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Hugh Bonneville
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Hugh Bonneville
I'm Hugh Bonneville and welcome to Sherlock Holmes Short Stories, the series where we delve into the files of fiction's most brilliant detective. Following his keen mind and unerring instincts. From the first subtle clue to the final dramatic revelation, this time Holmes confronts a puzzling rural mystery in the Adventure of the Reigate Squire. When Watson takes Holmes to Surrey to recover from exhaustion, they expect a peaceful retreat. But trouble soon catches up with the mystery solving duo after a shocking murder occurs at a nearby estate. Behind the respectable facades of the county's great houses, dangerous secrets lurk. A single scrap of paper may hold the key to unraveling the truth. But can Holmes decipher its meaning before another victim is claimed? From the Noiser podcast Network, this is the Adventure of the Reigate Squire, Part one. It was some time before the health of my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes recovered from the strain caused by his immense exertions in the spring of 87. The whole question of the Netherlands Sumatra Company and of the colossal schemes of Baron Mopertuis are too recent in the minds of the public and are too intimately concerned with politics and finance to be fitting subjects for this series of sketches. They led, however, in an indirect fashion, to a singular and complex problem which gave my friend an opportunity of demonstrating the value of a fresh weapon among the many with which he waged his lifelong battle against crime. On referring to my notes, I see that it was upon the 14th of April that I received a telegram from Lyon which informed me that Holmes was lying ill in the hotel Dulong. Within 24 hours I was in his sick room and was relieved to find that there was nothing formidable in his symptoms. Even his iron constitution, however, had broken down under the strain of an investigation which had extended over two months, during which period he had never worked less than 15 hours a day and had more than once, as he assured me, kept to his task for five days at a stretch. Even the triumphant issue of his labours could not save him from reaction after so terrible an exertion, and at a time when Europe was ringing with his name and when his room was literally ankle deep with congratulatory telegrams, I found him a prey to the blackest depression. Even the knowledge that he had succeeded where the police of three countries had failed and that he had outmanoeuvred at every point the most accomplished swindler in Europe was insufficient to rouse him from his nervous prostration. Three days later we were back in Baker street together, but it was evident that my friend would be much the better for a change, and the thought of a week of springtime in the country was full of attractions to me also. My old friend Colonel Hayter, who had come under my professional care in Afghanistan, had now taken a house near Reigate in Surrey and had frequently asked me to come down to him upon a visit. On the last occasion he had remarked that if my friend would only come with me, he would be glad to extend his hospitality to him also. A little diplomacy was needed. But when Holmes understood that the establishment was a bachelor one and that he would be allowed the fullest freedom, he fell in with my plans, and a week after our return from Lyon we were under the colonel's roof. Hayter was a fine old soldier who had seen much of the world, and he soon found, as I had expected, that Holmes and he had much in common. On the evening of our arrival, we were sitting in the colonel's gun room. After dinner, Holmes stretched upon the sofa while Hayter and I looked over his little armoury of firearms. By the way, said he suddenly, I think I'll take one of these pistols upstairs with me in case we have an alarm. An alarm? Said I. Yes, we've had a scare in this part lately. Old Acton, who is one of our county magnates, had his house broken into last Monday. No great damage done, but the fellows are still at large. No clue? Asked Holmes, cocking his eye at the colonel. None as yet. But the affair is a petty one, one of our little country crimes, which must seem too small for your attention, Mr. Holmes, after this great international affair. Holmes waved away the compliment, though his smile showed that it had pleased him. Was there any feature of interest? I fancy not. The thieves ransacked the library and got very little for their pains. The whole place was turned upside down, drawers burst open and presses ransacked, with the result that an odd volume of Pope's Home. Two plated candlesticks, an ivory letter weight, a small oak barometer and a ball of twine are all but have vanished. What an extraordinary assortment. I exclaimed. Oh, the fellows evidently grabbed hold of everything they could get. Holmes grunted from the sofa. The county police ought to make something of that, said he. Why, it is surely obvious that But I held up a warning finger. You are here for a rest, my dear fellow. For heaven's sake, don't get started on a new problem when your nerves are all in shreds. Holmes shrugged his shoulders with a glance of comic resignation towards the Colonel, and the talk drifted away into less dangerous channels.
