messenger of death. Have your lantern ready, Watson. Now, Watson. Out. Great heavens, it's asleep. Slitting down the bell rope. You can't kill it without stick holes. Out of the way. Let me get a shot at it. I'd write it back the way it came. Get out. There it goes back to the ventilator. What a fiendish plan. Scott. Watson, I think the devil has turned on its master. Come on, Watson, into Dr. Roland's room. Dr. Roland. Dr. Roy. Doctor. Doctor. Good Lord, Holmes, look at him sprawled on the bed. Look at his eyes. Yes, and see what is coiled around his forehead? It's the snake. Yes, the band. The speckled band. He's dead, Holmes. Yes, he's been bitten by the deadliest snake in the world, the Indian swamp adder. Deadly fangs produce death within ten seconds. Well, Watson, violence does in truth recoil upon the violent and the schema falls into the pit which he digs for another. What should we do now, Holmes? We must remove the macabre headgear from the dead doctor and return the snake to its den. And I suggest that we tell Ms. Stoner that there's no more danger under this roof. After that we can turn the matter over to the local police. Our work is done. Oh, Mr. Holmes. Dr. Watson, I can't tell you how grateful I am that you brought me back into Vegas Dream. It would have been inhuman to leave you in that house of horror and death. We have a spare bedroom and Mrs. Hudson is a motherly and understanding woman. And I can assure you that Dr. Watson and I will be delighted to have you stay with us here until you've decided on your future plan. Yes, of course we will, my dear. As a matter of fact, it'd be rather refreshing to have a touch of youth about the place. You're both so kind. Mr. Holmes, I think it's wonderful how you foiled my stepfather's devilish plan. Yes, wasn't it a remarkable example of logical deduction? No, it wasn't, old fellow. At first your mention of the gypsies, Ms. Dona, and the use of the word ban put me on an entirely wrong scent. However, when we examined the fatal room, I drew the obvious conclusion. You mean the dummy bell rope, the ventilator and the immovable bed? Yes, old fellow. It instantly gave rise to the suspicion that the rope was there as a bridge for something coming through the ventilator and traveling to the bed. I once thought of a snake. When I saw the saucer of milk on top of the safe, my suspicions crystallized into certainty. It was a fiendish plant. Yes, an extremely clever one too. Exactly. My stepfather must have trained this to return to him when he played the music. Yes, he put it through the ventilator with the certainty it would crawl down the rope and land on the bed. It might or might not bite the occupant. Perhaps she might escape every night for a week. But sooner or later she must fall a victim. Thank heaven I came to you, Mr. Holmes. Amen to that, Mr. Holmes. If you hadn't lashed at the snake with your stick, I bet it wouldn't turn back on its master. True, old chap. In that way I am no doubt indirectly responsible for Dr. Grimsby Rot's death. But I. I can't say it's a fact that's likely to too heavily on my conscience. Doctor, that was quite a fascinating story. You know something? I'm not exactly a coward. But no kidding, my toes really curl when I get mixed up with snakes. Not alone in that respect, Mr. Bartel. I must admit that I like to have a revolver and at least 20ft between me and any snake it wants to cross my path. Well, if you want a revolver in 20ft, I'll take a cannon in 20 miles. It's fortunate that you're a wine expert, Mr. Bartel, not a detective. I'm afraid you wouldn't, Doctor. Shall we say find detecting to your liking? We certainly shall say it. Incidentally, I'm not a wine expert, doctor. All I know about wine is that it either tastes good or it doesn't. And I also know that Petri wine always tastes good. The Petri family sees to that. The name Petri on the label is the personal assurance of the Petri family that every drop of wine in that bottle is good wine. And they know how to make it good because. Because they've been making fine wine for generations. Handing down from Father to son, from father to son. Every secret, every skill of the winemaker's art. Yes, the Petri family took time to bring you good wine. That's why, no matter what type of wine you wish, you can't go wrong with a petri wine. Well, Dr. Watson, what new Sherlock Holmes story are you planning to tell us next week? Well, now, let me see now. Next week, Mr. Bartel, I'm. I think I'll tell you an adventure that took place at a gambling casino in the south of France. It's a strange story of sudden tragedy and death. I call it the Adventure of the double zero. Sounds swell. We'll all be listening. Mr. Bartel, before I go, I want to say that every one of our friends bought war bonds to help our boys win the war. Now let's all buy victory bonds to help bring our boys back home again. Yes, and let's buy victory bonds to make sure that the men who were wounded will get the finest possible care. Those same victory bonds will help make the GI Bill of Rights a success, too. And they'll help provide for the families of those men who gave everything, including their lives. The men of our armed forces finished their job. Now let's finish ours. Buy victory bombs. Tonight's Sherlock Holmes Adventure is written by Dennis Green and Anthony Boucher and is an adaptation of the Sir Arthur Conan Doyle story, the Adventure of the Speckled Band. Music is by Dean Fostler. Mr. Rathbone appears through the courtesy of Metro Goldwyn Mayer. And Mr. Bruce through the courtesy of Universal. Universal Pictures, where they are now starring in the Sherlock Holmes series. The Petri Wine Company of San Francisco, California, invites you to tune in again next week, same time, same station. This is Harry Bartel saying goodnight for the Petrie family. Sherlock Holmes comes to you from our Hollywood studios. This is the Mutual Broadcasting System. Cremel hair tonic and Kreml Shampoo present the New Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Starring Nigel Bruce as Dr. Watson and Tom Conway as Sherlock Holmes. Once again, it's time to keep that weekly appointment with our good friend and host, Dr. White. Good evening, Doctor. Good evening, Mr. Battle. As usual, you're punching to the minute. Draw off your chair and make yourself comfortable. Thank you. I see that you have the old black tin dispatch box out again. Dr. Watson, I deduce that you were going over your notes on tonight's case. My dear boy. And among the records I came across some notes of cases that I'd almost forgotten. The shocking death of Crosby the Banker. The Adulton tragedy. And some data on the unusual contents of the ancient British barrow. Those stories sound pretty intriguing, Dr. Watson. I shall tell them to you some other evening, Mr. Bell. Tonight I'm going to recount an adventure that took place in the heart of the beautiful English countryside. I call it the adventure of the Tolling Bell. Well that story began in the small country village of Carnforth. Holmes had recently brought to a successful conclusion the affair of the barrow and Furness wheelchair murders. And we decided that a few days rest in nearby Carnforth would do us both good before returning to our arduous life in Baker Street. We were staying at a small but comfortable inn. Early in the morning of the third day, I remember Holmes and I were in our bedroom waking those two essentials without which an English country gentleman could not start his day. The early morning cup of tea and a jug of hot water for shaving. As we sat there at the open window, a nearby church bell was tolling a funeral knell. There must be a funeral in the village home. An astonishing deduction, Watson. There's no need to make fun of her. Depressing sound, isn't it? I suppose. Has it ever occurred to you, Watson, that the history of bells is full of romantic interest? I can't say I thought much about it. Almost every historical event has been accompanied by the sound of bells. They summoned soldiers to arms as well as Christians to church. They sounded the alarm in fire, tumult and invasion. And many a bloody chapter in history has been rung in and out by souls. You seem to be a mine of information on the subject. Yes, Watson, it's a fascinating subject. Come in, come in. Good morning, my dear. Morning gentlemen. I brought you tin of shaving water. Mrs. Nichols said to sell your breakfast to be ready now. For now. Splendid. Mary. Oh Mary. The church bell is tolling a funeral mill. Do you know who's being buried? That I do, sir. I wish it was me. It'll be my turn soon. Little thing. I wonder what's the matter with her. I have no idea. Perhaps her father or mother just died. Oh, a young man. Yes, I bet that's it. She's a pretty girl and she'd obviously have been crying when she came in. Perhaps that's her fiance they're burying now. Watson, you have the sentimental imagination of the true storyteller. But we've come here for a holiday. You must give your imagination a rest too. So drink your tea, remove your whiskers and we'll go downstairs and investigate those kippers you like. Jacob, as gentlemen. Excellent, Mrs. Nickel. Excellent. Never eaten better. Yes, indeed. By the way, Mrs. Nicholl, we heard the funeral bell tolling earlier on. Do you know who was being buried? Yes, I do. Two souls are being buried and one of them was a murderer. A murderer? Good Lord. In this peaceful village. What happened, Mrs. Nickleby? Threadgold, the corn merchant, found out his wife had been gallivanting around with a young fellow from Bolton. Cut her throat, he did, and animed himself. Marty. Thank you. Shocking. The peaceful countryside is not as peaceful as it's made out to be home. A fact that I've frequently had occasion to point out to you, Watson. Has the morning post arrived yet, Mrs. McCall? Here comes old Gilly up the path. Sit. Now I'll see if he's got anything for you. Murder. What do you make of it, Holmes? What is there to make of it, Watson? A jealous husband murders a faithless wife and then commits suicide. A tragic story, but a simple one. Stop for the morning. To you, gentlemen. Good morning, Gillian. Any letters for me today? Oh, Mr. Holmes, two letters. One of them's got some newspaper clippings in it, I think. And you've got a postcard from a Mr. Lester. He wants you back in London. Bad, Mr. Holmes. Upon my soul, Gilly, you've been reading Mr. Holmes private correspondence. Bless your Lord, Dr. Watson, if I didn't read other people's correspondence, how would I know what's going on in the village? You were right, Gillian, it is newspaper clippings. By the way, you heard about the murder of Mrs. Treadgold, I suppose? Heard about it. I told the bell this morning at the funeral to say that you're the bell ringer as well as the postman. Bless your heart. Yes, Doctor. President of the Choral Society too, as well as being on the parish council. You're a busy man, Gillian. Yes, I am, sir. Take this afternoon. Now I'm to ring those bells. Okay. Not another funeral, surely? No, sir. A wedding. This time I'll be able to hear it. Young Saint Perrin is marrying the Slater girl. You might say I'm responsible for bringing them together. Got some of their letters mixed up, I did. Hooked each other up to exchange them and I press out. Before you know what's happening, they're getting married. Regular cupid, you might say. I am. Be off with you, girly. Other people want their letters. Mr. Holmes doesn't want his keppers spilled with your idle chatter. All right, Mrs. Crabapples and Vinegar. One of these fine days you'll smile and the world will come to an end. Good day, Gentlemen. Talkative old Billy body is. Oh, Mr. Holmes. Mrs. Laughton's in the old. The poor old lady's most anxious to talk to you, Mrs. Lackland. She has the sempster shop in the Eye Street. Her only son ran away from home a few months back. I think that's what she wants to speak to you about. But my friend's here for a rest, Mrs. Mickle. I told her that, Doctor, but she won't go away without seeing Mr. Holmes. Oh, very well. Ask her to come in, please, Mrs. Mickle. Yes, Mr. Holmes. Oh, why do you bother to see her, Holmes? Sounds like a trivial matter. The disappearance of an only son can never be a trivial matter. Well, I'm a trivial for you, not for her. This is Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson, dear. Thank you, Emmy. Good morning, sir. Good morning, good morning. Please sit down, Mrs. That's it. Now what's the trouble? It's Tom, sir, my only son. He left me four months ago and I've not seen here nor heard of him since. You've had no message from him since he left? Not one word? Unfair. Out of my mind, sir. Have you any idea of his reason for leaving the village, Mrs. Acton? None, sir. He was a good boy and he worked hard and he didn't fool around with those flippity jipped girls in the village. I think he's met with foul ply, gentlemen, and I want you to find out about him for me. Mr. Holmes. I've heard say in the village that you're the greatest detective in England, Mrs. Lackland, I'd be glad to help you. But you give me no clues to work with, I'm afraid. If it's money you want, I got 20 pounds in my postal savings. It's all yours if you can bring my Tommy home to me. But at least tell me you. Say, Mrs. Leland. I wouldn't dream of accepting a fee. However, I shall give your problem some thought. If I arrive at any conclusions, I'll get in touch with you at once. God bless you, Mr. Holmes. Good morning to you, sir. Good day. Good morning. Poor old thing. I don't see how you can help her, Holmes. Nor do I at the moment. But a young man who has grown up in a small village like this may have led a life that his mother is totally unaware of. You said that you had to work on one of your stories today. Yes, I had a letter from the editor of the Strand Magazine yesterday. Question your man gift as soon as possible. Splendid. Then you will stay at the inn and work on your Latest masterpiece while I scour the village to see what may be found out about the missing young man. Oh, there you are, Holmes. I was beginning to think you got lost. Hello, Watson. I trust you had a profitable session with pen and paper. Well, I'd done about half a chapter. I would have done more if it hadn't been for those infernal belles. The wedding ceremony that the Werther Gilly told us about this morning. I'm tired. What did you find out about Mrs. Lackland's son? Among other things, that he had a secret love life unknown to his mother and the object of his affections was none other than the maid who brought us our tea this morning. Mary. Can you talk to her? No, it's a half day off and I was unable to find her. However, I shall question her when she brings our tea tomorrow morning. Come in, Marianne. Oh, Mrs. Mickle. Good morning gentlemen. Here's your tea and shaving water. Where's Mary this morning? She didn't come to work. Must be yell again. Unreliable girl and no better than she ought to be. If you ask me, it's no jump for me to be carrying tea and hot water upstairs. I hear the village bell tipping for another funeral. Does Carnforth have a burial every morning? I really don't see how the population can run to it. It's another suicide, sir. Another suicide? Good Lord. Old John Larrabee, the baker, he was expecting some money from his in Australia. It never came and they foreclosed on his shop and he hanged himself. Will you be wanting a couple of boiled eggs to your breakfast, gentlemen? No, no, I haven't much of an uptight, thank you very much. Yes, sir. That woman seems absolutely heartless. She almost smacks her lips when she tells us about these tragedies. Yes, Watson, I noticed it. This peaceful village is beginning to seem strangely sinister to me. And since you have no appetite for breakfast, perhaps you'll join me in a little excursion. Attend your dress. Of course. Where are we going? To see the maid, Mary. I'm anxious to talk to her before another funeral bell begins to. To. This must be the cottage home. They said it was the one with Hatsucker over the gate. Yes, and there's Mary sitting on the porch. She's got up. She's coming. She's coming up the path to meet us. Good morning, Mary. I'm sorry you're not feeling well, Mr. Elme. Dr. Watson. Why will you come here? Not to ask about my health? Why should servant go a matter to gentlemen like you? Oh you misjudge us, my dear. I assure you that. No Watson, let's be honest. Admit we didn't come here because of our concern for Mary's health. Then why did you come here, sir? Mrs. Lackland asked me to try and find her son. Tom? Yes, Tom. I thought you might be able to help me, Marian. I could help you, Mr. Holmes. I'd be helping miss therapy. Here come Gilly the postman. Gilly. Gilly. Is there a letter for me to die? No. Alaska. There's nothing for you again. There must be, Kelly. There must be. There no, lass. If the letter would come I'd bring it to you as fast as my legs would carry meat and all that. Morning, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson left some letters at the inn for you. Doctor. You had a letter from a lady. Oh, how did I reach for the smell of violets? It did. And it was written in green ink on gray paper, sir. Amazing deduction. That sounds like your young friend from Daly's, Watson. Oh, how did you know that? Well, I mean I don't have a young friend from Daly's, Watson. Quite. Gilly, you tolled another funeral bell today, didn't you? Aye, sir. And a tragic thing it was. Fate you might call it. Old Larrabee hanged himself because he didn't get money from his son in Australia. I found him, I did. I was the one to cut him down and write him in post the letter he was waiting for. The letter that have saved his life. Great Scott, what a ghastly piece of irony that it was. That it was. Well gentlemen, I'll be on my way. Good day. Good day. Mary, perhaps that letter will arrive tomorrow. No, I'll never hear from Tom. Never. He's ashamed. That's why he deserted me. Deserted you? Mary, you speak almost as if you were his wife. I am his wife. What? We were married secretly in Rochdale, five months ago come Tuesday. And he never told his mother? With a side too. She thought I was beneath him. Tom said he'd go away and get a good job and then return here and fetch me back with him. He went away all right, but he never came back. When he left, did he give no clues to his destination? No hint of any kind? Mary? Well he did once say, Mary, I'm going to clear out to this Pablo and make my fortune, even if I have to bury it. And then he said, bury me fortune. That's a joke, isn't it? I don't know what he meant by. I think I do. Mary Watson, we're taking a short train Journey as soon as possible. Oh, where are we going? We're going to the town of Bury in search of this young lady's husband. What makes you think Tom might be in Bury, Mr. Holmes? Because the famous Fortune Cottonmills are