Narrator (3:59)
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. And now, the Adventures of Sherlock Holmes with Sir John Gielgud as Sherlock Holmes and Sir Ralph Richardson as our storyteller, Dr. James Watson. Many of the cases of Sherlock Holmes were private affairs that made no stir outside the family circles involved. But the disappearance of Silver Blaze was a matter which set the whole country by the ears. But not merely had this horse, the favorite for the Wessex cup, vanished for a week before the great race, but his trainer had also been tragically murdered. This is a small villa about 200 yards from the stables. I see you have some newspapers there, Watson. Let's see what they have to say about the matter. Oh, well, here's the morning's post. It says the horses had been exercised and watered as usual and the tables locked up. At 9 o'clock here, the lad walked up to the trainer's house where they had supper in the kitchen whilst the third, Ned Hunter, remained on guard. A few minutes after nine, the maid, Edith Baxter, carried his supper, a dish of curried mutton, down to his table. As the path ran over the open moor, she carried a lantern with her. About 30 yards away from the stable a man appeared out of the darkness and called her to stop. Excuse me, miss, can you tell me where I am? I've almost made up my mind to sleep on the mo when I saw your lantern. You're close to King Pil and training stable, sir? I am. What a silk of l. I understand that the stable boy keeps their learners alight. Perhaps nothing, okay? Yes, but you'll be getting cold. Yeah. Be too proud to earn the price of a new dress now, would you? See, the boy gets his mate tonight and you have the prettiest dress that money can buy. Let me pass her. I'm not good enough to anybody. Dale was frightened by his manner and she ran past him to the stable window hatch through which she always used to hand the boy his meals. The hatch was already open and the Boy was waiting inside. He just begun to tell him what had happened when the stranger came up again. Good evening. I wanted to have a word with you. What business did you reassert? Business that may put something in your pocket. There's two horses in for the Wessex Cut, Silver Brave and Bayard. It may have a straight tip and you won't be a loser. It is a fact that it's a weight. Bayard could give the other hand the joint. So you're one of them damn cows. Well, I'll show you how we serve them at King's Parliament. Just wait right at the dog free. Driver. Driver. The boy ran to unleash the dog and the maid hurried towards the house. But looking back, she saw the stranger leaning in through the stable window. A minute later, when a hunter rushed out with the dog, the stranger was gone. Yes, that's as far as we can get for the morning post. I'm afraid Mrs. Hudson very stupidly used the other half of the paper to light the fire this morning. Well, I'm sorry. Oh, no matter, my dear fellow. The Telegraph has also covered the colour very fully. Harry's gab Hunter, on the return of his fellow grooms, sent a message up to the trainer Straker to tell him what had happened. Straker seems to have been vaguely uneasy about the matter, although he'd been to bed. He got up again at 1 o'clock in the morning, telling his wife that he was going down to the stable to see if all was well. He put on a Macintosh, but it was raining heavily and left the house. Quite a wealth of detail, my dear Watson. And here I have a note from Mrs. Steger's statement. After her husband had gone out, she went back to sleep again and didn't wait until 7:00 in the morning. Finding him still absent, she called the maid and they set off together for the stable. They found the door wide open. Inside, huddled on a chair, was Hunter in a state of complete stupor. The lads in the loft overhead had had nothing all night, but the favorite stall was empty and there was no sign of the trader. Hunter had obviously been drugged. Undoubtedly Mrs. Trego and the maid left him and ran up to the moor to see whether Straker had meditation, the horse out for exercise, and so the murder was discovered. Suppose you read me the rest of Mrs. Straker's face. Oh, well, yes, yes. Some quarter of a mile from the stables, Mrs. Straker and the maid found Straker's coat flatting from a Furze Wood Immediately beyond there was a bold shaped depression of the moor and at the bottom of this John Faker's body was found his head shattered by a savage blow from some heavy weapon wounded in the thigh. A long clean cut evidently inflicted by some sharp incident. Baker had obviously tried to defend himself but in his left hand he grasped a red and black soup cravat which was recognized by the maid as having been in worn by the stranger who'd spoken to her outside the stable. Hunter, the stable boy also identified it when he'd recovered from the effect of the drug. This was apparently powdered opium which had been put into his curried mutton. Now that explains what the stranger was doing. Is he lent through the stable window. The lads who ate the same meal at the trainer's house were quite all right. So only one place had been drugged. It goes on to say there were abundant poofs in the mud which lay at the bottom of the fatal hollow. But the missing horse Silver Blaze had been there at the time of the struggle. Well Watson our little journey quite agreeably and here we are at service lies like the boss of a shield in the middle of the huge circle of Dartmoor. Two gentlemen were waiting for us at the