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Hugh Bonneville (11:00)

This was excellent news, Watson, for it showed me that I was on the right road. I looked up at the sun. It was low in the heavens. And I calculated that in less than an hour it would lie just above the topmost branches of the old oak. One condition mentioned in the ritual would then be fulfilled. And the shadow of the elm must mean the farther end of the shadow, otherwise the trunk would have been chosen as the guide. I had then to find where the far end of the shadow would fall when the sun was just clear of the oak. That must have been difficult, Holmes, when the elm was no longer there. Well, at least I knew that if Brunton could do it, I could also. Besides, there was no real difficulty. I went with Musgrave to his study and whittled myself this peg to which I tied this long string with a knot at each yard. Then I took two lengths of a fishing rod which came to just six feet, and I went back with my client to where the elm had been. The sun was just grazing the top of the oak. I fastened the rod on end, marked out the direction of the shadow and measured it. It was nine feet in length. Of course, the calculation now was a simple one. If a rod of six feet threw a shadow of nine. A tree of 64ft would throw one of 90 and the line of the one would of course be the line of the other. I measured out the distance which brought me almost to the wall of the house and I thrust a peg into the spot. You can imagine my exultation, Watson, when within 2 inches of my peg I saw a conical depression in the ground. I knew that it was the mark made by Brunton in his measurements and that I was still upon his trail. From this starting point I proceeded to step, having first taken the cardinal points by my pocket compass. Ten steps with each foot took me along parallel with the wall of the house and again I marked my spot with a peg. Then I carefully paced off, five to the east and two to the south. It brought me to the very threshold of the old door. Two steps to the west meant now that I was to go two paces down the stone flagged passage. And this was the place indicated by the ritual. Never have I felt such a cold chill of disappointment, Watson. For a moment it seemed to me that there must be some radical mistake in my calculations. The setting sun shone full upon the passage floor and I could see that the old foot worn grey stones with which it was paved were firmly cemented together and had certainly not been moved. For many a long year Brunton had not been at work here. I tapped upon the floor, but it sounded the same all over and there was no sign of any crack or crevice. But fortunately Musgrave, who had begun to appreciate the meaning of my proceedings and who was now as excited as myself, took out his manuscript to check my calculation. And under he cried, you have omitted the. And under. I had thought that it meant that we were to dig, but now of course I saw at once that I was wrong. There is a cellar under this. Then I cried, yes, and as old as the house down here. Through this door we went down a winding stone stair and my companion, striking a match, lit a large lantern which stood on a barrel in the corner. In an instant it was obvious that we had at last come upon the true place and that we had not been the only people to visit the spot. Recently it had been used for the storage of wood, but the billets, which had evidently been littered over the floor were now piled at the sides so as to leave a clear space in the middle. In this space lay a large and heavy flagstone with a rusted iron ring in the centre to which a thick shepherd's check muffler was attached by Jove cried my client. That's Brunton's muffler. I have seen it on him and could swear to it. What has the villain been doing here? At my suggestion a couple of the county police were summoned to be present and I then endeavoured to raise the stone by pulling on the cravat. I could only move it slightly and it was with the aid of one of the constables that I succeeded at last in carrying it. To one side. A black hole yawned beneath into which we all peered while Musgrave, kneeling at the side, pushed down the lantern. A small chamber, about 7ft deep and 4ft square lay open to us. At one side of this was a squat brass bound wooden box, the lid of which was hinged upwards with this curious old fashioned key projecting from the lock. It was furred outside by a thick layer of dust and damp and worms had eaten through the wood so that a crop of livid fungi was growing on the inside of it. Several discs of metal, old coins, apparently such as I hold here, were scattered over the bottom of the box but it contained nothing else. At the moment, however, we had no thought for the old chest for our eyes were riveted upon that which crouched beside was the figure of a man clad in a suit of black who squatted down upon his hands with his forehead sunk upon the edge of the box and his two arms thrown out on each side of it. The attitude had drawn all the stagnant blood to the face and no man could have recognized that distorted liver colored countenance. But his height, his dress and his hair were all sufficient to show my client when we had drawn the body up, that it was indeed his missing butler. He had been dead some days but there was no wound or bruise upon his person to show how he had met his dreadful end. When his body had been carried from the cellar we found ourselves still confronted with a problem which was almost as formidable as that with which we had started. I confess that so far, Watson, I had been disappointed in my investigation. I had reckoned upon solving the matter when once I had found the place referred to in the ritual. But now I was there and was apparently as far as ever from knowing what it was which the family had concealed with such elaborate precautions. It is true that I had thrown a light upon the fate of Brunton, but now I had to ascertain how that fate had come upon him and what part had been played in the matter by the woman who had disappeared. I sat down upon a keg in the corner and thought the Whole matter carefully over. You know my methods in such cases, Watson. I put myself in the man's place and having first gauged his intelligence, I try to imagine how I should myself have proceeded under the same circumstances. In this case the matter was simplified by Brunton's intelligence being quite first rate so that it was necessary to undertake any allowance for the personal equation as the astronomers have dubbed it. He knew that something valuable was concealed. He had spotted the place. He found that the stone which covered it was just too heavy for a man to move unaided. What would he do next? He could not get help from outside even if he had someone who whom he could trust without the unbarring of doors and considerable risk of detection. It was better if he could to have his helpmate inside the house. But whom could he ask? This girl had been devoted to him. A man always finds it hard to realize that he may have finally lost a woman's love, however badly he may have treated her. He would try by a few attentions to make his peace with the girl Howells and then would engage her as his accomplice. Together they would come at night to the cellar and their united force would suffice to raise the stone. So far I could follow their actions as if I had actually seen them. But for two of them and one a woman, it must have been heavy work, the raising of that stone. A burly Sussex policeman and I had found it no light job. What would they do to assist them? Probably what I should have done myself. I rose and examined carefully the different billets of wood which were scattered round the floor. Almost at once I came upon what I expected. One piece, about 3ft in length had a very marked indentation at one end while several were flattened at the sides as if they had been compressed by some considerable weight. Evidently as they had dragged the stone up they had thrust the chunks of wood into the chink until at last when the opening was large enough to crawl through, they would hold it open by a billet placed lengthwise which might very well become indented at the lower end since the whole weight of the stone would press it down onto the edge of this other slab. So far I was still on safe ground. And now how was I to proceed to reconstruct this midnight drama?

