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- [00:01]
John
Yeah, sure thing. Hey, you sold that car yet?
- [00:04]
Hugh Bonneville
Yeah, sold it to Carvana.
- [00:06]
John
Oh, I thought you were selling to that guy.
- [00:09]
Hugh Bonneville
The guy who wanted to pay me in foreign currency, no interest over 36 months. Yeah. No. Carvana gave me an offer in minutes, picked it up and paid me on the spot. It was so convenient.
- [00:21]
John
Just like that?
- [00:22]
Hugh Bonneville
Yeah.
- [00:22]
John
No hassle?
- [00:23]
Hugh Bonneville
None.
- [00:24]
John
That is super convenient. Sell your car to Carvana and swap hassle for convenience.
- [00:29]
Hugh Bonneville
Pick up.
- [00:29]
John
These may apply.
- [00:33]
Hugh Bonneville
Welcome to Sherlock Holmes Short Stories. I'm Hugh Bonneville. In the last episode, Sherlock Holmes was summoned to investigate the disappearance of Silver Blaze, England's most celebrated racehorse and favorite for the upcoming Wessex Cup. The horse had vanished in the night and its trainer, John Straker was found dead on Dartmoor with his skull crushed. As Holmes and Watson journeyed to King's Pyland Stables they learned of a suspicious stranger who had apparently tried to bribe a stable boy on the night of the crime. The boy had also been drugged with opium. Laced curry and opium was later discovered in the stranger's possession. Though quickly arrested, this man, Fitzroy Simpson, denied any wrongdoing despite his cravat being found in the dead trainer's hand. Now examining the windswept moor near Mapleton Stables, Holmes has made a discovery in the mud. Fresh hoof prints that match Silver Blaze's horseshoe exactly. We crossed the marshy bottom and passed over a quarter of a mile of dry hard turf. Again the ground sloped and again we came on the tracks. Then we lost them for half a mile but only to pick them up once more quite close to Mapleton. It was Holmes who saw them first and he stood pointing with a look of triumph upon his face. A man's track was visible beside the horse's. The horse was alone before I cried. Quite so. It was alone before. Hullo, what's this? The double track turned sharp off and took the direction of King's Pyland. Holmes whistled and we both followed along after it. His eyes were on the trail but I happened to look a little to one side and saw to my surprise the same tracks coming back again in the opposite direction. One for you, Watson, said Holmes when I pointed it out. You have saved us a long walk which would have brought us back on our own traces. Let us follow the return track. We had not to go far. It ended at the paving of asphalt which led up to the gates of the Mapleton stables. As we approached, a groom ran out from them. We don't want any loiterers about here, said he. I only wish to ask a question, said Holmes with his finger and thumb in his waistcoat pocket. Should I be too early to see your master, Mr. Silas Brown, if I were to call at five o'clock tomorrow morning? Bless you sir. If any one is about he will be for he is always the first stirring. But here he is sir, to answer your questions for himself. No, no sir, no. It is as much as my place is worth to let him see me. Touch your money afterwards if you like. As Sherlock Holmes replaced the half crown which he had drawn from his pocket, a fierce looking elderly man strode out from the gate with a hunting crop swinging in his hand. What's this Dawson? He cried. No gossiping. Go about your business. And you, what the devil do you want here? 10 minutes Talk with you my good sir, said Holmes in the sweetest of voices. I've no time to talk to every gad about. We want no strangers here. Be off or you may find a dog at your heels. Holmes leaned forward and whispered something in the trainer's ear. He started viol and flushed to the temples. It's a lie. He shouted. An infernal lie. Very good. Shall we argue about it here in public or talk it over in your parlour? Oh, come in if you wish to. Holmes smiled. I shall not keep you more than a few minutes, Watson, said He Now Mr. Brown, I am quite at your disposal. It was 20 minutes and the reds had all faded into greys before Holmes and the trainer reappeared. Never have I seen such a change as had been brought about in Silas Brown in that short time. His face was ashy pale. Beads of perspiration shone upon his brow and his hands shook until the hunting crop wagged like a branch in the wind. His bullying, overbearing manner was all gone too and he cringed along at my companion's side like a dog with its master. Your instructions will be done. It shall all be done, said he. There must be no mistake, said Holmes, looking round at him. The other winced as he read the menace in his eyes. Oh no, there shall be no mistake. It shall be there. Should I change it first or not? Holmes thought a little and then burst out laughing. No don't, said he. I shall write to you about it. No tricks now or. Oh you can trust me. You can trust me. Yes, I think I can. Well you shall hear