in Bury. It would seem possible that when your husband joked of begging his fortune, he was talking of going to the mills there. Wherever he's gone, he won't be coming back for me. I know that. Now, now, now, now, don't talk like that, my dear. Remember you have friend, Mrs. Lan. How much longer this home's going to be? Leaves me standing outside the factory gates as if I were blasted. Coach. Now there he is. There he is home. Hello, Watson. Permit me to introduce you to Mr. Tom Lackland. Tom, this is Dr. Watson. How do you do, Dr. Watson? How do you do? Never mind how I do, young fellow. Malad. How do you do? Your behavior has been absolutely shocking. Shocking? Now what are you talking about? Leaving your dear old mother and deserting your pretty little bride because you're ashamed of her. You're a scoundrel, sir. You deserve a good horse whipping and I have a good mind to give it to you. I don't know what you're talking about, Dr. Watson, but I don't like the words you use. And if it's violence you want, I don't mind. Heavyweight champion of the county you are. Oh well, no need to come up. Don't let's waste time on being acrimonious, Watson. Let's get back to the station as fast as we can. The return of the prodigal is long overdue. We must give them every opportunity to kill the fatted car. Hi. There's Mary's house. Mom's dying to see her. And after this reunion, Tom, I suggest that you both go over and see your mother. I'm sure she'll forgive you. Yes, Mr. Holmes, I'll do that. Well, perhaps we should have warned her. Your sub parents may be something of a shock. I think it's a shock that Mary can handle. She must be up. Door is locked. Knock again, if you don't mind. She. She sleeps. Great heavens. That was a revolver shot. Come on Watson, help me break in the door. Not a r. That was a fine place to break off your story. You left me right on the edge of a cliff. Had the young girl shot herself? She'd shot at herself, Mr. Bell. But fortunately a last minute lack of courage had made her shot go wild. Holmes and I. And the young bridegroom burst into the house and rescued the smoking revolver from her hand. I must confess that reunion between the two young lovers was a touching sight. In fact, I felt considerably older than I was as Holmes and I stood there listening to. To Tom reassured you. Mary, darling, it's all right. I'm here. Oh, Tom, you are. You did come back from it. I thought you never would. I tried to kill myself, but I hadn't forgotten it. There, there, Mary. Everything's going to be all right now. We'll be tongue, won't it? I'm so tired. And now, Tom, I think the time has come to reassure Mary that you did write to her. Of course I did, Mary darling. And I sent you money and told you that I'd be back here to take you to ferry as soon as I'd saved up enough. You wrote to me, Tom, twice a week. Well, I wrote to Mother too. Then why didn't I get the letters? The answer to that should be obvious, my dear Gilly. The postman deliberately withheld them from you. Quite. Heavens. Why? I have my suspicions. Strong suspicions. But I have to get proof. Tell me, Mary. The day before yesterday Mr. Tread Gold murdered his wife. Do you know how he learned of her infidelity? Well, I'm not sure. But what did he Mrs. Nichols say? That it was through some letters that got mixed up. The letters addressed to her were delivered to his office instead of at the house. Gilly again. Precisely. Surely the whole terrible pattern begins to take shape. Come. Yes, Mr. Ro. I'm going to lay a trap to spring it. I shall need your assistance. Of course, Ms. Holmes, I'll do anything. Wait with Mary until darkness falls, then muffle yourselves up and go to your mother's house. Wait there waiting and let no outsiders see you until you hear from her. Since you two love birds have been separated for four months, I don't imagine that'll be too unpleasant. Quiet, Watson. You understand, Tom? Yes, mister. Good. Then come on, Watson. What's your plan? Holmes? I'll tell you as we go. One thing I can promise you. Before the sun is very high tomorrow, I shall free this village from one of the most subtly evil powers I've ever come in contact with. Good morning, Dr. Watson. Mr. Rose. Good morning, Mrs. Mickle. Good morning. I always said that Mary was a no good girl and now she's killed herself. But of course I had to come to her. It's very chargeable, Mrs. Mickle, I must say. In any case, the vicar says that the poor girl was of unsound mind. Yes, madam. You can't blame her. Well, I'll be getting into the church. Holmes. This pass is beginning to get on my nerves. What are we accomplishing by burying an empty coffin? You'll soon see, old chap. Come on, let's slip into the vestry. This way. Where are we going, Holmes? Up the stairs, beneath the bell range. Here they are. Well, supposing Gilly turns master when he finds out we know his secret? Then we must handle him to the best of our ability. Watson, I must say I do not wrench the thought of a castle high in the belfry of a church. The man must be insane. Obviously. That's why his pile must be destroyed. This door apparently leads to the belfry. Keep your wits about your Watts. Good morning, Gilly. Mr. O. Dr. Watson. You've come to see me at work. That's nice of you. Not often I get company of beer. We haven't come up here to see you at work, Gilly. We know your diabolical work only too well. Yes, Gilly, we know your secret. What secret's that? You're mad with power, Gilly. You've tried to control the destiny of this village. In your position as postman you thought you had the power to give life and death. Death I am, sir. And it's a great power that makes a man feel good. Almost like a God, you might say. Sacrilege. You scoundrel. You were responsible for the murder of Mrs. Tretgold. I, sir? That I was. And for the old man hanging himself. You were responsible for John Larabee's suicide, weren't you? Aye, that I was. Lick might have bought me off the village council. I swore I'd make it pay for it and I did. Your reign is over, Gilly. You'll never toll a bell again. The only one you'll hear will be a prison bell. You can't touch me, Mr. Holmes. You've got no proof. There's nothing you can do. Don't be too sure. I've enough impulse to take your job away. You. You take me away from me bells. I. I live for these bells. You wouldn't take me away from them. You couldn't live with the power they give you, could you, Gilly? You're trying to destroy me. You are destroyed, Gilly. Yeah, You've already failed. Mary's alive. Alive? You put the coffin they're burying down there. He is full of stones. You'll be the laughing stock of the village, Gilly. They'll never laugh at Gilly. You can't catch me and be on your death he's running up the ladder leading to the bell car. Come back, Gilly. Come back. He's mad as a hatter. Right. What's he going to do up there? Might set fire to this. People could make any madness. I'm going to fetch him. Holmes. No, Watson. He drew a knife as he played. And with that rickety staircase and the narrow opening leading into the bell chamber, you would never stand a chance. He'd get you on the first slash. How are we going to get him down? There's only one way. He's in a tiny loft containing his beloved bells. We'll see how much he loves them at close quarters. I doubt if even he can stand the noise in that confined space. Where's that bell rope? Come down, Gillian. Come down from there. Stop. Stop bringing me Bill. Not until you come down. Gillian. Stop bringing them. They can't stand it. You bring me back. You are mad, Gillian. Mad with power. Come down here, I say. I'm coming. Great heavens. He hurled himself out of the belfry, Holmes. He hasn't a chance of surviving that fall. I have no intention of causing the unhappy man to jump to his death, Watson. Though I cannot help but feel that his poor demented mind may find a happy oblivion this way rather than in the confines of an asylum. Yes, you're probably right, Holmes. It's been a shocking case, Watson. Shocking. And once again it proves the old saying that violence does in truth recoil upon the violent and the schemer falls into the pit which he digs for another. Now, Dr. Watson, what about next week? Well, now, let me see what's left. Next week I think I'll tell you a rather gruesome story about how Sherlock Holmes saved the life and the sanity of a certain Count Romagn. I call it the Adventure of the Carpathian Horror. Tonight's new Sherlock Holmes adventure was suggested by an incident in Sir Arthur Conan F's story the Golden Pants. Nay Nigel Br appeared through the courtesy of California Pictures, Tom Conway by permission of Eagle Eye and Pictures, the Sherlock Holmes series is produced by Tom Mc Night with original music composed and conducted by Alex Steiner. This is Joseph Bell speaking for Cremel Hair Tonic and Cremel Shampoo and inviting you to be with us next week at the same time when Dr. Watson will tell us the adventure of the Carpathian Horror. The makers of Clipper Craft, clothes for men and 924 leading retail stores from coast to coast present the world's most famous detective, Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock Holmes is portrayed by John Stanley, Dr. Watson by Alfred Shirley Our stories are based upon the character of Sherlock Holmes, created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The dramatizations are by Edith Miser. And now once again, we turn into the familiar gate. Wind whistles cold and sharp through empty branches. A brilliant October moon peers intermittently from behind scutting clouds. Hello. What's that in the good doctor's window? Pumpkin lantern. Dr. Watson is celebrating Halloween early this year. Come in, Mr. Harris, come in. Why the delay on the doorstep? Why, I was just admiring your Halloween decorations, Dr. Watson. A work of art presented to me this afternoon by my youngest godchild. It's supposed to war goblins and witches and other nefarious familiars who are abroad this time of year. You mean who are supposed to be abroad, Doctor? Not necessarily, Mr. Harris. Not necessarily. Here, take this chair by the fire. Thank you. Did I ever tell you of the time Holmes and I had a rather terrifying encounter with an atomic laughing limbur of Hightower Heath? Why, you know you didn't, Doctor. Who was she? A witch who had been buried centuries before on wild and brooding countryside known as Dartmoor. This adventure took place on All Saints Eve, the particular witches Sabbath which you Americans refer to as Halloween. And there I go, the deep end as usual. Suppose I pause to pour us each a glass of fresh cider while you pay homage to our sponsor. What could be fair, Dr. Watson, to tell you that Clippercraft suits sell for only 35 and $40 with a few special models at 43.75. To say that Clipper Craft top coats and overcoats sell for only 35 to $40 and sport jackets for only $24 is only half the story. Because you really only begin to appreciate that these prices are astonishingly low when you've seen Clippercraft clothes. Custom details in the form of correct styling, perfect fit, luxurious tailoring and rich long wearing fabrics are yours in Clippercraft. Manufacturing ingenuity and a really great distribution idea. Make all this possible available to you in your own local independent store where friendly attention is traditionally yours. For through The Clipper Crack Plan, 924 leading stores across America have concentrated their buying power, resulting in tremendous savings in manufacturing and distribution costs. You'll be amazed at Clipper Crafts values. Compare Clipper Craft with clothes selling for many dollars more. And now, Dr. Watson, to return to the witch on the moors. All righty. It was one morning, several years after my marriage, a brilliant fall day, the last day of October to be exact. Mary and I had just finished our matutinal Finn and Harry, when a violent Jangle at the front doorbell heralded a telegram from my erstwhile partner in crime, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, as nearly as I can remember it. When if convenient, meet me Paddington Station, 1015. If inconvenient, come anyway. Bring service revolver. Suppose you have any silver bullets. Silver bullets? What was the meaning of that inquiry, Doctor? As a matter of fact that is my first question after Holmes had settled himself in the corner of our railway carriage. Holmes, I gathered from your telegram that we are about to embark on another investigation. A dangerous one judging from the fact that you wish me to break my revolver. But why the facetious inquiry as to the silver bullets? Because it's a common superstition among the native the moors of Devonshire that the evil spirits were bound there can only be killed by a silver bullet. Who's interested in native superstitions? We are, Watson. We've been urgently summoned by Sir Lionel Fenwick of Fenwick Hall. The long dead ancestress of his is supposed to be on the prowess. It seems she's not only playing all sorts of outrageous pranks but actually threatening the safety of his infant son born only two weeks ago. In other words, Watson, we're not on the trail of a common criminal. This is a witch hunt. Pressing a. Watson. The first glimpse of the moor. Yes, we should be there shortly. Notice. Ancient Roman tower. She's buried at the crossroads at the foot of that hill. It's from that building that she derives her name. Who derives what name? The laughing lemur of Hightower Hill. A lemur is the Roman word for ghost or spirit of the dead. But she was. Besides, that's why she was buried at the crossroads. She would have been burned of course, and her ashes scattered to the four winds. Except that she was a great lady and married to the head of the house of Fennec whose given name was Hugo. Hugo was an old boy in his 60s when he married her. Much to the annoyance of his brother. Edgar imported a lusty, fun loving young French noblewoman, a Louise de Lamballe, whose mother was the notorious Madame de Montespan. Madame de Montespan? Wasn't she a sort of nylon borger? Yes, Watson. At any rate Louise seemed young and gay and exceptionally healthy and active. Too athletic perhaps for ancient bridegroom because she insisted he accompany her when he rode to hounds. When in due course of time he was found, his neck broken on a far side of a particularly high wall which his wife shrieking with laughter, had jumped a few moments before. Even after Hugo's death, Louise rode by day and Danced by night and day or night she continued to laugh. Death, bed taste if you ask me, quite at first. Her brother in law, Edgar seems to have been fairly tolerant of the situation since he now believed himself lord of the manor. But one day, three weeks after her husband's death, Louise came to him and informed him that she was going to have a child. The dead Hugo was cabinet. She relayed the information with gales of laughter. Poor Edgar, the joke was certainly on him. Oh no. He started rumors about his brother's widow. The French perfume she used were love potions. She and 12 companions she brought with her from France had formed a coven. Coven? In the old days when witchcraft was in flower, Watson, witches and their familiars banded together in unholy groups of 13 which were called covenants. Oh. Lastly, Edgar claimed that no mortal had fathered the child, that it was the offspring of the devil himself. In proof of contention he pointed out cloven hoof prints under Louise's window. In short, the unfortunate lady was tried, the witch and English justice being, shall we say, a slightly biased in those days. She was sentenced to be hanged by the neck until dead. Dashed unfair if you ask me. After which she was buried at the crossroads. The Roman power with a stake through her heart and a great stone over the grave to make sure she didn't return from it. Oh, a lot of primitive nonsense I wonder. At any rate, during the last fortnight some person or persons seem to have moved that stone. And some rather curious, not to say frightening, phenomena have occurred. And the present house of the head of the house, Pinnock, seems to feel the safety of his firstborn is threatened and that this danger should reach its peak tonight, which is All Hallows Eve. Yes, here we are. This is our station. And that gentleman waiting over there beside the wagonette with a pair of handsome cobs is undoubtedly Sir Lionel, the present master of Fenwick Hall. Keep the rug tucked over your knees, gentlemen. It's the longest drive to the hall and the wind across the moors has turned on common cold. Thank you, Sir Lionel. I'll admit, Mr. Holmes, I was greatly relieved when I received your telegram saying I could expect you. Oh, have there been any further disturbances since you posted your letter to me? There have, Mr. Holmes. The church bell has tolled at odd hours last night and the night before. Furthermore, a young goat was discovered dragged to the foot of the witch's grave, its throat all torn and bleeding. Of course it could have been killed by a wolf or some ferocious dog, but unpleasant occurrences, sir, but as you say, not necessarily Supernatural? That's what I keep telling my wife and that stupid old nurse of hers. But I must say, when old Willie was found to be missing this morning, I really began to worry. Old Willie, he's the gatekeeper, Mr. Holmes. Lives in the little stone lodge beside the entrance to our property. He standed that gate for over 50 years. Never leaves it night or day, except to come up to the hall for the Christmas party and my birthday. Well, maybe the monotony finally got the best of him here, Holmes, and he decided to wander off. He couldn't wander Very far, Dr. Watson. Old Willie is a cripple. He managed to hobble a few feet with the aid of his crutch. But that's the curious part of the story. Willie was missing, but his crutch was there where he left it every night, propped up against the foot. His bed. Bye, Joe. Was there anything else missing? Any clothing, overcoat, shoes, money, provisions of any sort? No, Mr. Holmes. Wherever Willie went, he went in his night shirt. Not eaten. His carpet slippers are gone. Nothing was missing, Nothing at all. As a matter of fact, one object has disappeared with him. The old broom with which Willie swept the leaves away from the gates. Old Nanny, my wife's nurse, set up a typical Irish wailing when she heard about it. Insisted old Willie had ridden off on it to join the witch Sabbath tonight. She always hated him because he makes her get out of the cart and open the gates herself when she goes marketing for my wife. Typical household feud, eh, Holmes? I tried to reason with the ignorant old fool, but she kept moaning and groaning that she's always known Willie had the evil eye. She's managed to frighten my poor wife merely to hysterics. Oh, my wife is Irish too, Mr. Holmes. Her name is Bridget. In fact, I must say they place more