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Hugh Bonneville
It was destined, however, that all my professional caution should be wasted. For next morning the problem obtruded itself upon us in such a way that it was impossible to ignore it, and our country visit took a turn which neither of us could have anticipated. We were at breakfast when the Colonel's butler rushed in with all his propriety shaken out of him. Have you heard the news, sir? He gasped at the Cunningham, sir. Burglary. Cried the Colonel, with his coffee cup in mid air. Murder. The colonel whistled. By Jove, said he. Who's killed then? The JP or his son? Neither, sir. It was William the coachman. Shot through the heart, sir, and never spoke again. Who shot him then? The burglar, sir. He was off like a shot and got clean away. He'd just broke in at the pantry window when William came on him and met his end in saving his master's property. What time it was last night, Sir? Somewhere about 12. Ah, then we'll step over afterwards, said the Colonel coolly, settling down to his breakfast again. It's a badish business, he added when the butler had gone. He's our leading man. About here is old Cunningham, and a very decent fellow, too. He'll be cut up over this, for the man has been in his service for years and was a good servant. It's evidently the same villains who broke into Acton's and stole that very singular collection, said Holmes thoughtfully. Precisely. H'm. It may prove the simplest matter in the world, but all the same, at first glance, this is just a little curious, is it not? A gang of burglars acting in the country might be expected to Vary the scene of their operations and not to crack two cribs in the same district within a few days. When you spoke last night of taking precautions, I remember that it passed through my mind that this was probably the last parish in England to which the thief or thieves would be likely to turn their attention. Which shows that I have still much to learn. I fancy it's some local practitioner, said the Colonel. In that case, of course, Acton's and Cunningham's are just the places he would go for since they are far the largest about here and the richest. Well they ought to be, but they've had a lawsuit for some years which has sucked the blood out of both of them. I fancy old Acton has some claim on half Cunningham's estate and the lawyers have been at it with both hands. If it's a local villain there should not be much difficulty in running him down, said Holmes with a yawn. All right Watson, I don't need to meddle. Inspector Forrester, sir, said the butler, throwing open the door. The official, a smart, keen faced young fellow, stepped into the room. Good morning, Colonel, said he. I hope I don't intrude but we hear that Mr. Holmes of Baker street is here. The Colonel waved his hand towards my friend and the Inspector bowed. We thought that perhaps you would care to step across, Mr. Holmes. The Fates are against you, Watson, said he, laughing. We were chatting about the matter when you came in, Inspector. Perhaps you can let us have a few details. As he leaned back in his chair in the familiar attitude I knew that the case was hopeless. We had no clue in the Acton affair but here we have plenty to go on and there's no doubt it is the same party in each case. The man was seen. Ah yes sir, but he was off like a deer after the shot that killed poor William Kirwan was fired. Mr. Cunningham saw him from the bedroom window and Mr. Alec Cunningham saw him from the back passage. It was quarter to 12 when the alarm broke out. Mr. Cunningham had just got into bed and Mr. Alec was smoking a pipe in his dressing gown. They both heard William the coachman calling for help and Mr. Alec ran down to see what was the matter. The back door was open and as he came to the foot of the stairs he saw two men wrestling together outside. One of them fired a shot, the other dropped and the murderer rushed across the garden and over the hedge. Mr. Cunningham, looking out of his bedroom, saw the fellow as he gained the road but lost sight of him at once. Mr. Alec stopped to see if he could help the dying man and so the villain got clean away. Beyond the fact that he was a middle sized man and dressed in some dark stu we have no personal clue. But we are making energetic inquiries and if he is a stranger we shall soon find him out. What was this William doing there? Did he say anything before he died? Not a word. He lives at the lodge with his mother and as he was a very faithful fellow we imagine that he walked up to the house with the intention of seeing that all was right there. Of course this Acton business has put everyone on their guard. The robber must have just burst open the door. The lock has been forced when William came upon him. Did William say anything to his mother before going out? She is very old and deaf and we can get no information from her. The shock has made her half witted but I understand that she was never very bright. There is one very important circumstance, however. Look at this. He took a small piece of torn paper from a notebook and spread it out upon his knee. This was found between the finger and thumb of the dead man. It appears to be a fragment torn from a larger sheet. You will observe that the hour mentioned upon it is the very time at which the poor fellow met his fate. You see that his murderer might have torn the rest of the sheet from him or he might have taken this fragment from the murderer. It reads almost as though it were an appointment. Holmes took up the scrap of paper. Presuming that it is an appointment, continued the inspector. It is of course a conceivable theory that this William Kirwan, though he had the reputation of being an honest man, may have been in league with the thief. He may have met him there, may even have helped him to break in the door and then they may have fallen out between themselves. This writing is of extraordinary interest, said Holmes, who had been examining it with intense concentration. These are much deeper waters than I had thought. He sank his head upon his hands while the inspector smiled at the effect which his case had had upon the famous London specialist. Your last remark, said Holmes presently, as to the possibility of there being an understanding between the burglar and the servant and this being a note of appalling appointment from one to the other is an ingenious and not entirely impossible supposition. But this writing opens up. He sank his head into his hands again and remained for some minutes in the deepest thought. When he raised his face again I was surprised to see that his cheek was tinged with color and his eyes as bright as before his illness. He sprang to his feet with all his old energy. I'll tell you what, said he. I should like to have a quiet little glance into the details of this case. There is something in it which fascinates me extremely. If you will permit me, Colonel, I will leave my friend Watson and you and I will step round with the inspector to test the truth of one or two little fancies of mine. I will be with you again in half an hour. So good, so good, so good.