from me tomorrow. He turned upon his heel, disregarding the trembling hand which the other held out to him and we set off for King's Pyland, a more perfect compound of the bully, coward and sneaky Than Master Silas Brown I have seldom met with remarked Holmes as we trudged along together. He has the horse. Then he tried to bluster out of it, but I described to him so exactly what his actions had been upon that morning, that he is convinced that I was watching him. Of course you observe the peculiarly square toes in the impressions and that his own boots exactly corresponded to them. Again, of course no subordinate would have dared to do such a thing. I described to him how when, according to his custom he was the first down, he perceived a strange horse wandering over the moor, how he went out to it, and his astonishment at recognising from the white forehead which has given the favourite its name, that chance had put in his power the only horse which could beat the one upon which he had put his money. Then I described how his first impulse had been to lead him back to King's Pyland and how the devil had shown him how he could hide the horse until the race was over and how he had led it back and concealed it at Mapleton. When I told him every detail he gave it up and thought only of saving his own skin. But his stables had been searched. Oh, an old horse faker like him has many a dodge. But are you not afraid to leave the horse in his power now, since he has every interest in injuring it? My dear fellow, he will guard it as the apple of his eye. He knows that his only hope of mercy is to produce it safe. Colonel Ross did not impress me as a man who would be likely to show much mercy. In any case, the matter does not rest with Colonel Ross. I follow my own methods and tell as much or as little as I choose. That is the advantage of being unofficial. I don't know whether you observed it, Watson, but the Colonel's manner has been just a trifle cavalier to me. I'm inclined now to have a little amusement at his expense. Say nothing to him about the horse. Well, certainly not without your permission. And of course this is all quite a minor point compared to the question of who killed John Straker. And you will devote yourself to that? On the contrary. We both go back to London by the night train. I was thunderstruck by my friend's words. We had only been a few hours in Devonshire and that he should give up an investigation which he had begun so brilliantly was quite incomprehensible to me. Not a word more could I draw from him until we were back at the trainer's house. The Colonel and the Inspector were awaiting us in the parlour My friend and I return to town by the night express, said Holmes. We've had a charming little breath of your beautiful Dartmoor air. The Inspector opened his eyes and the Colonel's lip curled in a sneer. So you despair of arresting the murderer of poor Straker, said he. Holmes shrugged his shoulders. There are certainly grave difficulties in the way, said he. I have every hope, however, that your horse will start upon Tuesday and I beg that you will have your jockey in readiness. Might I ask for a photograph of Mr. John Straker? The Inspector took one from an envelope and handed it to him. My dear Gregory, you anticipate all my wants. If I might ask you to wait here for an instant, I have a question which I should like to put to the maid. I must say that I am rather disappointed in our London consultant, said Colonel Ross bluntly as my friend left the room. I do not see that we are any further than when he came. At least you have his assurance that your horse will run, said I. Yes, I have his assurance, said the Colonel with a shrug of his shoulders. I should prefer to have the horse. I was about to make some reply in defence of my friend when he entered the room again. Now, gentlemen, he said, I am quite ready for Tavistock. As we stepped into the carriage, one of the stable lads held the door open for us. A sudden idea seemed to occur to Holmes, for he leaned forward and touched the lad upon the sleeve. You have a few sheep in the paddock, he said. Who attends to them? I do, sir. Have you noticed anything amiss with them of late? Well, sir, not of much account, but three of them have gone lame, sir. I could see that Holmes was extremely pleased, for he chuckled and rubbed his hands together. A long shot, Watson, a very long shot, said he, pinching my arm. Gregory, let me recommend to your attention this singular epidemic among the sheep. Drive on, coachman. Colonel Ross still wore an expression which showed the poor opinion which he had formed of my companion's ability. But I saw by the Inspector's face that his attention had been keenly aroused. You consider that to be important? He asked. Exceedingly so. Is there any point to which you would wish to draw my attention to the curious incident of the dog in the night time? The dog did nothing in the night time. That was the curious incident, remarked Sherlock Holmes.
