The Adventure of Shoscombe Old Place: Part Two

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We'll continue with the comparison.

“The biggest advantage of shopping for me is that we don't have any technical questions for ourselves.”

We can all talk about the background and the front end of it. And as soon as we can see the online shop. We'll go shopping for the driver, then we'll go to the platform, which is actually the driver. It's simply the reason for it. Our whole story is over shopping.

Now, let's get a new test of shopping. Welcome to Sherlock Holmes' short stories. I'm Hugh Bonneville, and from the Neuser podcast network. This is the Adventure of Showskum Old Place, part 2. Last time, Holmes and Watson were drawn to a grand estate in Barkshire.

Showskum Old Place is home to one of the finest racing stables in the country. But Sir Robert Norbiton faces ruin. If his prized horse, Showskum Prince fails to win the upcoming Derby. He's up to his neck in debt, and the house itself belongs to his invalid sister Beatrice. When she dies, it will revert to her late husband's family.

Leaving Sir Robert both penniless and homeless. Its Showskum's head groom, John Mason, who has brought in Sherlock Holmes to investigate. As far as he's concerned, Sir Robert's financial problems are the least sinister part of the whole affair. His master's behaviour is growing increasingly erratic, following a rumoured affair with his sister's maid. Lady Beatrice is barely seen anymore.

Her beloved dog has been given away to a local innkeeper, and the charred remains of a human leg bone have been found in the furnace underneath her bedroom. And then there's the mysterious nighttime visitor who's been skulking around the family crypt, where yet more bones have recently appeared. Holmes will have to dig past several layers of rumour and scandal,

if he's to uncover the shocking truth, buried beneath. Because at Showskum Old Place, not everything, or everyone, is what they seem. We pick up the story as Holmes and Watson are on route to a local pub, the Green Dragon, ostensibly for a fishing holiday.

Thus it was that on a bright May evening Holmes and I found ourselves alone in a first-class carriage

and bound for the little Holtan-demand station of Showskum. The Rack above us was covered with the formidable litter of rods, reels and baskets. On reaching our destination, a short drive took us to an old fashioned tavern. Where a sporting host, Josiah Barnes, entered eagerly into our plans for the extopation of the fish of the neighborhood.

“What about the Hall League and the chance of a pike, said Holmes?”

The face of the Inkeber clouded. That wouldn't do, sir. You might chance to find yourself in the lake before you were through. How's that then? It's a rubber, sir. He's terrible jealous of tanks. If you two strangers were as near his training quarters as that, he'd be after you as sure as fate. He ain't taking no chances, sir Robert ain't.

I've heard he has a horse entered for the Derby. Yes, and a good cult too. He carries all our money for the race and also Roberts into the bargain. By the way, he looked at us with thoughtful eyes. I suppose you ain't on the turf for yourselves. No, indeed, just two weary Londoners who badly need some good boxer air.

Well, you are in the right place for that. There is a deal of it lying about.

But mind what I have told you about, Sir Robert, he's the sort that strikes first and speaks afterwards.

Keep clear of the park. Surely, Mr Barnes, we certainly shall. By the way, that was the most beautiful Spaniel that was whining in the hall. I should say it was. That was the real Saskim breed. There ain't a better in England. I am a dog fancier myself, said Holmes. Now, if it is a fair question, what would a prize dog like that cost?

Well, more than I could pay, Sir. There was a Robert himself who gave me this one.

“That's why I have to keep it on a lead. It would be off to the hall in a jiffy if I gave it its head.”

We are getting some cards in our hand, Watson said Holmes when the landlord had left us.

It's not an easy one to play, but we may see our way in a day or two.

By the way, Sir Robert is stood in London, I hear. We might perhaps enter the secret domain tonight, without fear of bodily assault.

“There are one or two points on which I should like a reassurance. Have you any theory, Holmes?”

Only this, Watson. That something happened a week or so ago, which has cut deep into the life of the Showscom household. What is that something? We can only guess at it from its effects. They seem to be of a curiously mixed character, but that should surely help us. It is only the colourless and eventful case, which is hopeless. Let us consider our data. The brother no longer visits the beloved invalid sister.

He gives away her favorite dog, her dog Watson. Does that suggest nothing to you?

Nothing, but the brother's spite.

“Well, it might be so. Oh, well, there is an alternative. Now, to continue our review of the situation from the time that the quarrel, if there is a quarrel began.”

The lady keeps her room. All to us her habits is not seen, say when she drives out with her maid, refuses to stop at the stables to greet her favourite horse, and apparently takes to drink. That covers the case as it not. Save for the business in the crypt. That is another line of thought. There are two, and I beg you will not tangle them, line A, which concerns Ladybitrus, has a vaguely sinister flavor as it not. I can make nothing of it. Well, now, that has taken up line B, which concerns Sir Robert.

He is mad keen upon winning the Derby. He may at any moment be sold up, and his racing stables seized by his creditors. He is a daring and desperate man. He derives his income from his sister. His sister's maid is his willing tool. So far, we seem to be on fairly safe ground, do we not? But the crypt. Ah, yes, the crypt. Let us suppose Watson. It is merely a scandalous supposedly hypothesis put forward for argument's sake that Sir Robert has done away with his sister. My dear Holmes, it is out of the question. Very possibly Watson.

Sir Robert is a man of an honorable stock, but you do occasionally find a caddy and crow among the Eagles. Let us for a moment argue upon this supposition. He could not fly the country until he had realised his fortune, and that fortune could only be realised by bringing off this coup with Showskin Prince. Therefore, he has still to stand his ground to do this. He would have to dispose of the body of his victim, and he would also have to find a substitute who would impersonate her.