credence in these old wide tales than we do. Here. Nanny says it's the curse of the house of Fenwick being visited upon us. The curse of the House of Fenwick? Yes, it seems a certain Lady Fenwick born Louise de Lambal. Oh yes, Holmes has already told me about her. Hanged as a witch and buried at the foot of the Roman Tower. That's right. Well, it seems that when the hangman came to place the noose around her neck, she turned to my, well, great, great something or other grandfather who had the bad judgment to be standing nearby. She turned to him and laughed. But my dear brother Edgar a Silken. Hope you think this is the end of Louis de Lamballe, but you're so very mistaken. You do not need to have my first child. And so I say I will not let your first child live. No. Nor the first child of any of the great house of Pinique. Louise shall come back from the grave. She shall come back and take them all. Has she managed to live up to her threats, Lionel? Certainly not. All of the oldest children of our house have met an untimely death. But a rather high percentage have been stillborn. Several have succumbed shortly after birth. The wind is rising. We're Approaching Hightower. Tour, Dr. Watson. The wind is always stronger here. How ghastly. The Roman ruins look in the moonlight. When we reach the next bend in the road, we shall be opposite the witch's grave. I see. A curious tip of mists rang across the road. Easy. Easy, Pey. Easy, Blue Boy. What? What this place has got is the horses. Something seems to frighten them. Chris Cop. What's that? There's something white over there in the bracken. Rain in the horses. Right. Yes, I think our investigation may be in here. Come along, Watson. I'm a giant. See, this white thing is moving. It's crawling along the ground. Yes. Man, he's badly hurt. What's he doing all in white? It's a night shirt, Watson. Fight. Oh, it's old Willie. But his face is all black. So are his hands. Willie, what's that stuff you got in your skin? It's the salve. The flying salve she give me so I could fly here to Hightower Heath. We flew here, me and me broomstick. We flew all the way. Lord, he's out of his head. He's delirious. Yes, he's in a bad way. Take his pulse, Watson. Here you are, William. Take a swig out of my flask. Thank you, sir. I'm frozen cold. It been cold ever since I put on the salve. She said it's cause we was flying so high. Who was she? What was her name? Which of course, what did she look like? That I couldn't rightly say. She was wearing a V over her face and standing in the moonlight at the foot of me bed. I've been asleep when she called to me. Wake up. Wake up, Willie Malloy. You who be someone who can make you dance. Someone who can make you fly. You've always wanted to dance, haven't you, Willie? They're giving a dance tonight around my grave. Here, take this jar of ointment. Cover yourself well with it, Willie. Cover your old broomstick. It will make you fly. I'd like that. Flee like a bird. I'd like to fly. Then rub on the ointment. I'll wait for you outside. We'll fly to the tower and dance together around my grave. I did like she told me, sir. I covered myself in me broom and first thing I do I got lighter and lighter, up and up I went up in the cloud and the next I knew I was here on the heath, watching them dance. The little people. They was dancing around in a circle. But it made me dizzy to watch them. So I crept under a bush and went to sleep. This morning I woke up cold, sick. The magic was gone. I couldn't fly and I couldn't walk. Poor old boy. Hello. His pulse. It stopped. The robbers. Gita. Brandy. Willie. Willie. Don't give up now. I'm afraid. He has watched. Yes, he's dead all right. Dead of narcotic poisoning and one of the most despicable tricks I've ever encountered, Mr. Holmes. What do you mean? I shall be able to answer that question more accurately, Sir Lionel, after I've had a chance to analyze the ointment that smeared on this broomstick beside the body. What? Bring it along, Watson. Careful, don't smear it on your clothes. The moon's rising above the hill. How white the crossroads. Look. Yes, this is where the witch is buried. Look here all round. The heather is trampled down in a large ring. Great Scott. There was a dance here last night. Look at these footprints in this damp spot. Small footprints, all small. No wonder Willie said he saw the little people. Here we are, gentlemen. This is Fenwick Hall. Is that you, Lionel? Rachel, my dear. I brought Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson. Thank heaven for that. It's time we had someone with intelligence to bring order into this hysterical household. Gentlemen, this is Rachel Conway, my cousin. How do you do? She used to keep house for me before my marriage. And she very kindly consented to return while my wife, Bridget was having her baby. And a good thing I came back. Bridget hasn't stepped a foot out of her bed since the child was born. She won't even try. Maybe she might if you'd go away where you belong. That will do, Nanny. What's that horrible stench? They both moved into the nursery with the baby. Nanny. And Bridget? She's had her bed brought downstairs, Arnold. They've been burning powders and drawing magic circles around the crib all afternoon. It's a wonder the baby isn't suffocated. Sure, and something's got to be done to protect the poor little one's soul from the gold and ghosties. His father won't give him a proper Christian christening. No, he must wait till the bishop gets back from Scotland. So it's up to his old nanny to protect him from the witches. You seem to be an expert on witchcraft there. Sure I am. That any part of Ireland's alive with them. No doubt. But at the moment I'm more interested in finding out what this stuff is on the handle of this broomstick and discovering which one of the women in this household has been visiting the witch's grave. How can you tell that, Mr. Holmes? Tomorrow morning Dr. Watson and I will search the room of every woman in this house. Whatever for, Mr. Holmes? It was a woman who lured Willie to the crossroads last night. No one can wander over the heath without collecting evidence of it on his or her clothing. Mud on the shoes, bracken on the coat or cloak. By the way, Sir Lionel, do you suppose I could speak to your wife a moment before she goes to sleep? That you cannot. She's asleep already. Really? I'd have thought she'd be too concerned over her son's safety to doze off tonight of all nights. They gave her a sleeping potion. They put it into her tea at supper. I see. You said the nursery was down here on this floor. I believe that's right, Dr. Watson. But surely if the child is in danger, it would be best to move him off the ground floor. What he's in danger from can come through lockdoors. He'll be in danger till he's christened. That's when the witches try to snatch him. It's the soul thereafter, not the body. Nanny. One more word of that nonsense and I'll ship you back to Ireland. Now get back to your mistress where you belong. Sure, if it's the Carol and I'm going, she goes with me and don't you forget it. Nanny's a fool, Lionel. You should have got rid of her long ago. But poor Bridget was so homesick I didn't have the heart to tell. Take her nurse from her. Good heavens, what am I thinking of? Cook has made out supper for you gentlemen on a table in front of the fire in the library. I'll fetch some hot coffee. Thank you, but we've no time to waste our food. Say, Holmes, I'm starved. Very well, Watson, suppose you make us some sandwiches while I set up our chemical equipment. If you could arrange it, Sir Lionel, I should like to have the use of a room not too far from the nursery. Certainly, Mr. Holmes. You may take over the gun room. It's directly Opposite. Good. And if you smell any further curious odors, don't be alarmed. I imagine we may be able to give nannies, powders and potions a run for their money. Now Watson, let's see what we've discovered in this confounded salve. Hogst water hemlock, aconite, blood, probably from a rat or bat. I can't determine that without a more powerful microscope. Sink foil, deadly night shade and soot. Fine collection of poisonous ingredients, eh, Holmes? The interesting thing, Watson, is that they're all well known ancient poisons, the aconite and deadly nightshade or belladonna being particularly potent. Why belladonna is a violent delirium. No. Poor wonder. Poor old Willie thought he was flying. Yes, Watson. The salve that was used to anoint Willie in his broomstick was undoubtedly a medieval witch's formula for flying ointment. You don't believe in things like that, Holmes? No, Watson. I don't think Willie actually flew from here to the Roman Tower. But he was undoubtedly under the impression that he'd done so. He was probably transported in a cart or carriage. But why should anyone want to poison Willie, take him across the moors and leave him to die? I don't think the intent was to harm him as much as it was to frighten him. Unfortunately, whoever took him to the witch's grave was frightened off when they found they weren't alone. When they found they weren't alone. Exactly. The little people were more than they'd bargained for, Holmes. Really. There are times when you. Someone opened the door upstairs turn up for them? That's right. I didn't hear anything. Yes, someone's coming along the upper hallway. My remark about searching the rooms tomorrow might lead to something. If any of the women in this household have anything to hide. You made a pinned on it. They'll try to get rid of it tonight. Someone's coming down the stairs. Yes, judging by her step, it's a woman she's seen for the library. Stay here, Watson. Keep your eye on the nursery door. I'm going to follow her. I wouldn't throw those papers in the fireplace, Ms. Conway. Mr. Holmes, if you'll allow me to take one look at them, I'd rather die. Very well. Suppose I tell you what Those envelopes contain some early photographs of Sir Lionel and letters from him. But they're not love letters. You must believe me. They're not. I Do believe it, Ms. Rachel. You were and still are in love with him. The affection has never been returned. Is that right? Yes, Mr. Holmes. But Lyle doesn't know how I feel. He doesn't know I've kept his letters. Please, please don't tell him. It would kill me if he found out. I've kept many secrets in my time, Ms. Rachel. I believe there's room for one more. Mr. Holmes, I don't know how to thank you. Don't try. And for goodness sake, go out to the kitchen and make yourself a cup of tea. Make some for Watson too. I will, Mr. Holmes. Oh, I will. Holmes. Holmes, come quickly. The old nurse slipped out of the nursery. She's gone upstairs. Calm yourself, Watson. We'll catch her on the way back. Yes, I wonder what she'll bring with her. Strange, her old houses creak at night. Quiet, Watson. Yes, she's coming back. She's reached the end of the stairs now. She stopped to step down. So that's her little cave, is it? Very interesting. Very. Yes. Here she comes down up to the way. Strike a match, Watson. Now then, Nanny, what's that you've got in your hands? A ball of twine and a pair of shoes. Why not? My lady's shoes it is. Forgot to shine them. So you did. Muddy, aren't they? Let me see them. You go to the devil. Well, I'll be. Yes, Watson. As I suspected, Lady Fenwick wasn't as bedridden as she wanted people to believe. Sometime during the last 24 hours she's been out on the moors. That red clay on her boots is rather prevalent at the foot of Hightower Hill. You mean she's been pretending to be the ghost? Holmes, it's midnight. Bewitching hour. Ah, the baby. Save the baby. Danny. Bridget, I'm coming. Lol and all. For the love of heaven, stay up there. Come downstairs, Sir Lionel, if you value your name. Critic, Mr. Holmes. What's happening down there? Like the lamp, Watson. That's better. Now, Sir Lionel, if you'll investigate the second step from the top. Good Lord. A piece of twine stretched across the stairs. Yes, a trip rope. You were supposed to fall downstairs and break your neck. Oh, no, no, Lionel, she didn't mean any harm. Nanny only wanted to frighten you so you'd let the priest christen the baby. You mean that's the reason she gave you Lady Fenwick? Bridget. What in heaven's name has been going on here? Darling, I was so frightened when Nanny told me about this girth in the witch's stone being moved. I didn't want anything to happen to the baby. I didn't know Willie would die. I Only thought she wanted to get even with him.

Podcast Host (141:42)

I didn't mean any harm.

Vincent Price (141:45)

I didn't mean any harm. Wow. I'll say. That was a spine chiller, Dr. Watson. Appropriate for Halloween, don't you think? But look, now, why did old Mr. Harris. Before I explain all that, suppose we show our gratitude to the people who make this program possible. A very sound idea, Dr. Watson. It's quite a shock when you're face to face with Clipper Craft clothes. I mean, an extremely pleasant shock, for even experts are amazed at Clippercraft values. Without the sacrifice of quality. You can buy really fine Clipper Craft clothes for far less than ordinary clothes cost elsewhere in a pleasant atmosphere at your own local independent store, where you get friendly personal attention. Clippercraft has delivered the goods in more ways than one. Through the famous ClipperCraft plan, 924 leading stores from coast to coast have concentrated their buying power. The result is exceptionally fine quality at exceptionally low prices. Remember, Clipper Craft suits are only 35 and $40, with a few special numbers at 43.75. Top coats and overcoats are only 30 to $40 and sport jackets only $24. Selling beautifully tailored, expensive clothes at inexpensive low prices at the nation's finest independent stores is the great big idea behind the Clipper Craft plan. That's why men who know insist on Clipper Craft clothes. So be sure to visit the Clipper Craft store in your city. The leading stores in the metropolitan area that bring you Clipper Craft Clothes are Saks 34th Broadway at 34th Street, Manhattan. Abraham and Strauss, Brooklyn. The Boulevard Men's shop, Kresge, Newark, N.J. and the B&B Clothes Shop, 16408 Jamaica Avenue, Jamaica. These great courteous and friendly stores are proud to add their names to that of Clippercraft in the label of your suit, topcoat, sports jacket and overcoat. Now, Dr. Watson, I was about to ask you. Why did old Nat want to stir up so much trouble? Oh, she hated the moors, Mr. Harris. She hated Willie, and she hated Sir Lionel. She was a thoroughly warped personality. Holmes suspected her immediately, of course, when he smelled the hocus pocus powder she'd been burning in the nursery. He knew she must have made the flying ointment that was responsible for Willie's death. Well, now, doctor, what about the gravestone ringing church bells on the little people? Who is it plays Halloween pranks, Mr. Harris? You mean children? Right. Holmes realized that when he saw the size of the footprints on Hightower Heath. Well, I'm blessed. I hope so. I'm sure. Now, let me see. Next week I'll tell you how Holmes and I investigate the case of a little governess whose employer agreed to pay her extra wages because she was willing to cut off her hair and wear a bright blue dress. Sounds like rather curious requests, Dr. Watson. Why was she asked to do those things? I questioned at Holmes and myself to visit a decidedly sinister country place called the Copper Beaches, we found a most unexpected answer in the attic. The makers of Clipper craft clothes and 924 leading stores from coast to coast have brought you another in the new series of broadcasts featuring the world's most famous detective, Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock Holmes, produced and directed by Basil Loughran with special music by Albert Berman. If you don't know your Clipper Craft dealer, Write Clipper Craft, 200 Fifth Avenue, New York City. Be sure to listen next week to Sherlock Holmes in the Adventure of the Copper Beaches. If you'd like to attend the Sherlock Holmes broadcast in New York, see your local Clipper Craft dealer and tell you how to obtain your tickets. This is S. Harris Fen for Clipper Craft Code. This is the new Dual broadcasting system from New York. The makers of Clipper Crab, clothes for men and 924 leading retail stories, doors from coast to coast present the world's most famous detective, Sherlock Holmes. Our stories are based upon the character of Sherlock Holmes, created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Sherlock Holmes is portrayed by John Stanley, Dr. Watson by Alfred Shirley, and the dramatizations are by Edith Miser. Once again, we find ourselves in front of Dr. Watson's crackling fire. Just a moment, Mr. Harris. Just a moment. Should I put on a fresh pine knot so our listeners can really hear it? Yeah, that's Mr. Keith now. Go ahead, Mr. Harris. Outside a corner, cold white autumn mist shrouds the black tree skeletons. But inside we sit warm and cozy and ready for another of Dr. Watson's fabulous Sherlock Holmes adventures. What's it to be tonight, sir? Your conversation of white shrouds and skeletons brings to mind one of the most bizarre problems we ever undertook to solve. It came just close to being our final problem, as a matter of fact. Sounds promising, Doctor. Nothing I like better than caring about Holmes in a tight spot. And whenever our adversary proved to be the notorious Professor Moriarty, it was generally a very tight spot. Professor Moriarty. Wasn't he the man Holmes referred to as the Napoleon of Crime? The same, actually. This case began when Sir George Westbrook discovered a corpse dressed in a Roman senator's toga tunic and sandals. Holmes Always maintained he could deduce a man's entire history from his wardrobe. But this time, Doctor, speaking of judging people by their clothes, I thought I list myself. Yes, of course. I almost forgot. Let's have a few words from our sponsor who is also an authority on the subject of gentleman's apparel. May I say, Dr. Watson, that most people like Mr. Holmes do judge people by their appearance. That's mighty important in connection with Clipper Craft clothes because you'd never guess Clipper Craft cost so little. Such low prices for such truly fine quality are rare to say the least. Clipper Craft suits are yours for only 35 and $40 with a few special numbers at 43.75. Top coats and overcoats are only 30 to $40 and sport jackets $24. These are planned values, the result of the Clipper Craft plan concentrating the buying power of 900 stores across the country, resulting in tremendous savings in manufacturing and distribution costs. Remember, all this is yours in your own local independent store where friendly attention is traditionally yours. Want to convince yourself it's as easy as a visit to your Clipper Craft dealers. Just compare Clipper craft