- [12:58]
John
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- [13:32]
Hugh Bonneville
Four days later, Holmes and I were again in the train bound for Winchester to see the race for the Wessex Cup. Colonel Ross met us by appointment outside the station and we drove in his drag to the course beyond the town. His face was grave and his manner was cold in the extreme. I have seen nothing of my horse, said he. I suppose that you would know him when you saw him? Asked Holmes. The Colonel was very angry. I have been on the turf for 20 years and never was asked such a question as that before, said he. A child would know Silver Blaze with his white forehead and his mottled off foreleg. How is the betting? Well, that is the curious part of it. You could have got 15 to one yesterday, but the price has become shorter and shorter until you can hardly get three to one now. Hum, said Holmes. Somebody knows something. That is clear. As the drag drew up in the enclosure near the grandstand, I glanced at the card to see the entries. It ran Wessex plate, 50 sovereigns each, half forfeit with 1000 sovereigns added for four and five year olds. Second 300 pounds, third 200 pounds, new course, one mile and five furlongs. 1. Mr. Heath, Newton's the Hurricane, red cap, cinnamon jacket, 2. Colonel Wardlaw's Pugilist, pink cap, blue and black jacket, 3. Lord Backwater's Desborough, yellow cap and sleeves. 4. Colonel Ross's Silver Blaze, black cap, red jacket, 5. Duke of Balmoral's Iris, yellow and black stripes. 6. Lord Singleford's Raspa, purple cap, black sleeves. We scratched our other one and put all hopes on your word, said the Colonel. Why, what's that? Silver Blaze favourite, 5 to 4 against Silver Blaze, roared the Ring. 5 to 4 against Silver Blaze, 5 to 15 against Desborough, 5 to 4 in the field. There are the numbers up? I cried. They are all six there. All six there. Then my horse is running. Cried the Colonel in great agitation. But I don't see him. My colours have not passed. Only five have passed. This must be he. As I spoke, a powerful bay horse swept out from the weighing enclosure and cantered past us, bearing on its back the well known black and red of the Colonel. That's not my horse. Cried the owner. That beast has not a white hair upon its body. What is this that you have done, Mr. Holmes? Well, well, let us See how he gets on, said my friend, imperturbably. For a few minutes he gazed through my field glass. Capital. An excellent start. He cried suddenly. There they are, coming round the curve. From our drag we had a superb view as they came up the straight. The six horses were so close together that a carpet could have covered them. But halfway up the Yellow of the Mapleton stable showed to the front. Before they reached us, however, Desborough's Bolt was shot and the Colonel's horse, coming away with a rush, passed the post a good six lengths before its rival, the Duke of Balmoral's Iris, making a bad third. It's my race anyhow, gasped the Colonel, passing his hand over his eyes. I confess that I can make neither head nor tail of it. Don't you think that you have kept up your mystery long enough, Mr. Holmes? Certainly, Colonel, you shall know everything. Let us all go round and have a look at the horse together. Here he is, he continued as we made our way into the weighing enclosure, where only owners and their friends find admittance. You have only to wash his face and his leg in spirits of wine and you will find that he is the same old Silver Blaze as ever. You take my breath away. I found him in the hands of a faker and took the liberty of running him just as he was sent over. My dear sir, you have done wonders. The horse looks very fit and well. It never went better in its life. I owe you a thousand apologies for having doubted your ability. You have done me a great service by recovering my horse. You would do me a greater still if you could lay your hands on the murderer of John Straker. I have done so, said Holmes quietly. The Colonel and I stared at him in amazement. You've got him. Where is he then? He is here. Here? Where? In my company at the present moment. The Colonel flushed angrily. I quite recognize that I am under obligations to you, Mr. Holmes, said he, but I must regard what you have just said as either a very bad joke or an insult. Sherlock Holmes laughed. I assure you that I have not associated you with the crime, Colonel, said he. The real murderer is standing immediately behind you. He stepped past and laid his hand upon the glossy neck of the thoroughbred. The horse. Cried both the Colonel and myself. Yes, the horse. And it may lessen his guilt if I say that it was done in self defence and that John Straker was a man who was entirely unworthy of your confidence. But there goes the bell. And as I stand to win a little on this next race, I shall defer a lengthy explanation until a more fitting time.
- [20:04]
John
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- [20:54]
Hugh Bonneville
We had the corner of a Pullman car to ourselves that evening as we whirled back to London, and I fancy that the journey was a short one to Colonel Ross, as well as to myself, as we listened to our companion's narrative of the events which had occurred at the Dartmoor training stables upon the Monday night, and the means by which he had unravelled them. I confess, said he, that any theories which I had formed from the newspaper report were entirely erroneous, and yet there were indications there had they not been overlaid by other details which concealed their true import. I went to Devonshire with the conviction that Fitzroy Simpson was the true culprit, although of course I saw that the evidence against him was by no means complete. It was while I was in the carriage, just as we reached the trainer's house, that the immense significance of the curried mutton occurred to me. You may remember that I was distrait and remained sitting after you had all alighted. I was marvelling in my own mind how I could possibly have overlooked so obvious a clue. Well, I confess, said the Colonel, that even now I cannot see how it helps us. It was the first link in my chain of reasoning. Powdered opium is by no means tasteless. The flavour is not disagreeable, but it is perceptible. Were it mixed with any ordinary dish, the eater would undoubtedly detect it and would probably eat no more. A curry was exactly the medium which would disguise this taste. By no possible supposition could this stranger, Fitzroy Simpson, have caused curry to