station. Silver blazed owner, the well known sportsman, Colonel Ross and Inspector Gregory of Scotland Yard. I'm delighted that you've come down Mr. Holmes. The inspector here has done all that could possibly be suggested but I wish to leave no stone unturned in trying to avenge Forrest figure and recover my horse. I trust that I may be able to assist you sir. Has there been any fresh development? I'm sorry to say we've made very little progress. As you know we had no difficulty in tracing the stranger. He was well known in the neighborhood. His name is Fitzroy Simpson. A man who's come down in the world and lives by a little quiet and genteel bookmaking in the London Club. His books show that he was carrying bits up to £5,000 against the favorite. When confronted with the cravat he turned very pale and was utterly unable to account for its presence in the hand of the murdered man. Of course Draker himself was wounded wasn't he? In the thigh. He may have wounded himself in the convulsive struggles which follow any brain injury. Excellent my dear Watson. It's more than possible. It's probable. In which case one of the main points in favor of the accused disappears. A minute later we were all seated in a comfortable landau and were rolling through the quaint old Devonshire town. A clever counsel Would tear your case to rags. Why should Simpson take the horse out of the stable? If he wished to injure it he could do it there. Has a duplicate key to the stable door been found in his possession? What chemist sold him the powdered opium? Above all, where could he, he, a stranger to the district, hide a horse and such a horse as this? Tell me what is his own explanation as to the note which he wished to make to give to the stable boy? He says it was a ten pound note and one was found in his purse. Also he's not a stranger to the district. He's quite large at Tavistock in the summer. The opium he probably brought with him from London, the key having served its turn will be hurled away. As for the horse, they will lie at the bottom of one of the pits or old mines upon the moor. What does he say about the cravat? His mystery church? His and says that he lost it. But a new element has been introduced into the case which may account for his reading the horse from the stable. We found traces that show that a party of gypsies encamped on Monday night within a mile of the spot where the murder took place. On Tuesday they were gone. Simpson may well have been leading the horse to them when he was overtaken. It's certainly possible Edwards being Scarcot him. Meanwhile I've examined Edward's table and outhouse in Cabotsoff and for a radius of 10 miles there's another training stable quite close I believe. Yes, and that's a factor we must certainly not neglect. As Desborough, their horse was taken in the betting. They had an interest in the disappearance of Silver Blaze. Silas Brown, their traitor, is known to have had large bets upon the event as he was no friend to poor Straker. However we've examined his tables and there's nothing to connect him with the affair and nothing to connect with Claus, Simpson with their interests and nothing at all. Ah well here we are. Our driver pulled up at a little red brick villa which stood by the road. Colonel Ross asked Holmes whether he would like to go on to the scene of the crime. No, I think I presume to stay here a little while and go into one or two questions in detail. Straker was brought back here I suppose? Yes, he lies upstairs. The inquest is tomorrow. He's been in your service some years Colonel. I've always found him an excellent servant. I presume that you made an inventory of what he had in his pockets at the time of his death, Inspector. I had the things themselves here in the sitting room, a box of matches, 2 inches of tallow, candle, pencil case, a few papers and the ivory handled knife. Very singular knife, Watson. Surely in your line is what we call a cataract knife. Used for surgical purposes, including very delicate operations. A strange thing for a man to carry with him on a rough expedition. Why it wouldn't even shut up to go into his pocket. The tip was guarded by a cork which was found beside his body. His wife tells us that he kept it for some days in the dredging table. Table? And picked it up as he left the room. A poor weapon, but perhaps the best he could lay his hands on at the moment. And the paper hay dealer's account, this letter from Colonel Ross and this dressmaker's account for 37 pounds 15 made out by Madame Legera of Bond Street. May I see that bill please? Certainly. It's made out to William Derbyshire. William Derbyshire? Mrs. Straker tells us he was a friend of her husband's and that occasionally letters for him were addressed here. Has he been staying here then? Did Mrs. Straker know him? I gather not. But here is Mrs. Straker. Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Mrs. Straker. How do you do, sir? How do you do, Mrs. Straker? Sherlock. We met before at a garden party in Plymouth recently. No sir, you must be mistaken. I could have sworn it. You wore a costume of dark colored silk with ostrich feather trimmings. Never had such a dress, sir. Well, that settles it then. If you'll excuse me, sir, I'd like a word with the Colonel. Of course. I'll be with you In a moment, Mr. Holmes. Oh, Inspector. Holmes. I believe you've got your hand on a clue, do you? As a matter of fact, I was just remembering a really excellent curry. We once ate together in Soho. In a moment we continue this week's story in the Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. And now we continue the Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock Holmes next asked to be shown the spot where the murder had been committed. A short walk across the moor brought us to the hollow in which the body had been found. At the brink of it was the furze bush upon which the mackintosh belonging to the murdered man had been hung. There was no wind that night, I understand. A young but very heavy rain. Well, in that case the coat was not blown against the third bushes, it must have been placed there. Yes, it was laid across the bush. Very interesting. In this bag I have one of the boots which Draker wore, one of Fitzroy Simpson's shoes and the cursed horseshoe of silver blade. My dear Inspector, you surpass yourself. Holmes took the bag and descending into the hollow he made a careful study of the trampled mud in front of him. Hello. What's this? A stunt, Nachi. Excellent. I can't think how I came to miss it. It was invisible, buried in the mud. I only found it because I was looking for it. What, you expected to find it? I thought it was not unlikely. You'll have searched the ferns around the rim of the hollow for any more tracks? Of course. I'm afraid there are none. I've examined the ground very carefully for a hundred yards in each direction. Good. Then I'll take a little walk over the moor as before it goes dark and I think I'll put this horseshoe in my pocket just for luck. I suppose you know your own methods best, Mr. Holmes. Perhaps you'll come back with me in sector. There are several matters on which I need your advice. Especially as to whether we urge the public to scratch Silver Blaze from the Wessex cuff. Certainly not, Colonel. I should let the name stand. I am very glad to have your opinion, sir. We shall see you later on when you finish your walk. Colonel Ross and the inspector went back to the villa. Asked Holmes and I walked slowly across the moor. We may leave the question of who killed John Straker for the moment and consign ourselves to finding out what has become of the horse. Now supposing he broke away during or after the tragedy, where could he have got to? Almost anywhere on Dartmoor I should imagine. Oh dear. Nervous horse is a gregarious animal. If left to himself his instincts would have been either to return to King's Thailand or go on over to Capleton yonder. Why should he run wild upon the moor if he's not at King's Thailand? He must be over there at Capleton. Come along, he's not far to go. And as we approached the gates of Capleton we met a groom coming out of them. We don't want any loiteries round here. I only wanted to ask you a question. Would I be too early to see your master, Mr. Silas Brown, if I were to call here at five o'clock tomorrow morning? Why bless you sir. If anyone's about it'll be him. He's always the first jury. Well please don't gossiping, not on about your business. And you there. What the devil do you want here? 10 minutes Talk with you, my good fellow. Well I've no time to talk to every gallabout. We don't want strangers here. Behalf you May find a dog at the heels. One word in your ear, my friend, in your own interest. It's a lie. An infernal lie. Very good. Shall we argue about it here in public or talk it over in your parlor or do I go to the police? It was 20 minutes before he returns. It should be done, sir, just as you wish it. There must be no mistake. Oh no, there should be no mistake. It should be there. Should I stop, change it first or not? No, no, don't. I'll write to you about that. No tricks now. Oh no, you can trust me. You can trust me. Yes, I think I can. Well, you shall hear from me tomorrow. Good day to you. Good day. You see Watson, a more perfect compound of a bully, coward and sneak than Master Silas Brown I seldom met with. He has the horse then? Oh, he tried to bluster it out, but I told him so exactly what his actions had been that morning that he's convinced I was actually watching him. He was first down as usual, and seeing a strange horse wandering on the moor, he went out to it. When he recognized it, a silver blaze from the white splash on its bodies. His first instinct was to return it to the King's pilum stable, which he set out to do. But then he realized that if the horse could only be hidden till after the Wessex cup, his own horse, Desborough would almost certainly win. So he changed his mind and turned back halfway. Brought Silver Blaze down to his own stable. But I thought his stables had been thoroughly fed. Oh, an old horse taker like him has many a dodge. But aren't you afraid to leave a horse in his power now since he's every interest in injuring it, my dear fellow, he'll guard it like the apple of his eye. He knows that his only hope of mercy is to produce it safely at the racetrack for the Wessex Cup. I made that perfectly clear to him. But I have a little trick to play on Colonel Ross. You may have noticed that his manner to me was just a trifle cavalier. So neither of us, please for the present will say anything to him about the horse, sir. Certain, as long as you wish it. And of course this is all quite a minor matter compared with the question of who killed John Straker. And you devote yourself to that in the meantime. On the contrary, we will both go back to London. By the night of I was thunderstruck by my friend's word. It had only been a few hours in Devonshire. That he should give up an investigation in which he had begun so brilliantly was