with clothes selling for many dollars. And now Dr. Watson, to get back to the gentleman in the Roman toga. All right, Mr. Harrison. It all began on a freezing winter morning. My first view of Baker street presented a dispiriting glimpse of icy sleet falling between the dun colored houses. I donned my carpet slippers, my oldest trousers and a well worn bathrobe with the firm intent of enjoying a placid breakfast and settling myself in front of the fire for the rest of the day. I no sooner opened our sitting room door however, when I caught sight of Holmes tramping about swearing to himself and tossing his shiny golden coin into the air. Confounded. If I could only lay hands on the villain. Morning homes. What seems to be the difficulty today? Difficulty? Moriarty is back in business. Only this morning Mrs. Hudson received this coin. Here, have a look at it. The handsome gold sovereign flooding the town with them. Great Scott. Don't tell me Professor Moriarty, the greatest criminal in Europe has turned philanthropist. No such luck. That coin, Watson, is counterfeit. A brilliant job. More of the pity. Only an expert can spot it. No wonder Mariotti has been so quiet these last two months. It takes time to develop a coin as perfect as this. Well, at least he hasn't had time for murder often. Or any more of his serious crimes. Serious? You think flooding the country with counterfeit coins isn't serious? Watson, do you realize what this Will do. To the value of the pound. Goodbye, Jove. Of course. Who is that far doorbell tell Mrs. Hudson I'm not at home. But who? I'm not accepting any company cases. Not while Mariota is threatening the credit of the empire with his fraudulent gold pieces. Come in, come in. I. Which of you gentlemen is Sherlock Holmes? My friend over there has the honor. Whatever it is, I'm busy. Oh, but this is terribly, terribly important, so I. I don't know what to do. He's dead, you see. Dead men do not interest me. Couldn't you inform his relatives? Well, that's just it. I don't know who they are. I. I don't even know who he is. I. I don't even know when he died. Albert, he's my assistant. Says it must have been over a thousand years ago, but that seems quite impossible. There's not the slightest sign of decomposition. Oh. On the other hand, until Albert and I broke through this morning, no one had been in that room for centuries. What room? The Roman baths. I. I discovered them, you know. The bricks are undoubtedly ancient Roman. Even the cadaver was clad in a sacred senator's toga. And genuine, I assure you. We found him there in one corner. Now, let's get this straight. You found a fresh corpse dressed in a Roman toga in some Roman ruins that have been buried for centuries? Yes, Mr. Holmes. Watson, what are you waiting for? Bring the gentleman to chair. But you said you were busy. Don't be irrelevant. This sounds interesting. Very well. Won't you sit here, Mr. Oh, I'm sorry. I'm afraid I forgot to introduce myself. Here, here's my card. Read it for me, Watson. Sir George Westbrook, President L&WA Association. That means London and Wessex Archaeological Association. Of course, of course. I remember hearing the Corporation of London had engaged you to investigate some ancient Roman remains which you discovered in the Billingsgate section. That's right, Mr. Holmes. They're under the basement of the coal exchange in Lower Thames Street. Albert and I have been burrowing away down there for over a month. This morning we broke through the final bit of brickwork and emerged into a large subterranean chamber. All right, Albert, I think the opening's big enough. Yeah. Give me the lantern. I'll go through first. Yes, sir. Why, Sir George, your hand is shaking. Is it any wonder I'm excited? Albert, unless I'm very much mistaken, we've unearthed some baths that were built by the early Romans. Yes, well, come along. Careful, don't tear your clothing. I say, sir, it is a biggish Room, isn't it splendid, Albert, splendid. Look at that ceiling, will you? In almost perfect condition. Hello. What's that in the corner over there? Hmm, Looks like a heap of white cloth. No, no, there's a leg sticking out of it. Good Lord, it's a body. We'd best have a look at it, sir. Yes, but be careful. Don't, don't touch it. Don't touch anything. What's that white thing he's got on? Well, it's a toga, Albert, a Roman toga sopping wet, sir. If you ask me, he's been drowned. Drowned? Did you say drowned, Sir George? That's right, Mr. Holmes. But that's impossible. There hasn't been any water in those baths for over a thousand years. Interesting. Very interesting. Tell me, Sir George, what was the condition of the air in that chamber when you broke in stale, vitiated? No, Mr. Holmes, it, it was quite fresh. That's curious now that I think of it, because there was no other entrance to the room except the one we'd come through. The doorway to the rest of the baths was filled by a great heap of bricks and rubble. You were unable to identify the corpse? As a matter of fact, we didn't do any further investigating. Albert was quite overcome by the sight of the body. I'm afraid. He's never been very strong about such things since the time that mommy disintegrated in his arms while we were working on those pre Hellenic excavations in Crete. I sent him home and came straight here to consult you. You mean you left no one behind to guard the body? No, Mr. Holmes. What? Where's my hat? Where's my coat? Watson, don't just stand there. There's no time to lose. I suppose I should have informed the authorities, Mr. Holmes. That the thought of all those stupid Scotland Yard inspectors trampling around in my beautiful ruins like a herd of elephants. I left a couple of dark lanterns burning. Oh yes, here they are in this packing case. All right. Now follow me, gentlemen. Why'd your basement have to be so damp and depressing? Careful there, careful. This is, this is where we started to dig. It's a rather rough tunnel, slanting downward. You'll have to bend over, I'm afraid. You're sure that this earth won't cave in on us? No, I don't think so. Unless of course someone should give it a tremendous push of some sort. Ah, it is where we broke through the wall. You'll be interested in this, Mr. Holmes. Notice the masonry. Yes, yes, the bricks are undoubtedly Roman. Let's see, they measure nine and a half inches long by four and a half inches broad and only one and three quarter inches thick. Not unlike those of the roman bars of ROTC. Except that there the tiles are a mere 1 1/2 inches thick and measure 16 inches by 12. Oh really Holmes. Did we come here to discuss bricks or inspect a body? Never neglect an opportunity to increase your store of knowledge, Watson. Stuff my brain with a lot of useless tittle. Oh, not me. Here's the hole we made in the wall, Mr. Holmes. It's not very large I'm afraid. I'll go through first and light the way. Now gentlemen, if you'll follow me, I'll go next and you can bring up the rear, Watson with the other lantern. Now then Watson. Alio. Don't be in such a rush. Here, take the lantern. It's a tight squeeze. You know I. Hello. I think I'm stuck. If you'll pull his other arm, Sir George. Right. Feel glad to get out of that. I told you you'd go on a diet, Watson. Oh, just because you're satisfied to look like a walking skeleton you. Hello. This is a gloomy looking spot, more like a tomb than the sort of place one thinks of as an elegant Roman bathing establishment. Yes, it certainly is. More like a tomb present complete with the remains of the deceased. Although how he was able to insinuate himself into this chamber. Yes, quite a superficial survey of the walls and ceilings certainly shows no signs of any recent entry except by way of the hole through which we just dragged Watson. Interesting, very interesting, yes. Suppose we view the body we came to investigate. Yes, he's over here, Mr. Holmes, against the south wall. Oh, watch your step. Flooring here is a bit uneven. Here he is exactly as we found him, lying on his face with one arm stretched over his head. Say, a skinny old boy, wasn't he? I say, these robes or whatever it is he's wearing, they are sopping wet. Yes, the poor fellow was undoubtedly drowned. Lungs still full of water, extremities icy rigor well advanced. He's been dead six to eight hours I should say. Holmes, how about it? Not necessarily. The floor he's lying on is extremely cold. Also the air. Of course. The really fantastic part of the whole picture is the man's raiment. The tunic and the toga with the wide purple stripe, even the thong sandals are the authentic garments of an early Roman senator. So I see, so I see. Whoever this person was, he was thoroughly at home among Roman customs and manners. That ring of office on his outstretched hand is undoubtedly authentic. Oh look here Holmes, you don't actually believe this is a genuine Roman senator who got himself drowned in this room and managed somehow to stay in this state of preservation? No Watson, there are several obvious flaws to that theory. In the first place, although the costume is authentic in line, cut and drape, the wooden fabric of this toga was woven not on an ancient handloom but by a modern machine. Second, the liquid in which the gentleman was drowned would have evaporated in a short time even in very stale air. And third, this room is neither the frigidarium which was the cold plunge, nor the caldarium which was the worm. No, judging by the recessed benches built into the walls, this room was the suratorium or what the Romans called the vapor bark. But of course Mr. Holmes, why didn't I think of that? But good lord, then how was he drowned and why? Suppose we turn the victim over Sir George. His identity may give us the answer to those questions. Right. O you see there by J. He looks nice. Even more Roman from this side. That nose, those hawk like features, like some rapacious old Caesar on a Roman coin. Rather accurate and appropriate description my dear Watson. Yes, this, unless I'm very much mistaken, is Brutus Octavius Bainbridge, the world's greatest numismatologist. You mean the coin expert? But of course. I thought the old fellow looked familiar. I've heard he often wore Roman dress when he was lounging about at home. Oh, so that part of our mystery is a perfectly normal explanation. Don't be too disappointed Sir George. There are several other little questions to be cleared up. The answers to which may be rather more exciting than you anticipate. What do you mean, Holmes? Well for one thing, Mr. Bainbridge disappeared very suddenly from his home one night a little over two months ago. About a fortnight later the British Isles began to be flooded by an extraordinarily clever counterfeit sovereign. Bad joke. I pointed out to Scotland Yard that there might possibly be a connection between the two events. You mean Mr. Bainbridge was a counterfeiter? I mean as the greatest living authority on coins and coinage he was undoubtedly kidnapped by a band of unusually daring counterfeiters and forced to assist them in their work. I thought you might possibly come to that conclusion, Mr. Hogg. What? Great Scott, that voice, where does it come from? Over a hidden speaking tube of some sort I imagine. But who is it? Unless I'm very much mistaken that voice belongs to my arch adversary. Greetings Professor Moriarty. So now you've taken up counterfeiting. Have I destroyed so many of your activities that you're running short of fun? I've warned you repeatedly, Holmes, that you were getting to be a nuisance. Surely you must have realized how dangerous that can be. But my dear professor, surely you must realize that danger is the breath of life to me this time home. You've overreached yourself. On the contrary Moriarty, it's you who have gone too far. Watson, get Sir George out of here. I'll keep talking to give you a chance to escape. Was it necessary to kill Bainbridge after you'd finished picking his brains? Not necessary, my dear old but spleen. We drowned him. I wondered if Dr. Watson in 10 years, why. Well, dashed it I can. Why not? Shot or strangle, I say. What's all this about, Holmes? Get out of here, you idiot. Leave you in danger? I should say not. You see Dr. Watson, drowning would serve two purposes. It would eliminate Mr. Bainbridge and it would provide a tasty for Mr. Sh. Sherlock Holmes. What do you mean? I knew he'd never turn down an invitation involving a corpse in a toga ostensibly drowned in an ancient Roman bath. Watson, if you have no regard for your own safety, at least have the intelligence to get Sir George out of here. I'm dashed if I understand what's going on here. You will, Sir George, you will. Sorry to have to execute you too, but I'm afraid you signed your own death warrant when you sent for Mr. Sherlock Holmes instead of Scotland Yard. I rather thought you would, you know. Ah well, this is what comes of associating with anyone who is foolish enough to think he can outwit Professor Moriarty. Look here, you old blunderbuss. You needn't think you can bully rag Sherlock Holmes or me either. No. Great Scott. What's that? I rather imagine one of the good professor's hirelings has blown up the entrance to Sir George's tunnel. What do you. You mean we're buried alive in this sepulchre? Just like Faida and her young man. Isn't it romantic? You might try singing yourself to death as they did. Such a waste of time, I always thought. Such a pity Mr. Bainbridge won't be able to join you. You'd have made such a jolly quartet. That's torn it, eh, Holmes? Looks as though we're entombed in this blasted place. Until Sir George's assistant turns up tomorrow morning and finds the tunnel caved in. Tomorrow, my dear Watson, is Sunday and day after a bank holiday. Better blow out one of the lanterns and save it for later. But this is terrible, Mr. Holmes. We'll be asphyxiated by the time Albert arrives on Tuesday. I doubt it, Sir George. There's a very definite movement of air. Fresh air? Icy fresh air. If you'll wet a finger and hold it up, you'll notice what amounts to a slight breeze. No, I doubt that we shall die from any lack of oxygen. We may very well perish, however, from cold and exposure. Doesn't take long to freeze to death in this temperature. You needn't be so compounded cheerful about it, Holmes. Don't interrupt, Watson. As I was saying, we may very well expire unless we can discover how Mr. Bainbridge's body was brought into this room. What good will that do? Any passageway large enough to permit the entrance of this corpse would also serve as an exit for Sir George and myself. You, Watson, may have a bit of trouble. Oh, you go to blazes. But Mr. Holmes, what passageway could there be? As you know, the architecture of the ancient Roman vase was fairly identical. There was obviously only one doorway into this bath and that's blocked by a great fall of earth and bricks. Quite. But aren't you forgetting, Sir George? The small unseen tube like passage that invariably ran under all the rooms. Except the coal plunge, of course. The hypochost. You know what in thunder is a hypochost? A smallish tunnel lined with red paving squares which ran from a furnace outside the buildings, under all the principles. Ruins of a Roman bath. If we can discover some loose tiling in this four, we may thank the ancient Romans for inventing what our poor civilization considers a modern improvement, namely central heating. Oh, it's discouraging. I've dug up two dozen spots. Cheer up, Watson. At least the activity has kept you from freezing to death. Yes, he's ruined my trousers. Good thing I was wearing my old suit. I say, the light's getting dimmer, Holmes. The second lantern is about burnt out. Keep digging, Watson. It's our only chance. I say, Mr. Holmes, could you come over here a minute? I think I've found a sort of grating under this last batch of rakes. Good Lord. Let's see. Yes, yes, we found it. Watson, help me with these bricks. There. Watson, bring the lantern right here. There they are. Now then, let's see. There's a black down there, isn't it? Correct me if I'm wrong, Sir George. We are now in the vapor room. The blocked up entrance over there leads to the hot bath. That will put the cold Plunge on our left. No good going in that direction. When we go down into the tunnel we should turn right to get out. Quite correct, Mr. Holmes. I go first. Give me the lantern, Watson. It's flickering. Holmes. It's gone out. Very well then we'll have to crawl our way out in the dark. I feel as if I'd been crawling like a snake for hours. Stop complaining, Watson. At least we're not sealed up in that boat. Maybe not, but I can't say this is any great improvement. Why? Don't ask to stand upright. If I could only get to my hands and knees for a moment. There's a shallow pool of water here. How jolly. I could use a bath. Only I'd just as soon not have ice water. You know, stay in your breath. How are you getting along, Sir George? I'll. I'll manage. Now what? Something ran over my hand. Probably a sewer rat. The nitro. Maybe we could take it home for a pet. Quiet, Watson. I think we've reached the end of the tunnel. Yes, it opens out. You mean I can finally get up off my stomach? Yes. Give me your hand. Oh, I think my back is permanently bent. Hello. There are some steps here, steps going up. And the door at the top. It's open, is slick. Yeah, there's a light. Well, there must be another entrance at ground level. Yes. Follow me and be very quiet. You'd better have your revolver handy, Watson. This may well be the most dangerous part of the entire adventure. Easy now. Let's have a look through the crack before we open the door. It's a large, bare looking place. What's all that machinery? Those are melting furnaces, presses, weighing apparatus, rolling machines. And on the far side are the acid and water baths in which Bainbridge was undoubtedly drowned. In short, you see before you a very complete mint for the coining of counterfeit money. Mr. Holmes. Who's that sinister looking man stepping out of the shadows? There, There, look. Adjusting a jeweler's magnifying glass in one eye. Now he's. He's hunched over a pile of golden coins. Good Lord. His head oscillates from side to side like a snake. Enjoying the fruits of your labor, Moriarty? You, Holmes. You didn't expect us to return your call quite so promptly, eh, Professor? Don't bother to reach for that acid. Watson has you covered. Better put your hands up. That's right. Now they'll come around that table slowly. That's right. I have a little present for you. A pair of bracelets. The burst gold is going through the window Shoe got some shoe comes out. I can't. Why not? Well, blast it all. You asked me out of the house in such a jiggle this morning, I forgot to slip my revolver into my overcoat pocket. Don't look so crestfallen, Watson. I'm rather relieved we didn't get the handcuffs on the professor. Once he's safely behind bars, I'll