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Hugh Bonneville (22:09)

Clearly, only one could fit into the hole, and that one was Brunton. The girl must have waited above Brunton, then unlocked the box, handed up the contents, presumably since they were not to be found. And then. And then what happened? What smouldering fire of vengeance had suddenly sprung into flame in this passionate Celtic woman's soul when she saw the man who had wronged her? Wronged her perhaps far more than we suspected in her power? Was it a chance that the wood had slipped and that the stone had shut Brunton into what had become his sepulchre? Had she only been guilty of silence as to his fate? Or had some sudden blow from from her hand dashed the support away and sent the slab crashing down into its place? Be that as it might, I seemed to see that woman's figure still clutching at her treasure trove and flying wildly up the winding stair with her ears ringing, perhaps with the muffled screams from behind her, and with the drumming of frenzied hands against the slab of stone which was choking her faithless lover's life. Out here was the secret of her blanched face, her shaken nerves, her peals of hysterical laughter on the next morning. But what had been in the box? What had she done with that? Of course, it must have been the old metal and pebbles which my client had dragged from the mere. She had thrown them in there at the first opportunity to remove the last trace of her crime. For 20 minutes I had sat motionless, thinking the matter out. Musgrave still stood with a very pale face, swinging his lantern and peering down into the hole. These are the coins of Charles I, said he, holding out the few which had been in the box. You see, we were right in fixing our date for the ritual. We may find something else of Charles I. I cried, as the probable meaning of the first two questions of the ritual broke suddenly upon me. Let me see the contents of the bag which you fished from the mere. We ascended to his study and he laid the debris before me. I could understand his regarding it as of small importance when I looked at it, for the metal was almost black and the stones lustreless and dull. I rubbed one of them on my sleeve, however, and it glowed afterwards like a spark in the dark hollow of my hand. The metalwork was in the form of a double ring, but it had been bent and twisted out of its original shape. You must bear in mind, said I, that the royal party made head in England even after the death of the King, and that when they at last fled, they probably left many of their most precious possessions buried behind them with the intention of returning for them in more peaceful times. My ancestor, Sir Ralph Musgrave, was a prominent cavalier and the right hand man of Charles II in his wanderings, said my friend. Ah, indeed, I answered. Well, now I think that really should give us the last link that we wanted. I must congratulate you on coming into the possession, though in a rather tragic manner, of a relic which is of great intrinsic value but of even greater importance as an historical curiosity. What is that then? He gasped in astonishment. It is nothing less than the ancient crown of the kings of England. The crown? Precisely. Consider what the ritual says. How does it run? Whose was it? His who is gone? That was after the execution of Charles. Then who shall have it? He who will come. That was Charles ii, whose advent was already foreseen. There can, I think, be no doubt that this battered and shapeless diadem once encircled the brows of the royal Stuarts. And how came it in the pond? Ah, that is a question that will take some time to answer. And with that I sketched out to him the whole long chain of surmise and of proof which I had constructed. The twilight had closed in and the moon was shining brightly in the sky before my narrative was finished. And how was it then that Charles did not get his crown when he returned? Asked Musgrave, pushing back the relic into its linen bag. Ah, there you lay your finger upon the one point which we shall probably never be able to clear up. It is likely that the Musgrave who held the secret died in the interval and by some oversight left this guide to his descendant without explaining the meaning of it. From that day to this it has been handed down from father to son until at last it came within reach of a man who tore its secret out of it and lost his life in the venture. And that's the story of the Musgrave ritual, Watson. They have the crown down at Hurlstone, though they had some legal bother and a considerable sum to pay before they were allowed to retain it. I am sure that if you mentioned my name they would be happy to show it to you. Of the woman, nothing was ever heard and the probability is that she got away out of England and carried herself and the memory of her crime to some land beyond the seas. Next time on Sherlock Holmes Short Stories. We embark on one of the great detective's most celebrated cases, a Scandal in Bohemia. When a mysterious masked man appears at 221B Baker street with a delicate problem, Holmes finds himself suddenly drawn into a web of international intrigue. At the center of the whole affair lies Irene Adler, opera singer, adventurous, and one of Sherlock's most worthy opponents. Will Holmes catch Adler before she uses a compromising photograph to topple one of Europe's most powerful monarchies? Or has the great detective finally met his match? Find out 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.

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