quite incomprehensible to me. Not one word more could I draw from him until we were back at the trainer's house where the Colonel and the Inspector were waiting for us. My friend and I returned to town by the midnight express. We'd had a charming little breath of your. Your Dartmoor. Well, you despair of arresting the murderer for Straker. There are certainly great difficulties in the way. I have every hope, however, that your horse will be at the racetrack next Tuesday. And I beg that you have your jockey in readiness. Oh, may I take this photograph of John Straker with me back to town? Well, Inspector, I'm rather disappointed in our London consultant. I don't see to put any further than when he came. At least you had it as assurance that your horse will run next week. Yes, I had his assurance. I should prefer to have my horse. We went outside. Goodbye. Goodbye, Colonel. I hope to see you at the Wessex cup and Silver Blaze. Four days later, Holmes and I saw Silver Blaze win the Wessex cup by a good six lengths. There was not a Silver Blaze that even its owner could recognize. There was no trace to be seen as the famous white splash on his forehead or of the mottled off foreleg. The Silver Blaze that won the Wessex cup was a powerful bay. It was only in the way in Persia after the race that Holmes began to explain to a colonel who was completely bewildered. You've only to wash his face and his leg in spirits of wine and you will find that he's just the same old Silver Blaze as ever. You take my breath away as 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've done wonders. I owe you a thousand apologies. You've done me a very great service by recovering my horse. You would do me a greater still if you could lay your hands on the murder of Don Strange. I've done so. You've done so. You've got him. But where is he then? He's in our company at the present moment. That is either a very bad joke, Mr. Holmes, or is it an insult. I'm not a person to you. The real murderer is standing immediately before you. The horse. Yes, the horse. Silver Blaze himself. It may lessen the guilt somewhat if I say that it's a killing was done entirely in self defense and that John Staker was a man who was quite unworthy of your confidence. There goes the bell. And as I stand to win a little on the next race, I shall defer lengthier explanation till a more fitting time. It was not until we were on our way back to London that Holmes would get down to these explanations. Despite the impatience of both the Colonel and myself. I must confess that I even suspected Fitzroy Simpson myself for a time. It was only when I reached the trainer's house that the immense significance of the curried mutton occurred to me. The curried mutton? You mean when you mentioned. Exactly. Powdered opium has a disagreeable and perceptible flavor. Only something more strongly flavored like a curry, could have disguised the taste. Now, Fitzroy Simpson could never have known that the maid would be serving the stable lap of the curry that night. The only people who could have known that were people in the house who could have taken advantage of the fact. Then there was the silence of the dog. When the horse was taken from the stable, it failed the bar because he knew who the intruder was. I was already quite convinced that the intruder must have been John Straker himself. John Straker himself? Why did he wish to take Silver Blaze out onto the moor in the dead of night and secretly? The answer to that was in John Staker's pocket. The dressmaker's bill, precisely addressed to William Derbyshire. That set me thinking, perhaps John Faker was leading a double life after all. His wife confirmed that the expensive costume wasn't for her and by recognizing the photo that I showed her, Madame Lesurier, the dressmaker later confirmed that John Straker had indeed bought a dragon to give to a woman of more expensive taste than his wife. In fact, John Straker was leading a double life and was in bad financial strait. John Straker dichotomy. The knife gave me the final clue. It was a surgical knife such as could be used to lame a horse without leaving any visible evidence of foul play. By laming Silver Blaze and betting on Desborough, John Frater would have been able to retrieve his fortune. Countle, the man I trusted, he led the horse out onto the moor so that when he cut his tendons his plunging wouldn't waken the grooms overhead in order that he could see what he was going to do. He needed a candle so that the camel should not be seen. He led the horse to the hollow. In lighting the candle, he dropped that spent match in the mud. Unfortunately for him, the light must have scared the horse, unless it was instinct. Whichever it was, the horse lashed out in its steel shoe, corpse breaker full in the forest. He'd already taken off his Macintosh to be freer and as he fell gashed his thigh on his own knife. But my dear, tell you, you might have been there that wonderful. And the cravat, Fitzroy Simpson's, which was in the dead man's hand. Simpson said that he lost it. No doubt he did. Straker must have found it and picked it up. Perhaps with the idea of using it to secure a horse's leg. Well, that disposes of everything. Quite simple. Perhaps we could while away the rest of this journey, my dear Watson, with a game of chess. The adventures of Sherlock Holmes, based on the original stories of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, have been dramatized anew with original music composed by Sydney Torch.