have no opponent worthy of my talents. I should probably die of sheer boredom. You mean sheer conceit. That was quite a story, Dr. Watson. There's always plenty of action when Professor Moriarty's around. Oh, Terry. Mr. Harris, how true. This particular adventure had a rather pleasant epilogue. What was that, Doctor? Suppose I tell you about it after we pay our respects to the gentlemen who so graciously make this program possible. What could be fairer? You know, the thing you remember about Clippercraft clothes is not their low prices. Not until you're ready to buy again, that is. What you really live with is Clipper Craft. Superb styling, the perfect fit, fine tailoring and long wearing fabrics no one would dream. Your Clipper Craft suit had cost only 35 or $40 or 43.75 for a few special numbers. Or that your top coat or overcoat had cost only 30 to $40. Or your sport jacket, $24. No, these exceptional values are made possible by the unique Clipper Craft Plan concentrating the buying power of 924 leading stores across America. Bringing these fine clothes to you in a pleasant atmosphere where you get friendly personal attention. Selling beautifully tailored, expensive clothes at inexpensive, low prices at the nation's finest stores is the great big idea behind the Clipper Craft Plan. That's why men who know insist on Clipper Craft clothes. So be sure to visit the Clipper Craft store in your city. The leading stores in the metropolitan area that bring you Clipper Craft clothes are sax, 34th Broadway at 34th Street, Manhattan. Abraham and Strauss, Brooklyn, the Boulevard Men's Shop, Presge, Newark, Newark, N.J. and the B&B Clothes Shop, 16408 Jamaica Avenue, Jamaica. These great courteous and friendly stores are proud to add their names to that of Clippercraft in the label of your suit, top coat, sports jacket and overcoat. And now, Dr. Watson, about the epilogue to the adventure of the corpse. In the Roman toga, the officers of the Royal Mint tendered Holmes and myself a dinner in recognition of our invaluable services. In breaking up a counterfeiting outfit which had threatened the value of British currency, Holmes received a large illuminated scroll and a Sizable check always acceptable, eh, Dr. Watson? Quite so. I was presented with the priceless Roman ring of office which we had found on the dead man's finger. And a magnificent copy of Vitruvius the architectura on the private. In Holmes handwriting was the inscription. One never knows what bit of useless tittle tattle may save a man's life. The chapter on the hypochost was underlined. Got you that time. And now, Dr. Watson, I wonder if you'd like to give us a hint about next week's story. Next week I think I'll tell you how Holmes and I found a man shot under a smashed streetlight. All the evidence pointed in one direction, but the victim had been shot at point blank range and there was only one wound. But we heard two shots. Holmes always refer to it as the case of the well staged murder. The makers of clipper craft clothes and 924 leading stores from coast to coast have brought you another in the new series of broadcasts featuring the world's most famous detective, Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock Holmes is produced and directed by Basil Loughran with special music by Albert Berman. If you don't know your clipper craft dealer, Write Clipper Craft, 200 Fifth Avenue, New York City. Hunger and starvation are the enemies of civilization and democracy. It's up to every American man, woman and child to save a little food every day. In that way the people of Western Europe can be helped in their fight for decency and freedom. Be sure to listen next week to Sherlock Holmes. Holmes in the case of the well Staged Murder. If you'd like to attend the Sherlock Holmes broadcast to New York, see your local clipper craft dealer and he'll tell you how to obtain your tickets. This is S. Harris speaking for Flipper Trap Code. This is the Mutual Broadcasting System from New York. The makers of clipper craft clothes for men and 924 leading retail stores from coast to coast present the world's most famous detective, Sherlock Holmes. Our stories are based upon the character of Sherlock Holmes created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Sherlock Holmes is portrayed by John Stanley, Dr. Watson by Alfred Shirley and the dramatizations are by Edith Miser. Tonight the stars are frosty bright. No wind, no clouds, just clean clear cold. Feels good to be sitting in front of your cozy fire, Dr. Watson, with our feet stretched on the fender. Now don't get too comfortable, Mr. Harris, because tonight I'm going to tell you about one of Charcot's most important cases. The case of the stolen naval treaty. A naval treaty, Doctor. A highly Explosive document. Explosive. Yes. It threatened to blow the piece of Europe into bits. And did it? Now really, Mr. Harris, you mustn't get ahead of the story. And let's not forget your part in the program. Right, Dr. Watson, and my part in the program is really a very simple one. My job is to tell our listeners the great big idea behind Clipper Craft clothes. It's just this. To bring you the finest values in clothes in America at the friendly local store you can trust. Now, naturally, this is not easy. It takes real planning. It's the remarkable Clippercraft plan that makes it all possible. Concentrating the buying power of 924 leading stores across America, making tremendous savings in manufacturing and distribution costs. You've a treat in store for you if you've never seen Clippercraft clothes. Beautiful Clipper craft suits that look like twice as much money and wear like it too are only $40 and $43.75. Top coats and overcoats are only $40 and sport jackets only $25. They're so amazingly fine that we urge you to compare them with clothes selling for many dollars more. And now, Dr. Watson, how about that stolen naval treaty? Yes, let's see. One July morning, it was the July which immediately succeeded my marriage, I received a communication from an old school friend, Percy Phelps. Percy's mother's brother was Lord Holst, the great conservative politician. This rather gaudy relationship was of little value to him when we were at school, I can assure you. However, the letter seemed to be fairly urgent. So I hurried around to Baker Street. I found Holmes in his dressing gown, lunged in the middle of a chemical investigation. A large curved retort was boiling furiously in the bluish flame of a Bunsen burner. Seeing the look of concentration on Holmes face, I seated myself in my old armchair and waited, hardly daring to breathe. Most enlightening. Most enlightening. Yes. You come at a crisis, Watson. If this slip of paper remains blue when it touches the solution, all will be well. If it turns red, means a man's life. I see. You'll need to rock, Watson. This is the crucial moment. Now watch carefully. There. But I see it has burned red. A nasty blood red. Blood red is quite correct, Watson. A very commonplace murder. Well, it's the end of that little experiment. Heigh ho. Fill up your pipe, then hand me the Persian slipper. All right. There you are. Hmm. So you've come on business, Watson. Yes, but how did you know? The letter touched so tightly in your right hand. Not to mention the look of excitement and anxiety on your face. You are the stormy petrel of crime, eh, Watson? What is it? This letter. It came in the morning mail. Read it to me. That's a good chap. It's from an old schoolfellow of mine. I haven't seen him for years. Yes, but what does he say the letter is? Harriet Briarbrae Woking. My dear Watson, I trust you still remember Tadpole Phelps, who was in the fourth form when you were in the third. You may even have heard that through my uncle's influence I obtained a good appointment at the Foreign Office, where I was in a situation of trust until a horrible misfortune suddenly blasted my career. Do you think you could persuade your friend Sherlock Holmes to come down here to help solve this terrible mess? Assure him that the only reason I have not asked his advice sooner was because I have been completely off my head. Nine weeks, I am still so weak that I have to write by dictating. As you see, your old schoolfellow, Percy Phelps. Hmm, Let me see. That letter doesn't tell us very much, does it? Hardly anything yet. The writing is of interest. But it's not his own. Precisely. It's a woman's. But it looks like a man's. No, it's a woman's. And a woman of unusually strong character. It's always interesting to know that your client is in close contact with someone who, for good or evil, has an acceptable exceptional nature. Yes, my interest is already awakened in the matter. Then you will take the case. The next train for Woking leaves in exactly 43 minutes, Honey Watson, or we shall miss it. If you step in here, gentlemen, I'll find out if Mr. Phelps can see you. Dear, dear. The old place hasn't changed since the days when I used to visit here on my vacations. Makes me feel quite young again. Ah, Sherlock Holmes, I perceive. And Dr. Watson too, I presume? So glad to come. Percy's been inquiring for you all morning. Poor chap, he clings to any straw. My dear man, I may look as thin as a straw, but I promise you I have more weight mentally. I perceive you yourself are not a member of the family. Oh, dear me, how did you know? The monogram on the pocket of your blazer. JH of course, of course. But a moment I thought you had done something clever. My name is Harrison, Joseph Harrison. Percy is engaged to marry my sister Annie, so I shall soon be a relation. By marriage any rate. My sister is with him now. She's nursed him hand and foot during these Trying two months soothing his fevered brow, eh? Lucky fellow. Yes. You will find them in his room. My room, rather. At least it. It used to be my room until he came home after the catastrophe and collapsed. They couldn't carry him upstairs, he was in such a state, so they took him into my room. Well, we'd better go in at once. I know how impatient he is to see you. Yes, this conversation is delightful, but after all, we did come to see Mr. Phelps. Oh, yes, yes, quite so. Come this way. It's in this swing, the dining room, you see, this is the door. I'll leave you here, you can come in if you like. Oh, no, thank you, no. Invalids are always depressing, and with this misfortune hanging over his head. Oh, poor fellow. Well, come in. Oh, you've cut last at least. I presume this is Sherlock Holmes? Quite. And how is your patient? Oh, he's much better, thank you, Watson, My dear fellow. Well, Terry Badger, I hardly knew you under that moustache. Didn't delight to see you both. Oh, this is my fiance, Ms. Harrison. Please sit down. Shall I leave, Percy? Oh, no, don't go any, if you don't mind, Mr. Holmes, not all. I feel much steadier when she's here. Quite. And now, Phelps? Well, you see, Mr. Hermes, it's like this. I was a happy and successful man on the eve of being married, and then this dreadful misfortune wrecked my life. I'm a broken man, my honor gone. I. I'm ruined, ruined. Percy, please, you make yourself ill again. I'm sorry, Anne. Perhaps you'd better just tell us the facts as quietly as you can. Of course, Mr. Holmes. I was, as Watson may have told you, in the Foreign Office, in a responsible position. My uncle, Lord Holdhurst, is the Foreign Minister, you know. Well, nearly eight years ago, weeks rather, the 23rd of May to be exact, he called me into his private room, informed me that he had a commission of trust for me to execute. Come in, come in. Oh, it's you, Percy. Anyone out there in the hall? No, sir. Good, Come in and lock the door. Now come over here, I want to make sure we can't be overheard. That's it. What's up, Uncle Bert? You look tremendously solemn. It's a solemn matter, Percy. You see this piece of paper? It's a secret treaty covering our naval situation in the Mediterranean. Harmless enough in itself, but a bombshell if it should fall into the hands of a certain government. You mean the very walls may have ears, Percy. Let us merely say the country of X, you understand? I understand. I want you to make a copy of it. I must have a complete copy tomorrow morning. You may have to work on it the better part of the night. Oh, that's all right, sir. Joseph and his brother, you know, is going to stop by for me. We're going to take the 9 o'clock train together. He can tell the family I've been kept in town on business. Very well, but leave the message with the commissionaire downstairs. I don't want anyone in your room when you're copying that document. Very good, sir. When you finished, you can put the document and the copy in my safe. You know the combination, I believe. Certainly. That's all, Percy. But don't forget, you hold the peace of Europe in your hands. I won't. Good night, Uncle Bert. Good night. Well, looks as though I'll have to make a night of it. Hello, Gunner, you still here? Oh, yes, sir. I had some potatoes to clear up, so I thought you'd want me to stay. Oh, that's all right, Goro. You can finish tomorrow. Yes, sir. Are you sure you won't need me? No, thanks. Doesn't look as though I have a chance to go out for dinner. At least I can drink for coffee. Oh, confounded. That bell pull is twisted again. There we are. The rain's coming down harder than ever. Nice jolly little evening. You're sure there's nothing I can do, Mr. Phelps? Good Lord, no. Go run along. Good night. Good night. Go. Hello. Who in thunder are you? I'm the commissioner's wife, sir. What's more, I'm the Charlie dear round here. The char lady. I see. I don't believe I've ever had the pleasure of making your acquaintance before. No, sir, that you haven't. If you mean what I think you do. Would you inquire if your spouse would spare me a cup of the excellent coffee he keeps hot for any pay? Slaves of the empire who are obliged to work at night. You mean Irby should bring you half a cup of coffee? Yes, please. I'll see what I can do about. Yes, use your influence. Well, now, let's have a look at that treaty. Great Britain, triple Alliance, French fleet, complete ascendancy. It's no use. I'm too drowsy. You think I better have a cup of coffee? Herbert. I say, Herbert, coffee. Oh, found the fellow. Do I have to go all the way downstairs? Herbert fast asleep. Hey, Herbert, wake up. Hello. Hello. Oh, it's you, Mr. Phelps. Yes, I came down to see if my coffee was Ready? But I think the front doorbell just rang. Bell? Yes sir. But if you was here, who rang that bell? What bell? I told you, it was the. It's the bell of the room you was working in, sir. Great thunder. My bell. There's no one up there. The treaty. Oh, good heavens. I left it on the table. Quick Herbert, we've got to get up there. Something terrible is happening. No, don't run so faster. Thank God it's too late. Wait, I'll open the door. Stand back of it. May be armed. I've got my army revolver. What? There's no one here. What? Look. The treaty. The treaty's gone. Who could have taken it? No one's been in the front way tonight. And there was no one in the rooms but yourself. My wife said so. Then he must have come up the stairs in the side door and slipped out that way too. After heaven. Quickly. It may not be too late. Hurry men, hurry. Don't you go outside, you'll be soaked to the skin. There's a policeman on the corner, maybe he's seen something. I say Bobby, there's no robbery in the Foreign Office. Has anyone passed this way? Standing here? Quarter of an hour, sir. And only one living soul's fast in that time. Who was it? A tall old lady in a paisley shawl. She seemed in a hurry. Well, that was my wife. Which way did she go? You're just wasting your time, sir. And every minute is of importance. Yes, all right, we'll go back home. Scotland Yard. Oh, this is terrible, Heather, terrible. We're ruined. Ah, never you mind, sir, you'll lose your post. Perhaps, but they can't do nothing so dreadful to you. It's not myself I'm thinking of, it's England. Well, officers from Scotland Yard were waiting for the char woman when she got home. And what did they find? Nothing, absolutely nothing. And Goro, did they trace him? Yes, Mr. Holmes, but again nothing was found. Oh, I was frantic, out of my mind. They had to get a doctor to take me home. I was delirious for seven weeks. And these two people, Doro and the charwoman, they've been under observation ever since, I suppose? Yes, with no results. You say it had been raining all evening? Yes. But you found no traces of any kind in the room? No footprints, I mean? Absolutely none. Not even those of the charwoman's muddy boots? How do you explain that? Well, the charwomen in the habit of taking off their boots and wearing just carpet slippers. No footprints, eh? That's enlightening. Must have In a cab and got away that way, too. That explains the policeman's not seeing him. Now then, Mr. Peltz, could anyone have been concealed in the room or in the corridor? Impossible. There was no cover of any kind. Windows? 