be served in the trainer's family that night, and it is surely too monstrous a coincidence to suppose that he happened to come along with powdered opium upon the very night when a dish happened to be served which would disguise the Flavor that is unthinkable. Therefore, Simpson becomes eliminated from the case and our attention centers upon Straker and his wife, the only two people who could have chosen curried mutton for supper that night. The opium was added after the dish was set aside for the stable boy, for the others had the same for supper with no ill effects. Which of them then had access to that dish without the maid seeing them? Before deciding that question I had grasped the significance of the silence of the dog for one true inference invariably suggests others. The Simpson incident had shown me that a dog was kept in the stables and yet, though someone had been in and had fetched out a horse, he had not barked enough to arouse the two lads in the loft. Obviously the midnight visitor was someone whom the dog knew well. I was already convinced, or almost convinced, that John Straker went down to the stables in the dead of the night and took out Silver Blaze. For what purpose? For a dishonest one, obviously. Or why should he drug his own stable boy? And yet I was at a loss to know why. There have been cases before now where trainers have made short of great sums of money by laying against their own horses through agents and then preventing them from winning by fraud. Sometimes it is a pulling jockey, sometimes it is some surer and subtler means. What was it here? I hoped that the contents of his pockets might help me to form a conclusion and they did so. You cannot have forgotten the singular knife which was found in the dead man's hand. A knife which certainly no sane man would choose for a weapon. It was, as Dr. Watson told us, a form of knife which is used for the most delicate operations known in surgery. And it was to be used for a delicate operation that night. You must know, with your wide experience of turf matters, Colonel Ross, that it is possible to make a slight nick upon the tendons of a horse's ham and to do it subcutaneously so as to leave absolutely no trace. A horse so treated would develop a slight lameness which would be put down to a strain in exercise or a touch of rheumatism, but never to foul play. Villain, scoundrel. Cried the colonel. We have here the explanation of why John Straker wished to take the horse out onto the moor. So spirited a creature would have certainly roused the soundest of sleepers when it felt the prick of the knife. It was absolutely necessary to do it in the open air. I have been blind. Cried the colonel. Of course that was why he needed the candle and struck the match. Undoubtedly. But in Examining his belongings, I was fortunate enough to discover not only the method of the crime, but even its motives. As a man of the world, Colonel, you know that men do not carry other people's bills about in their pockets. We have most of us, quite enough to do to settle our own. I at once concluded that Straker was leading a double life and keeping a second establishment. The nature of the bill showed that there was a lady in the case and one who had expensive tastes. Liberal as you are with your servants, one can hardly expect that they can buy 20 guinea walking dresses for their ladies. I questioned Mrs. Straker as to the dress. Without her knowing it, and having satisfied myself that it had never reached her, I made a note of the milliner's address and felt that by calling there with Straker's photograph, I could easily dispose of the mythical Derbyshire. From that time on, all was plain. Straker had led out the horse to a hollow where his light would be invisible. Simpson, in his flight, had dropped his cravat and Straker had picked it up with some idea perhaps, that he might use it in securing the horse's leg. Once in the hollow, he had got behind the horse and had struck a light. But the creature, frightened at the sudden glare and with the strange instinct of animals, feeling that some mischief was intended, had lashed out and the steel shoe had struck Straker full on the forehead. He had already, in spite of the rain, taken off his overcoat in order to do his delicate task. And so, as he fell, his knife gashed his thigh. Do I make it clear? Wonderful. Cried the Colonel. Wonderful. You might have been there. My final shot was, I confess, a very long one. It struck me that so astute a man as Straker would not undertake this delicate tendon nicking without a little practice. What could he practice on? My eyes fell upon the sheep and I asked a question which rather to my surprise, showed that my surmise was correct. When I returned to London, I called upon the milliner who had recognized Straker as an excellent customer of the name of Derbyshire, who had a very dashing wife with a strong partiality for expensive dresses. I have no doubt that this woman had plunged him over head and ears in debt and so led him into this miserable plot. You have explained all but one thing. Cried the Colonel. Where was the horse? Ah, it bolted and was cared for by one of your neighbours. We must have an amnesty in that direction. I think this is Clapham Junction, if I am not mistaken. And we shall be in Victoria in less than 10 minutes. If you care to smoke a cigar in our rooms, Colonel, I shall be happy to give you any other details which might interest you. Next time on Sherlock Holmes Short Stories. We follow a young Holmes as he sets off on one of his first ever cases in the Musgrave Ritual. When the great detective's old school friend comes to him with a strange tale involving an ancient family ritual, Sherlock suddenly finds himself drawn into a centuries old mystery featuring a series of cryptic calls and responses. The so called Musgrave Ritual has long been seen as merely an eccentric tradition, but when the family's butler disappears after becoming obsessed with the ceremony's verses, they begin to suspect there's more to it than meets the eye. Now Holmes must decipher the meaning behind this ancestral riddle before innocent lives are lost. That's next time. Can't wait a week until the next episode. Well, listen to it right away by subscribing to Noiser Plus. Head to www.noiza.comscriptions for more information or click the link in the episode description. You don't wake up dreaming of McDonald's fries. You wake up dreaming of McDonald's hash browns. McDonald's breakfast comes first. But I.