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Hugh Bonneville
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Hugh Bonneville
An hour and half had elapsed before the inspector returned alone. Mr. Holmes is walking up and down in the field outside, said he. He wants us all four to go up to the house together. Two Mr. Cunningham's? Yes sir. What for? The inspector shrugged his shoulders. I don't quite know, sir. Between ourselves, I think Mr. Holmes had not quite got over his illness yet. He has been behaving very queerly and he is very much excited. I don't think you need alarm yourself, said I. I have usually found that there was method in his madness. Some folks might say there was madness in his method, muttered the inspector. But he's all on fire to start, Colonel, so we had best go out if you are ready. We found Holmes pacing up and down in the field, his chin sunk upon his breast and his hands thrust into his trouser pockets. The matter grows in interest, said he. Watson, your country trip has been a distinct success. I have had a charming morning. You have been up to the scene of the crime, I understand, said the colonel. Yes, the inspector and I have made quite a little reconnaissance together. Any success? Well, we have seen some very interesting things. I'll tell you what we did as we walk. First of all we saw the body of this unfortunate man. He certainly died from a revolver wound as reported. Had you doubted it then? Oh, it is as well to test everything. Our inspection was not wasted. We then had an interview with Mr. Cunningham and his son who were able to point out the exact spot where the murderer had broken through the garden hedge in his flight. That was of great interest, naturally. Then we had a look at this poor fellow's mother. We could get no information from her. However, as she is very old and feeble. And what is the result of your investigations? The conviction that the crime is a very peculiar one. Perhaps our visit now may do something to make it less obscure. I think that we are both agreed, Inspector, that the fragment of paper in the dead man's hand bearing as it does the very hour of his death written upon it, is of extreme importance. It should give a clue, Mr. Holmes. It does give a clue. Whoever wrote that note was the man who brought William Kirwan out of his bed at that hour. That. Where is the rest of that sheet of paper? I examined the ground carefully in the hope of finding it, said the inspector. It was torn out of the dead man's hand. Why was someone so anxious to get possession of it? Because it incriminated him. And what would he do with it? Thrust it into his pocket most likely, never noticing that a corner of it had been left in the grip of the corpse. If we could get the rest of that sheet it is obvious that we should have gone a long way towards solving the mystery. Yes, but how can we get at the criminal's pocket before we catch the criminal? Well. Well it was worth thinking over. Then there is another obvious point. The note was sent to William. The man who wrote it could not have taken it otherwise. Of course he might have delivered his own message by word of mouth. Who brought the note then? Or did it come through the post? I have made inquiries, said the Inspector. William received a letter by the afternoon post yesterday. The envelope was destroyed by him. Excellent. Cried Holmes, clapping the inspector on the back. You have seen the postman. It is a pleasure to work with you. Well, here is the lodge and if you will come up, Colonel, I will show you the scene of the crime. We passed the pretty cottage where the murdered man had lived and walked up an oak lined avenue to the fine old Queen Anne house which bears the date of Malplacket upon the lintel of the door. Holmes and the inspector led us round it until we came to the side gate which is separated by a stretch of garden from the hedge which lines the road. A constable was standing at the kitchen door. Throw the door open, officer, said Holmes. Now it was on those stairs that young Mr. Cunningham stood and saw the two men struggling just where we are. Old Mr. Cunningham was at that window, the second on the left and he saw the fellow get away just to the left of that bush. Then Mr. Alec ran out and knelt beside the wounded man. The ground is very hard, you see, and there are no marks to guide us. As he spoke, two men came down the garden path from round the angle of the house. The one was an elderly man with a strong, deep lined, heavy eyed face. The other a dashing young fellow whose bright smiling expression and showy dress were in strange contrast with the business which had brought us there. Still at it then? Said he to Holmes. I thought you Londoners were never at fault. You don't seem to be so very quick after all. Now you must give us a little time, said Holmes good humouredly. You'll want it, said young Alec Cunningham. Why, I don't see that we have any clue at all. There's only one, answered the inspector. We thought that if we could only find. Good heavens, Mr. Holmes, what is the matter? My poor friend's face had suddenly assumed the most dreadful expression. His eyes rolled upwards, his features writhed in agony and with a suppressed groan he dropped on his face upon the ground. Next time on Sherlock Holmes Short Stories. Holmes ill health could causes him to slip up. An attempted murder leads to a revelation and a crumpled piece of paper covered in curious handwriting unravels a dastardly plan. That's next time. Can't wait a week until the next episode. Well, listen to it right away by subscribing to NoiserPlus. Head to www.noiza.comsubscriptions for more information or click the link in the episode description.
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