30ft above the ground and locked on the inside. Then it must have been the side door. Who knew you were to have the treaty in your possession? No one. I just take my oath on it. In your opinion, what would happen if those papers were to fall into the hands of a rival government? War. Almost instantaneously. But it's eight weeks and we're not at war. Therefore, it's not unfair to suppose the treaty hasn't reached them. I don't imagine the thief took the treaty in order to frame it. Quite. And he's undoubtedly waiting for a better price. There's only one clue that puzzles me. What is that? Bell. Did someone to prevent the crime, or was it an accident? If we only knew why the bell was rung, we should have the solution of this case. It's even possible that he didn't. Of course. Of course. What a fool I was not to think of that before. You think you can help me? Possibly. Possibly. God bless you for that, Mr. Holmes. If we can keep our courage and our patience, the truth must come out. But Percy has one more adventure to tell you about. You're sure you're strong enough, darling? Oh, I feel better than I have for days. Hope it is a splendid tonic, Annie. And what was this other incident, Mr. Phelps? Well, you see, Mr. Holmes, last night was the very first that I slept, not a nurse in my rooms. I was rather wakeful. I had a nightmare or two, and suddenly I heard a slight noise. What kind of noise? Like a mouse gnawing a plank. It grew louder and all at once there was a sharp metallic sneak. Someone forcing the window. Yes, I realized that, too. I jumped out of bed and flung open the shutters. A man was crouching in the window. He was gone like a flash. What did he look like? I don't really know. He was wrapped in some sort of cloak which came across the lower part of his face. Oh, one thing I am sure of, he had a long weapon in his hand that looked like a knife. I saw the gleam of it as he turned to run. I shouted after him and then? Then I must have collapsed from the effort. The thing I knew, I was surrounded by the entire household. Oh, Joseph and the groom found marks in the flower bed outside this window. You can see them from where you sit? Dear me, yes, I'm Afraid Joseph and the groom have been a bit too energetic for me to learn anything from the traces. The flower bed looks as if it had been trampled on by an army. Oh, I'm sorry. Why should a burglar, if it was a burglar, choose to enter this room? The dining room windows are much larger and more accessible. I can't imagine unless. Well, unless it's a plot against Percy. That sounds a bit melodramatic, Annie. Not at all. There's something in what Ms. Harrison says so much that Dr. Watson and I are going to take you up to London with us. Yes, but he's not very strong, you know. The trip to London will not be nearly so dangerous to your fiance, Ms. Harrison, as another night in this room. Good help. And another thing, Ms. Harrison, you can be very helpful to us and to Mr. Helps. Mr. Phelps, if you'll one thing for me, it may take courage, but I think I can promise that you'll be in no great personal danger. What is it you want me to do? Stay in this room until you go to bed tonight. Don't leave it for an instant, Mr. Phelps reputation and my whole future may depend on it. I'm not going to ask you to sleep here, but when you leave for the night, I want you to lock the bedroom door on the outside. Yes, but look here, something might happen. Not a word to anyone. It's for his sake, remember? Come in. Lunch everybody. Something especially nice for you, Percy. Come along, Annie. Oh, Joseph, if you'll excuse me, I have a slight headache. I think I'll eat in here by myself. There's breeze and I want to be alone. I can't say I enjoy cross country walks in the middle of the night. Watson, I thought we were going back to London. That's what you told everybody. We get on the train with Percy and the nurse and then we get off at the next station and leave Percy and the nurse to go up to London alone. It doesn't make sense. Stop fussing, he'll be all right. I sent him on to Baker Street. With any luck we should be there ourselves in time to have breakfast with him. Yes, but why sneak back to Briarbrae like this? Not so loud. There's the house now. You can see its gables in the moonlight. Follow me here through the hedge. Yes, but why the hedge when the gates open up so loud? We've got to get as near to the house as possible without being seen. I say there's quite a mystery. Ghostly looking strips of it over there in the Meadow. See? Look, the lamp is still lit in person, I mean, in Joseph's room. Ms. Harrison must have kept her promise. Yes. There she is, reading a book. Now she's put it down. She's picking up the lamp. I see. Holmes, she must be getting ready to go to bed. Quite possibly, Watson. I only hope she she doesn't forget to lock the door on the outside. There she goes to the dining room. Now the light's gone. I see. The mists are creeping up in the meadow, aren't you? If only the thief doesn't wait until they blanket the house. Look, the service door is opening. Excellent. I didn't think he'd wait very long. Here he comes out into the moonlight. He's wearing a long black cape. You can't see his face. He's forcing the window. He's got it open. He's climbing over the sill. We must get closer so we can see. I see. He's lighting the candles on the mantel. Look, he's putting back the rug in the four. I thought so. He's lifting up a board. Now, Mr. Joseph Harrison, be good enough to hand over the papers you've just removed from that hiding place. Look out, Holmes, he's got a knife. You really have to see Clipper Craft clothes to know their excellence. And it's easy enough to see them right at your own local independent store. You have to see them because such superlatively fine quality sold at such low prices amazes even the experts. Suits are only $40 and 43.75. Top coats and overcoats are only $40, and sport jackets only 25. The fit is beautiful, the woolens are long. Wearing the tailoring is really superb. The famous Cliffcraft plan makes this sheer magic possible, concentrating the buying power of 924 leading stores across the nation, giving you the savings from this group buying at the store you trust. Selling expensive clothes at inexpensive low prices at the nation's finest independent stores is the great big idea behind the Clippercraft plan. That's why men who know insist on Clipper craft clothes. So be sure to visit the Clipper Craft store in your city. The leading stores in the metropolitan area that bring you Clipper craft clothes are Saks, 34th Broadway at 34th Street, Manhattan. Abraham Strauss, Brooklyn Boulevard Men's shop, Kresge, Newark, Newark, New Jersey and the BB Clothes Shop, 16408 Jamaica Avenue, Jamaica. These great courteous and friendly stores are proud to add their names to that of Clippercraft in the label of your suit Top Coat, sports jacket and overcoat. Now let's return to 221B Baker street, where Percy Phelps is anxiously awaiting the arrival of Sherlock Holmes. But it's almost nine now, Mrs. Hudson, and Holmes said they're here for breakfast at nine. Now don't you worry, Mr. Phelps, if he says he'll be here for breakfast, he'll be here. It's when he don't say, that's when. You don't know whether it'll be breakfast or supper he'll be wanting next. What did I tell you? Here they are now, driving up an ants cab. There's the front door and it's nine to the second. Morning, Mrs. Hudson. Good morning, sir. Breakfast is on the table, piping hot. What do I say, Holmes? You've been wounded, your hands all tied up, Just a scratch. Hmm. Breakfast, three covered dishes. Splendid. Plenty of steaming coffee. Excellent. Did you. I mean, come, come. Business can wait until after breakfast. You look as if you needed a bit of nourishment, Mr. Phelps. Well, I'm really not very hungry. Well, we are. I'm ravenous. Aha. What's this? Mmm, curried chicken. And this? Ham and eggs. Better and better. Which will you take, Mr. Peltz? Thank you, I couldn't touch a thing. Oh, come, try the dish before you. I'd rather not, really. Well, then I suppose you have no objection to helping me. Let's see what that dish contains. Certainly. What? It's papers. It's the neighbor treaty. The neighbor. Oh, God bless you, Mr. Holmes. God bless you. You saved me and you've saved England. Don't mention it, my dear. Chapter don't mention it. But when did Holmes first begin to suspect this Harrison fellow? Dr. Watson, he heard that Percy was expecting him to stop by for him. Mr. Harris, I'm afraid Joseph's character was blacker than one would judge from his appearance. We learned later that he had lost heavily in dabbling in stocks and he thought he could turn the treaty into money. Yes. Besides, no one but Joseph could be so anxious to get into that bedroom, because no one but Joseph could have concealed anything there. Also, the attempt was made the first night. The nurse was out of the way. Therefore the intruder was well acquainted with the house. But the bell, Dr. Watson, why was that so significant? Well, Mr. Harris, it showed that the had not come there to Percy's office to steal the papers. He came for another reason, by appointment. As we know, he rang the bell and then happened to see the papers. Dr. Watson, was he convicted? No, the case was never brought to Court. It would have been too ticklish a position for the Foreign Office. He was advised, however, to get out of the country and stay out. And did Percy marry the sister doctor? And to this day I don't believe she knows why her brother never returns to England. Why, that was an exciting case, Dr. Watson. And now, what story are we to have next week? Well, let me see. Next week I think I'll tell about the Cornish Horror or the Cradle that Rocked Itself. The Cradle that rocked itself? Yes, Mr. Harris, the rocking cradle was supposed to indicate that someone in the Travining household was about to die. As a matter of fact, there were two deaths and another that h. Suppose I leave that till next week, eh? The makers of clipper craft clothes and 924 leading retail stores from coast to coast have brought you another in the new series of broadcasts featuring the world's most famous detective, Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock Holmes is produced and directed by Basil Loughran with special music by Albert Berman. If you don't know your ClipperCraft dealer, write ClipperCraft, 200 Fifth Avenue, New York City. Be sure to listen next week to Sherlock Holmes in case of the Cradle that Rocked Itself. If you'd like to attend the Sherlock Holmes broadcasts in New York, see your local climbercraft dealer and he'll tell you how to obtain your tickets. Hi, Harry. This is the world's largest network serving more than 450 radio stations. The Mutual Broadcasting System from New York, the makers of Flipper craft clothes for men and 236 leading retail stores from coast to coast present the world's most famous detective, Sherlock Holmes. Our stories are based upon upon the character of Sherlock Holmes, created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Sherlock Holmes is portrayed by John Stanley, Dr. Watson by Alfred Shirley, and the dramatizations are by Edith Miser. Well, here we are once again, settled comfortably in front of Dr. Watson's cheerful fireplace outside the winter wind. Whales like. Well, let's see. What does the wind sound like to Dr. Watson? A lost soul or a baffled banshee? What would you say to me, Mr. Harris? That wind sounds rather like Bast, the ancient Egyptian cat goddess, sometimes called Eubastis. She howls, they say, if anyone disturbs the graves of those who have consecrated themselves to her. Oh, come now, Dr. Watson, you don't believe that sort of nonsense, will you? Well, I'm not so sure, Mr. Harris. I'm not so sure. One violent autumn night, as Holmes and I crossed the windswept moors that surround King's Highland, we heard such a cry A strange, harsh mutilation that struck a chill to our marrow bones and good heavens, there I go again, forgetting my manners. After all. You have something rather important to say, I believe, Mr. Harris. Well, I generally have, Dr. Watson. And speaking of wind and chill, there's nothing like a Clipper Craft overcoat to keep him out, you know. Right, Vicky. Holmes and I weren't wearing a Kipper Craft that night on dartmoor heat. Now, Dr. Watson, this is my part of the entertainment. Oh, sorry, old man. Proceed. Thank you. There are now 1036 fine stores across the nation that sell Clipper Craft clothes that attribute to the efficiency of the Clipper Craft plan and that's attribute also to the tremendous demand that an alert American public is built for. Clippercraft in the Clipper Craft plan. You see, these 1036 stores concentrate their buying power affecting tremendous savings the year round in manufacturing and distribution costs. These savings are all yours. And it's a mighty nice thing to be able to outfit yourself with value so exceptional at your own local independent store where you get real service and friendly personal attention. Clipper Craft suits are only 40 and 45 dollars. Clipper craft top coats and overcoats only 40 dollars, and sport jackets only 26, 50. Seeing is believing. To convince yourself beyond the shadow of a doubt, simply compare Clipper Craft with clothes selling for many dollars more. And now to return to that icy wind on the moors, Dr. Watson. Well, as a matter of fact, Mr. Harris, that's not where this adventure had its inception. It was a brisk fall day rather early in the century. After a good deal of argument, I had persuaded Holmes to accompany me on a constitutional through Kensington Gardens. As our listeners doubtless know, Holmes was never a man who took exercise if he could avoid it. Lethargic sort of fellow, eh, Dr. Watson? Well, not necessarily. Needless to say, when we returned to Baker street somewhere around five, I was the one who was puffing like a grampus while Holmes bounded up the steps as easily as a greyhound. We were met at the front door by Mrs. Hudson, the chatelaine and general factotum of our bachelor domain. Ah, Mrs. Hudson. What's up? It's way past your tea time, Mr. Holmes. Oh, to blazes with tea, madam. Give us an early supper. What's more, a gentleman was here. Waited upstairs. Half an hour he did, stamping up and down on my ceiling till I thought the chandelier would come loose. Sounds like a client, eh, Watson? Well, we could do with a case, Holmes. The exchequer is getting a bit low. Bother the exchequer. Oh for heaven's sake Holmes, relax. We're home. You know he said he'd be back if it's a case. See that he paid. Looks like he had money. Yes, yes, Mrs. Hudson's correct. Our late visitor undoubtedly had money. Pity he got away. But what made you think the blighter was affluent? Can't you smell it? He smoked the very best tobacco. The matter he came to consult us about must have been urgent. He's left his pipe here on the table. A nice briar with a longish stem of what the tobacconist fondly call amber. Yes, he must have been thoroughly disturbed to leave behind a pipe he values so highly. Oh Bordash, how can you possibly know how he values his sit pipe? Elementary my dear Watson, elementary. The pipe has been twice mended, once in the wooden stem and once in the amber. Each time with a silk band costing more than the pipe did originally. What's more, he's been here before because having run out of his own mixture, he's helped himself to a pipe full from the Persian slipper on the mantelpiece. No casual stranger would know that's where I keep my tobacco. But here's his step on stairs. Come in, come in. Confound it man, why don't you stay at home where you belong? Holmes, it's Colonel Ross. Obviously, my dear Watson. Oh, bring our visitor a chair and a slight sedative. Some sort. Say, brandy and soda. I don't need a brandy. Yes I do, confound it, a double brandy. Well, don't tell me you've had another disaster on the moors at King's Pylon. We have that, Mr. Holmes, but this time it's not man that's been murdered, it's a horse. Worse, much worse. Let me tell you, there aren't many men the equal of Blazing Star. Good Lord, Blazing Star. Isn't that your entry for the Wessex cup, sir? It was Dr. Watson, it was. Aha. Blazing Star. Watson was reading me an item about it just the other day. I believe he's the son of the famous Silver Blaze out of Lady Luck. You were able to rescue his s for me, Mr. Holmes. Time to win the Wessex Cup. What a race that was. A hose. But it's too late to do anything for poor Blazing Star. By the Lord Harry, I mean to catch up with the scoundrel that killed her. And when I do, I've always contended there's a special reservation in the last hell for any man who mistreat animals. Yes, quite. But tell me exactly what happened at King's pardon, Colonel Ross. You remember Ned Hunter, Mr. Holmes. He was in charge of the stable at the time Silver Blaze was abducted. Yes, fine fellow. Reliable and trustworthy. He's been promoted to the post of trainer since you last saw him, but he still sleeps in the stable. Doesn't trust anyone else to do it. Blazing Star, like his sire of a fortune, was the favorite for the Wessex Cup. I believe that's right, Mr. Holmes. So Ned was being extra particular. None of the stable boys were allowed to go near the horse. Ned groomed and exercised him himself. No one else laid a hand on the animal. Can't take too many precautions with a winner a. Holmes. Don't interrupt, Watson. Well, yesterday afternoon I went down to the stables myself to watch Blazing Star work out. I wish you could have seen him, the sunshine glinting on his chestnut coat like a fiery streak. He was coming down the stretch. Never went better in his life. Well, I went into supper and cleared a place off the mantel, the same place we kept the Wessex cup when Silver Blaze won it. Then I went to bed and slept the sleep of the just. But along about 2 o'clock in the morning I was awakened by Ned Hunter. As I lit the lamp I could see his face, white as a sheet and his hand shook as though he had the palsy. Ned. Ned, what's up? What's the matter, man? It's the staff, sir. He's too bad. I better go for the vet. Good Lord, what happened? He seemed in great shape this afternoon. I can't explain it, sir, unless it was that cat upset him. You know how he always hated cats. A what cat? We don't keep any cats. Black cat it was, sir. Can't say I've ever seen it before. But when I was taking in his bunch of carrots I always gives him before I tucks him in for the night. A black cat comes out of nowhere and slips into the store between my legs. Well, sir, you know how the Star is about cats. He started stamping and winning like he was possessed. Hey, you. To me. No. Only get this cat out of here before she's killed. Oh, easy, Star. Easy boy. Easy boy. Easy, Star. Did you see that cat come out of here like a bad out bell, Always blazing like the devil himself. Hello. Hello. She's raped the Star on the flank. She's drawn blood. Easy boy, easy. Hey, Timmy, bring the ointment. The star's hurt. Well, Mr. Holmes, Ned Hunter swept down the scratch and tried to quiet the horse, but Star was restless rung about midnight Ned noticed his breathing was getting heavy and labored. He worked up quite a sweat. Ned rubbed him down again, but he kept getting worse instead of better. So I went for the vet. He's a new man in the district and supposed to know all there is to know about animals. When I brought him back with me, Ned looked like he'd seen a ghost. Ned, this is Mr. Peebles, the new veterinary surgeon. He'll bring Star around for us. I'm afraid the star's past helps her. I've never seen the like. Just seemed to collapse in front of me eyes. His back sort of sagged and his knees gave way. Pretty soon he couldn't stand up no more. He's, he's lying in there on the straw. Pretty near gone. You dare. You better take Mr. Peebles right in, Ned. Yes sir. This way, sir. Confound it. If anything happens to that horse. He was fit this afternoon. Lord, it's quiet around here. If I could just hear the old boy breathing. 3:00. Where do you suppose that blasted cat came from? Rawr. Rubbish. No one dies from a cat scratch. Haven't had any cats around here for years. Certainly only black cats. Well, Mr. Peebles, how is he? What's the verdict? I'm sorry, Colonel Ross. He's gone, sir. Died very quietly of old age. You say that that pronounced Blazing Star dead of old age, Colonel Ross? But that's impossible, Holmes. The Wessex cup is a race for five year olds. Exactly. Blazing Star wars, five year old last month. Yet when I went in to look at his body as it lay there at this stall, I'd have sworn he was the oldest horse I'd ever seen. Temples caved in, coat dry and grayish, hip bones protruding. You don't think anyone could have switched horses while Ned Hunter came to inform you the horse was taken sick? No, Mr. Holmes, I had no Blazing Star anywhere. The star on the forehead he'd inherited from his father, the white off forefoot and a long scar on his left hind leg where he'd cut himself in a bit of wiring as a two year old. That horse was star full five years ago last month. He couldn't have died of old age. Fantastic in the carbs store, eh? Eh, Holmes? Quite many people of course will profit by his death. Have there been any strangers in the neighborhood of King's Pyrenees these last few weeks, Colonel Ross? There has been a band of wandering gypsies camping on the moors. Of course gypsies have many curious and little known poisons. They'd be quite apt to Keep a black cat, what's more, if its claws had been dipped in some obscure venom. Possibly, Watson, possibly. Tell me, Colonel Ross, what's become of your erstwhile neighbor and rival, Lord Backwater, who owned the Fulton stables? That braggart. Haven't seen him since the affair of Silver Brace. He was ruled off the turf after that and forced to sell his horses. Serves him jolly well right. Mapleton has been unoccupied until recently. About a month ago I understand it was leased to a professor, an Egyptologist I believe. He's a recluse. Spends most of his time in a laboratory and fixed up for himself in the old study. Matty Baxter, our maid sister keeps house for him. Says a queer sort of a chap. Works behind locked doors all night and sleeps all day. Unhealthy sort of life, eh Holmes? Yes. There are several factors around King's Pylem that don't sound healthy to me. Colonel Ross. I suggest that Watson and I take the morning train for Exeter to investigate the situation. I hoped you'd say that, Mr. Holmes. I've told Ned not to dispose of Star's body until you arrive. Spend it. I. I suppose you'll want me to take my revolver, eh Holmes? Your revolver and that little black satchel that contains your medical kit. This, unless I'm very much mistaken, is a case in which we should be prepared for anything. Well Watson, now that you've finished thorough examination of the cadaver, what's your verdict? The bet was right, Holmes. The horse obviously died of old age. But I tell you that's impossible. Blazing Star was only a little over five years old. Ned here will bear me out. That's right gentlemen. Horse doesn't die of old age at 5 years. Looks like Blazing Star ain't gonna be the only one neither. Good Lord, don't tell me another one of the horses has caught the malady. It's not one of the horses, sir. It's the sheep. I noticed it when I went out to the paddock after you left this morning. They stood there all addled together, shivering. Then gradually, all day long they kept getting older and older. You could fair see them do it. Their eyes are roomy and their voice is weak and some of them can hardly keep on their feet. But those sheep were young. Most of them were dropped in this year's lambing season. What do you make of it Dr. Watson? Have you ever heard of old age being contagious? There have been isolated cases, Colonel Ross, where young and healthy individuals have developed a wasting way that rather Resembles the appearance of age. I hardly think it possible. Hold on. Who's this running across the moors in the sunset? Looks like a woman. Her hair flying loose, her shawl flapping in the wind. And she's staggering as if she were drunk. It's Mattie, Colonel Ross. Her that works over at Mapleton. She's not suffering from the effects of alcohol. It's fright that's upset her. It's sheer terror. Colonel Ross. Colonel Ross. Will you take me in this night? I'm never going back. I'm never going back to that house again. I knew he was evil the minute I laid eyes on the man. And now I've seen him. He's a butcher, he is. He's of ghoul. Who is? Matty? The master. Him of least Mapleton. It filled the house full of heathen statues. The lower part man and the upper part beast. Those would be the statues of the ancient Egyptian gods. Ra the hawk, Anubis the dog and Bast the cat eye. Bast, that's what he calls her. The black cat that rides everywhere with him on his shoulder. That eyes are alike him and the cat's both green. And they both can look at you without even blinking. Only his head moves from side to side while he stares at you. What's that? I said his head. It don't never hold still. He's a ghoul, that's what he is. They've been bringing him boxes for weeks now. Six boxes, big like coffins. The lorry drives up in the dead of night and they carry the boxing to his study and he locks the door behind it. That's the last anyone ever seen of them boxes or what's in them. Never seen any traces when you go in to clean the study. I've never been allowed in, sir. No one's ever been allowed in that study except the man what brings the boxes. And then only for a minute while he puts them down. Today the men come with another big box. Only they brought it before it was dark. The master fell in a rage when he saw him Bible. When they brought the box in and set it down in the study, he was that worked up. There were flex a foam on his lips. You idiots. How often have I told you not to come here by daylight? I'm alright, Governor. The sun's about down and there's a storm coming up. Me and me partner have a long way to drive back to town. We don't like to be caught in the moors in a storm at night. Oh, you don't well, this is the last time you need come here. People who work for me obey my orders. Aye, but, Governor. Here's your pay. Now get out. We'll be going, never fear. Here. He needn't have done that. Oh, he's a terror when gets in one of his rages. You work here? Aye, I'm the housemaid. I know what it is he's got in them boxes we bring him. Haven't a notion. That room's always kept locked. I never so much as look through keel. Oh, I'd never do that. It's not right. Maybe not, but I bet it'd be interesting. Hey, come along there, Chris, or we'll be caught on the Morse. Out of dark, all right. He's lit the lamp in there. It shows through the keyhole. He's taken the lid off the box. I can hear the nail squeak. I would sort of like to know what's in it. One peak wouldn't hurt, I guess. Hello. There's another box inside of the first one. It's got a painted face and hands. Now he's taken that lid off, too. There's something lying inside. It's got a face, too, and hands. It's a woman. She says it's a woman's body. Great Scott. A woman's body? Then the man is a ghoul, A body snatcher? Worse. Unless I'm very much mistaken, he's much worse. Colonel Ross. As for the body, I imagine he's been dead a long, long time. Yes. I think Watson and I will take a stroll over to Mapleton later this evening. I'd like to take a look at the contents of that box myself. What a night to go stalking about the moors. Homes. I'm soaked to the skin. Yes, the equinoctial rain seemed to be especially biggest this year, Watson. Vigorous, I can hardly say. Good Lord. What was that? That's imagine is a member of the feline or cat family. Sounds half wild, eh, Holmes? Yes. Unusual for a cat to be out in this weather. Seems to be getting closer. Angle the lantern over here. Yes, there it is. In that tree to the left. Good Lord. His eyes shine like fire. Maybe she's caught up there and can't get down here. Pussy. Nice kitty. Once. And for the love of heaven, don't get near that cat. Why not? Because one scratch from her claws and you would decline and die of old age. You. Professor Mariachi. You look surprised to see me, Dr. Watson. I heard you were expected at King's Pyland Homes. And when that stupid Serving girl ran screaming out of my house this evening. I rather expected it wouldn't be long before you came over to Mapleton to pay your respects to the Princess Hatshepnut. Princess Hatshepnut? So that's who you have in your latest mummy case, Mariotti. Yes, in the most perfect state of preservation. But of absolutely no use to me, unfortunately. Why not? She was still slender when she died. The artisans who unbound her didn't need to age the body to prepare it for burial. Age the body? Have you ever seen a fat mummy, Dr. Watson? Come to think of it, can't say I have. In ancient Egypt, it took upward of 70 days to prepare the body of a mummy. Rare gums, resins and spices were used. And if the deceased was fat, a fluid was injected which aged and shrimped the body after death. And it's your theory, no doubt, Moriarty, that that same fluid extracted from those mummies would, if injected into human beings, produce premature old age and death. So far, Mr. Holmes, I have only experimented with animals. But I believe the process has been sufficiently perfected so that I may now indulge in a few human experiments. How fortunate that you and Dr. Watson should have decided to drop in this evening. Holmes. Let's get out of here. Not so fast, Dr. Watson. My servant, Ackbar, has had you covered for some time. He's an expert shot, I promise you. Bluff. Pure bluff. Answer your soul. Ackbar is rather dark. He doesn't show up very well at night. But to prove to you he is present, I shall have him destroy the cat up there. But it's no trouble at all. We came out here for that purpose. Unfortunately. Yesterday I spilled some of the liquid I'm experimenting with and the cat walked in it. It's no longer safe to have it at Lodge. You saw the results when she scratched Colonel Ross's horse last night. You see, I don't want to kill people. I shall be satisfied just to make them senile. Why, you black. Don't excite yourself, Dr. Watson. Akbar the cat. Such a pity. I was rather fond of the beast. 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Selling expensive clothes at inexpensive low prices at the nation's finest independent stores is the great big idea behind the ClipperCraft plan. That's why men who know insist on Clipper craft clothes. So be sure to visit the Clippercraft store in your city. These leading stores in the metropolitan area are proud to add their names to Clippercraft. In your suit, topcoat and overcoat. In Manhattan, Saks 34th Broadway. At 34th, John Wanamaker Men's Stores Broadway. At 8th and 67 Liberty street in Brooklyn, Abraham & Strauss in Newark, New Jersey Boulevard Men's Shop, Kresge, Newark. And in Jamaica, the BB Clothes Shop, 16408 Jamaica Avenue. And now to return to Dr. Watson & Sherlock Holmes. We find them in Moriarty's laboratory. Sorry, I'm forced to have aar. Tie your hands to the back of your chairs, gentlemen. Akbar, if you will remove Dr. Watson's revolver from his right hand pocket. That's it. No, no, no. You needn't take his satchel off his knees. I know how lost a doctor feels without his little black bag. Very generous of you, Marati. Not at all. That will be all, Akbar. You may leave the room. And lock the door. And now for the Lady Hatshepnut. She's in the mummy case. Here I thought you might enjoy the sight of a charming female while I give you the injection that will deprive you of your youth and vigor. Now look here. You do by any chance, Professor Moriarty, the mummy case in which the Princess Hatshepnath was entombed? I believe so. She was removed from the tombs of the royal mummies at Dar El Hari by those famous grave robbers. The brothers Abdel Rasool, whose exploits finally led the British archaeologists to the left bank of the Nile, opposite Connach. But how clever of you, Mr. Holmes, to be so well informed on Egyptian mummies. Holmes knows everything. Or didn't you know? Watson, on the other hand. Well, no mental mastodon has hidden possibilities. Did you know, professor, he once played rugby for Blackheath. Fascinating. I. I gather from the fact that the mummy case has the hands carved in relief, that it dates from the seventh Theban dynasty. You are absolutely correct, Mr. Holmes. Wait. I will raise the lid and permit you to see the lady herself. Good Lord, she looks as if she had died yesterday. Yes, Dr. Watson. The mummies of Memphis are black, dry and brittle. But those of Thebes are yellowish, flexible and so elastic that the flesh yields to the touch. And the limbs may be moved so without breaking. Yes, extra marvel. I should have liked to be present when they discovered the tomb at Dar El Mahari. Imagine Watson, there were 36 mummies, 20 of them kings and queens. Suppose we dispense with any further lectures on antiquity, Mr. Holmes. I think the substance I have here in this little glass file may prove even more fascinating. This is the liquid I've distilled from five previous mummies. The ones who have been, shall we say, aged. One small scratch with a pin dipped in this fluid should, if my calculations are correct, turn you both into old men. What would be the object of that, may I ask? In the first place, it would render you no longer able to interrupt my activities. And in the second place, if my experiment is successful, I flatter myself I can change the course of history. Interesting. Think what would happen if I were to make certain men senile. The Kaiser for instance. And that new American President, Roosevelt. Mr. Theodore Roosevelt. And there's a man over in France, Monsieur Clemenceau. And the young man right here in England, his name is Winston Churchill. I think history might be quite different if he suddenly became bold and feeble minded. Let me see. My tie pin should do very nicely. There's a very interesting hypothesis, Professor Moriarty. But that file is so small, I. Is that all the fluid you have? It would suffice, Mr. Holmes. I shall prick only the key man now. Then I'll dip in the pin. So. And you, you've broken the fire. Bravo, Watson. A perfectly placed dropkick. I wondered if it would occur to you to use your little black bag for a football. Well, it was a narrow squeak, Dr. Watson. It was indeed, Mr. Harris, but even then you were still tied to those chairs. Just how did you and Sherlock Holmes get away from the professor? Oh, at that point, Mr. Harris, Colonel Ross and Ned Hunter broke in and rescued us. We'd left them for the moors with instructions to come in and get us if we didn't return in half an hour. Why did you think Holmes became so chatty about Egyptian history? You don't mean he was stalling? What do you think Mr. Haddis, what do you think? Well, what could I think, doctor? And now, Dr. Watson, how about giving us a hint about next week's story? Yes, next week I think I shall tell the Case of the Lucky Shilling. In it, Holmes prevented the death of a certain reckless young nobleman and acquired the money to pay for a much needed operation. 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The Adventures OF Sherlock Holmes we present the original stories of the late Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, dramatized anew with Sir John Gilgud as Sherlock Holmes, Sir Ralph Richardson as Dr. Watson, and today, Orson Welles as Professor Moriarty. It is with a heavy heart that I come before you with the last adventure of my friend Sherlock that I shall be able to relate. I have tried in my humble way to chronicle some of our exploits together to demonstrate the singular gifts of that most remarkable of men. It lies with me now to tell you what occurred between Holmes and his arch enemy, Professor Moriarty, when at last they came face to face. Mr. Sherlock Holmes, your efforts on the side of law and order have seriously inconvenienced me. The situation between us is becoming an Impossible one, Mr. Holmes. It simply cannot go on. One or the other of us must die. Must die, Mr. Holmes. It was in the spring of 1891, you will remember, perhaps. But after my marriage and return to private practice, Holmes and I had drifted apart a little. I followed the newspaper reports of his cases, of course, and called on him quite often at the old rooms in Baker Street. Even so, however, many weeks would sometimes elapse between our meetings. And so it was with some surprise one April evening that I looked up and saw him standing before me in my study. Good evening, Watson. Ah, good evening, Holmes. Have you a cigarette for me? Holmes. Great heavens, man, how ill you look. Oh, I dare say I've Been using myself up rather too freely of late, old friend. You have no objection if I close your window shutters? No, of course not. Yeah. You're not afraid of anything, are you? Well, to tell you the truth, I am rather. Well. It's not like you, Holmes. What is it? Airguns. Air guns? What on earth do you mean? There's a new and deadly type of airgun, Watson, which has been specially designed by an old acquaintance of ours. Who? What? Professor Moriarty. It can only be he, from your tone. The same. A match. Give me a match, will you, my dear fellow? Yes, of course. Oh, thank you. Is Mrs. Watson at home? Oh no, she's on a visit to an aunt. Quite alone. Good, good. That makes it easier for me to propose that you should come away with me for a few days. Delighted. But where? Oh, the continent, somewhere abroad. Abroad? Is that whiskey in the decanter there? Yes. Now look here, Holmes, what's all this about? There's something more serious in your manner than. You never did quite believe in the iniquities of Moriarty, did you, Watson? You've said so more than once. I thought you exaggerated a bit. After all, Professor Moriarty is a respectable figure in public life. Just so. And that's the very genius of the man. Even you, Watson, knowing me as you do, can't quite believe me when I tell you that he corrupts all London with his evil influence. Oh, I can't quite believe. Oh, of course, to the world he's still the professor, the great mathematician, he's respectable. But what real proof have you that he's anything else? None. Well, at least not until this last month. And even now the chain isn't quite complete. But three days more and I shall have him, Watson. Three days more. If I live to see them. You can't seriously suppose that your life's in danger, Holmes. No. You always love to be melodramatic. Melodramatic? Listen, Watson. This morning, this very morning, in those old rooms of ours in Baker Street, I saw him face to face. I spoke to him. Moriarty. Your distinguished professor within him a criminal strain of the most diabolical kind. That great white dome of her forehead, those hooded eyes and the white face pushed forward, oscillating from side to side like a snake. Well, of course, if you believe the old heresy of physiognomy. And only that. Of course not. I've worked for years to follow a thousand different threads and every one of them has led to Moriarty. He's the Napoleon of crime, Watson. The secret Organizer of almost everything evil that goes undetected in this great city of ours. There he sits. Motionless. Like a spider in the center of its web. A web with a thousand strands. And he controls them. Every one. But slowly, very slowly. My own secret plans to expose him have borne fruit. Every day. My net is drawing tighter. And he knows it, Watson. He knows the danger he's in. And that was why today he came to see me. I was playing my violin, as you know, I often do when I want to think. And suddenly there he was. Standing in the doorway with his white face. Swaying in that evil way. Peering at me with his hooded eyes. Good morning, Professor Moriarty. Good morning to you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I believe. How very charmingly you play. How kind of you to say so. Won't you be seated, Professor Moriarty? I can spare you just five minutes. It's singularly good of you. Thank you. I will sit down. May I say something personal, Mr. Holmes? Certainly. I'm surprised to discover that you have rather less cranial development than one might have expected. Expected? Well, as you, on the contrary, have rather more than I had imagined, Professor. You will recollect, I am sure, however, that Beethoven's outdid us both. However, our personal characteristics are hardly relevant to the present situation. What have you really got to say to me? Well, perhaps I only suggested, of course. Perhaps it is a dangerous habit to finger loaded firearms in the pocket of one's dressing gown, Mr. Holmes. Ah. Evidently you share that dangerous habit preferred. I see that you keep your hand in the pocket of your morning coat. Supposing we lay our pistols and our cards on the table? By all means. I was about to suggest it myself. Ah, I see you favor the Mauser type, Mr. Holmes. And without a silencer. You must permit me to present you sometime with one of these small devices of my own design. They're quite convenient in avoiding unpleasant noise, you know. How very kind of you, Professor. You must ask the hangman to deliver it to me as your last request. You evidently don't know me, Mr. Holmes. On the contrary, I think I know you better than you know yourself. I wouldn't take up your gun again, Professor. I've already got you covered with mine. So I perceive. But I assure you it was only to give a harmless demonstration of the silencer of my own small accomplishments as a marksman, Mr. Holmes. I've read in those accounts of Dr. Watson that somewhat bovine, no doubt amiable friend of yours. That those marks on the wall, they are made from your indoor revolver practice Quite so The initials there. VR Victoria Regina. God save Her Majesty. Now that I see them, it seems perhaps they're not quite as symmetrical as they might be. One side of the V is a little short, I think. Permit me to correct the slip. Admirable, Professor Moriarty. You were perfectly right, of course. That little mistake has now been rectified. I'd like, however, if I may, to improve upon it. Your bullet mark is perhaps a shade smaller than my own. Permit me. Admirable, Mr. Holmes. Yes, precisely. Above your own mark, Professor. The exact spot, I think. No, no, pray don't look alarmed. My good landlady is quite accustomed to that noise. We shall not be disturbed. I'm very glad of it, for what I have to say is not without importance. Mr. Holmes, shall we stop our fencing and begin? By all means. If you will permit me first to correct one statement that you made just now. Well, sir, with reference to my friend Dr. Watson, I'm afraid I can hardly permit the adjective bovine in his accounts of my humble exploits. He's been good enough to exaggerate my own achievements and has always been unduly modest about his own. He is a most upright and honorable gentleman, professor, and very close to my heart. You may say what you will about me, but I can allow no derogatory words about him. Very well, Mr. Holmes. I apologize. We who are about to die salute him at least. You do. You're very certain, aren't you, Professor Moriarty, that it is I who am going to die? There is no other course unless you listen to reason. The situation between us, Mr. Holmes, is becoming an impossible one. It simply cannot go on. It won't, I assure you. For these past few months I've been working to put an end to it all at the earliest possible moment. And you have very nearly undone the careful endeavor of a lifetime, sir. Or at least have seriously threatened it. No, no, no. Don't move your pistol again. I'm only taking out my memorandum book. I beg your pardon? I find it recorded here that you crossed my path on the 4th of January, Holmes. On the 23rd you incommoded me. By the middle of February I was seriously inconvenienced. By your the end of March I was absolutely hampered. And now at the close of April, I find myself placed in such a position through your continual persecution that I'm in positive danger of losing my liberty. That was certainly the end I had in view. Then you must drop it, Mr. Holmes. You really must. You know. Not till after Monday, Professor. You know as well as I do that. You've made a slip. One single tiny slip. For years I've been aware of you, Moriarty, at the center of your organ organization. Forgeries, murder cases, robberies. A thousand crimes were planned by you. A hundred agents carried them out. Your subordinates were caught sometimes, but you never were. And yet you know you made that slip. That single tiny slip. And you know as well as I do that it will destroy you. In three, three more days, my evidence will be complete. I shall have you exposed, brought to trial, condemned and hanged. And you can do nothing whatever to prevent it. My will is inflexible. And so is mine. Three days, do you say? And before they're out, the end will come. One or the other of us must die, sir. Quite so. The five minutes is up, Professor. And I must really ask you to excuse me in the pleasure of our conversation. I'm afraid that I've neglected business of importance elsewhere. Very well then. It seems a pity, Mr. Holmes, that I done what I could. I admit that it's been an intellectual pleasure me to see the way in which you grappled with this affair. But I tell you solemnly, Sherlock Holmes, that if you are clever enough to bring destruction on me, you may rest assured that I shall do as much to you. You have paid me several compliments during this interview, Professor. Let me pay you one in return when I say that if I were assured of the former eventuality, I would most cheerfully accept the letter. I can promise you the one, but not the other. Good day, Mr. Holmes. Oh, your pistol, Professor. You may need it before Monday. Thank you. Good day, Professor. I think goodbye is the word, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Goodbye. And so it was. You see, Watson, that sing interview with the greatest criminal of all time. And his with the greatest detective. Oh, thank you, my dear fellow. But what are you going to do, Holmes? I told you, we leave for the continent. Moriarty is not the man to let the grass go under his feet. Already one or two accidents have nearly befallen me today upon myself. The police are gathering all my evidence against him. Everything will be complete in three short days. Meanwhile, I can only lie low. Are you able to leave your practice to come with me? I have an accommodating neighbor. Ah, dear Watson, I knew I could count on you. All right then. Now these are your instructions. Listen most carefully. Instructions, Holmes? I assure you they are most necessary. Tomorrow morning at 8:45 you will take a hansom cab. I'll arrange for one to call. No, no, you really must obey me to the letter, Watson. You Leave the house alone tomorrow morning and take neither the first nor the second cab which presents itself at the rank. Very well, Holmes. Hand the address to the cabman written on a slip of paper and tell him not to throw it away. And I drive, I take it to Victoria Station. On the contrary, you drive to the Strand end of the Lauda Arcade. I see. And then have your fare ready and the instant your cab stops, pay him and dash through the arcade, timing yourself to reach the other side at exactly a quarter past nine. Yes, but my dear, no, this man. Listen carefully, it's vital. Our lives depend upon it. When you get there, you'll find a broom standing close to the curb, driven by a fellow with a black cloak tipped with red. Say nothing, simply jump in and he'll drive you to Victoria in time for the Continental Express. And where shall I meet you, Holmes? The second coach from the front of the train. A first class carriage reserved for us. Good night, Watson. And as you value our lives, don't forget a single word of my instructions. No, no, no, of course not, Holmes. Until we meet. Tomorrow then. Until we meet. I was infected myself with something of his own. Inner excitement and sense of menace. I took the handsome and then the brougham with its massive hooded driver. I said nothing to him, as I was instructed, and he never spoke to me. A moment later we were rattling to the station. There he left me and drove off without a further glance, his face still hidden. There was no sign of Holmes and my heart sank miserably. I found our reserved carriage, but through some confusion a decrepit old Italian priest was sitting there. The moment came for departure. Still I waited by the window in a chill of fear. Scu. The Senor. Pray go. Yeah. I'm sorry, pardon me, I don't speak Italian. Nor do I. What? Oh, good. But stones. Quiet, man. This is no laughing matter. Not yet anyway. There, you see? Stop. Stop. The dread. It's morning. Moriarty himself. A tall man. He'll never do it. Stop the train, I say. Let me go, you fool. Let me go. Even the great Moriarty himself is helpless against the British railway system. Watson. Well, well, it gives us an hour's respite at least. But how. How did he know where we were? By watching you, I expect. But I did everything you told me. Wait. Holmes. The driver of the road. What about him? He was muffled. I didn't see his face. It must have been one of Moriarty's men. My dear Watson, it was nothing of the sort. It is my brother Mycroft, shaken for Once out of his armchair at the Diogenes Club core. Heavens. The thing is serious then? Of course. But at least we have an hour and I can use it to take, take off this disguise and think things over. But we've escaped him altogether surely, since the train connects with the boat. My dear fellow, you evidently don't realize even now that Moriarty is an opponent on practically the same intellectual plane as myself. Do you really imagine that if I were the pursuer I would permit myself to be baffled by so slight an obstacle as an express train? What will he do then? What I should do, engage a special. But it'd be too late even then. By no means. We stop at Canterbury, don't forget. And then there's always a delay of a quarter of an hour when the train gets to Dover. Well, so you'd almost think we were the criminals to be chased like this. You mean that he'll catch us after all this? I hope not. We shan't be there, Watson. Look, look here, Holmes, I, I hate to grumble after all this time but really I do think you ought to tell me what you mean. Heaven bless you for a stout and faithful friend, Watson. I'm sorry, it's only that. Well, well, I don't want to expose you to danger too. That's why I'm being so mysterious. It's very simple really. We shall just get out at Canterbury. Indeed. And not go on the continent after all, I suppose? Oh yes, we must do that. We've no choice but to hide away until after Monday when the evidence will have been completed. You've not seen the papers this morning I suppose. Oh really, Holmes, what time do you think I've had for that? One must try to make time for everything, Watson. You really should have read about Baker Street. What? Baker Street? Yes, they set fire to our rooms last night. Mrs. Hudson was away from home fortunately, and no one was hurt. I'm glad to say they thought I was there. Of course, for my soul the thing's intolerable. Home? Yes, Only till Monday, Watson, and by then we'll be in Switzerland. We'll make a cross country journey from Canterbury and take the other boat from New Haven to Dieppe. Unless of course what our friend the professor deduces what I would deduce and gets off at Canterbury himself. Ah, that would truly be a coup de maitre. He surely never would. Well I rather doubt it. There are limits even to his intelligence. No, no, I think we are safe enough, old friend. And now there's time for a pipe. I Fancy. Won't you join me, Watson? And thus it befell. As we hid behind a pile of luggage at Canterbury, we saw the single carriage of the Special go thundering past us. And so we made our way across country and at last reached Switzerland. It seemed we had eluded him. To fill in every detail of the final scene is hardly possible since there was no witness to it yet. From a certain source that I cannot yet divulge. I do know something of that last encounter. We wandered at our will through the lovely valley of the Rhone and made our way by way of Interlaken to the little township of Mirigan among the Alps. The fatal Monday came and went, and yet I was still aware of a strange, febrile excitement in my companion. He was at times feverishly on the alert, then sinking into reverie and would smile strangely to himself. I went with him on that last day of all on a visit to the falls of Reichenbach. Forever hallowed and yet cursed in my memory. It's a fearful place indeed. With a torrent plunging far below into a tremendous abyss. A chasm lined by cold, black, glistening rock. High above, a pathway has been cut in the cliff face to afford a better view. But it ends abruptly in midair and the traveler has to return. As he came, we stood there giddily marveling at the great spectacle. And on the instant came a message for me by a village lad to say that an English lady back at the hotel was seriously ill and needed my immediate attention. I turned to go. I looked back and I saw Holmes leaning against a rock with his arms folded, gazing down at the rush of the waters. It was the last I saw. Is that you, Watson? Back already? Well, Moriarty? Well, Sherlock Holmes. You see, I found you after all. And alone. Alone, as indeed you must be too, now, if your confederates are all under lock and key. I'd heard from Scotland Yard. Aye, a skit. I was too clever for them, Holmes. I don't doubt it. But I'm afraid your occupation's gone, professor, with your organization destroyed. Unless you care to return to your mathematics. It was not my intention. I have another and more immediate intention. Sherlock Holmes. Are you prepared? Before we discuss that, perhaps you extend me one small courtesy, Professor. No, Certainly. What is it? My friend Watson, Professor. No doubt he will be somewhat concerned. May I just take a moment to scribble a note to him? Certainly. We can fix the paper beneath my alpin stuck there because it doesn't blow away. They take as long as you wish. That's very good of you. Please don't stop talking prevention. I mastered long ago the art of writing and conversing at the same time. Thank you. You know, of course, that the message that arrived for Dr. Watson was a false one. Oh yes, of course. I knew it at once. And that it could only come from one source. And yet you let him go. Yes, Professor, I let him go. I am not without some affection for him. I do not wish to put his life in danger too. Besides. Besides? I've looked forward for a long time to this final duel between us. I believe it. Holmes, you're a very remarkable man in many ways. Many, many ways, sir. I'm proud to have known you. Oh, and I you, Professor. There, my letter's done. Then perhaps you will be kind enough to place it as you suggested. Now, how shall it be? Moriarty? I did not bring a pistol, Holmes. Thank you. Your courtesy puts me to shameful. There is my pistol. It goes into the falls. Hand to hand. Yes. Goodbye, Professor Moriarty. Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes. The end. The end. When I returned to that broken pathway, it was only too clear what had happened. It needed no great application of Holmes own methods of deduction. Two sets of footsteps to the verge and none returning. Locked in each other's arms as they fought. They had gone down to the abyss. Only the letter. The last greeting from my friend and comrade. My dear, dear Watson, he wrote. My dear, dear Watson. I scribble this through the courtesy of Professor Moriarty, who awaits my convenience for the final discussion of those eternal questions which lie before us. There can be but one outcome, although I fear that it is as a cost which will give pain to my friends and especially my dear Watson, to you. I think, however, that I may go so far as to say that I have not lived entirely in vain. Pray tell Inspector Patterson that the papers which he needs for a full conviction of the Moriarty gang are in pigeonhole M. Before leaving England, I made every disposition of my property, handed it over to my brother Mycroft. Pray give my affectionate Greetings to Mrs. Watson and remember me as I used to be in our old days at Baker street, pacing to and fro with my violin and driving you to a point of sad distraction with that theme you still were good enough to say you loved. Believe me to be, my very dear good fellow. Yours most sincerely, Sherlock Holmes. Yours most sincerely, Sherlock Holmes. And so he perished. Whom I shall ever regard as the best and wisest man that I have ever known. The Adventures OF Sherlock HOLMES Based on the original stories of the late Sir Arthur Conan Doyle Dramatized anew by John Keir Cross stars Sir John Gielgud as Sherlock Holmes, Sir Ralph Richardson as Dr. Watson and today, Orson Welles as Professor Moriarty. Produced by Harry Allen Towers.

Podcast Host (261:16)

That will do it for episode 600. Thanks for tuning in and thanks for your patience. I really went back and forth on what to do for this show. This Sherlock Holmes spotlight just felt right and I hope you enjoyed it too. I'll be back next week with episode 601 as we keep our celebration of Old Time Radio detectives and crime fighters going. In the meantime, you can check out Stars on Suspense, my other Old Time Radio podcast. That show is closing in on episode 400 and new shows come out on Thursdays. If you like what you're hearing, don't be a stranger. You can rate and review the show in Apple Podcasts or wherever you listen. And if you'd like to lend support to the show, you can visit buymeacoffee.com meanstotr Next time, more Old Time Radio Sleuths. Next time, More Old Time Radio Super Sleuths. Until then, good night and thank you for listening.

Vincent Price (262:56)

Now here is our star, Vincent Price. Ladies and gentlemen. In a prejudice filled America, no one would be secure in his job, his business, his church or his home. Yet racial and religious antagonisms are expressed, exploited daily by quacks and adventurers whose followers make up the irresponsible lunatic fringe of American life. Refuse to listen to or spread rumors against any race or religion. Help to stamp out prejudice in our country. Let's judge our neighbors by the character of their lives alone and not on the basis of their religion or origin.