With them made, as his confidant, that would not be impossible. The woman's body might be conveyed to the crypt, which is a place so seldom visited, and it might be secretly destroyed at night in the furnace, leaving behind it such evidence as we have already seen. What say you to that? Watson. Well, it is all possible if you grant the original monstrous supposition.

“I think that there is a small experiment which we may try to model Watson in order to throw some light on the matter.”

Meanwhile, if we mean to keep up our characters, I suggest that we have our host in for a glass of his own wine and hold some high converse upon Eels and Dace, which seems to be the straight road to his affections. We may chance to come upon some useful local gossip in the process. In the morning, homes discovered that we had come without our spoon bait for Jack, which absolved us from fishing for the day. About 11 o'clock, we started for a walk, and he obtained a leave to take the black spanial with us.

This is the place, said he, as we came to two high park gates with her aldic griffins towering above them. About midday, Mr. Barnes informs me the old lady takes a drive, and the carriage must slow down while the gates are opened.

When it comes through and before it gather speed, I want you Watson to stop the coachman with some question. Never mind me.

I shall stand behind this Hollywood and see what I can see. On and there is the time of 2013, we are ready for a walk.

The biggest advantage of shopping for me is that we don't need a technical ad...

We all know about the back end and the front end. And as soon as they go to the store, the online shop.

“If you want to go shopping for a walk, then you will be the platform for a real walk.”

It's just the reason. Our whole business is over shopping for you. Start a yet-down, cost and laws and test of shopping for you. It was not a long video. Within a quarter of an hour, we saw the big open yellow baruch coming down the long avenue, with two splendid, high-stepping grey carriage horses in the shafts. Homes crouched behind his bush with the dog.

I stood unconcernedly swinging a cane in the roadway. The keeper ran out and the gates swung open. The carriage had slowed to a walk, and I was able to get a good look at the occupants.

The highly colored young woman with flax and hair and impudent eyes sat on the left.

At her right was an elderly person with rounded back and a huddle of shawls about her face, and shoulders which proclaimed the invalid.

“When the horses reached the high road, I held up my hand with an authoritative gesture,”

and as the coachman pulled up, I inquired if Cerrobert was at Showskum Old Place. At the same moment, homes stepped out and released the spanning. With a joyous cry, dashed forward to the carriage and sprang up on the step. Then, in a moment, its eager greeting changed to furious rage, and it snapped at the black skirt above it. Drive on. Drive on.

Shrieked a harsh voice.

The coachman lashed the horses and we were left standing in the roadway.

"Well, Watson, that's done it," said Holmes, as he fastened the lead to the neck of the excited Spaniel. He thought it was his mistress, and he found it was a stranger. Dogs don't make mistakes. But it was the voice of a man, I cried, exactly. We have added one card to our hand Watson, but it needs careful playing all the same.

My companion seemed to have no further plans for the day, and we did actually use our fishing tackle in the millstream, with the result that we had a dish of trout for our sapper. It was only after that meal that Holmes showed signs of renewed activity. Once more, we found ourselves upon the same road as in the morning, which led us to the park gates.

A tall dark figure was awaiting us there, who proved to be our London acquaintance, Mr. John Mason, the trainer. Good evening, gentlemen. Said he, "I got your note, Mr. Holmes. So Robert has not returned yet, but I hear that he is expected tonight." "How far is this crypt from the house?" asked Holmes.

"A good quarter of a mile."

“"Then I think we can disregard him all together.”

I can't afford to do that, Mr. Holmes. The moment he arrives he will want to see me to get the last news of Shuskin Prince." "I see. In that case we must work without you, Mr. Mason. You can show us the crypt and then leave us." It was pitch dark and without a moon, but Mason led us over the grasslands until a dark mass

loomed up in front of us, which proved to be the ancient chapel. We entered the broken gap, which was once the porch, and our guide, stumbling among heaps of loose masonry, picked his way to the corner of the building where a steep stair led down into the crypt. Striking a match he illuminated the melancholy place, dismal and evil smelling,

with ancient crumbling walls of rough-hune stone and piles of coffins. Some have led and some have stone, extending upon one side right up to the arched and groined roof, which lost itself in the shadows above our heads. Holmes had lit his lantern, which shot a tiny tunnel of vivid yellow light upon the mournful scene.

It's rays were reflected back from the coffin plates, many of them adorned with the griffin and coronet of this old family, which carried its honours even to the gate of death. You spoke of some bones, Mr. Mason. Could you show them before you go?

They are here in this corner. The trainers strode across and then stood in silent surprise

As our light was turned upon the place.

"They are gone," said he.

“"So I expected," said Holmes, chuckling.”

"Now I fancy the ashes of them might even now be found in that oven, which had already consumed a part. But why in the world would anyone want to burn the bones of a man who has been dead a thousand years?" asked John Mason. "That is what we are here to find out," said Holmes.

"It may mean a long search, and we need not detain you. I fancy that we shall get our solution before morning." When John Mason had left us, Holmes set to work, making a very careful examination of the graves, ranging from a very ancient one, which appeared to be Saxon in the centre.

Through a long line of Norman Hugo's and Odo's, until we reached the Sir William and Sir Denys folder of the 18th century. It was an hour or more before Holmes came to a ledon coffin,

standing on end before the entrance to the vault.

I heard his little cry of satisfaction, and was aware from his hurried but purposeful movements that he had reached a goal.

“With his lens, he was eagerly examining the edges of the heavy lid.”

Then he drew from his pocket a short gemmy, a box opener, which he thrust into a chink, leavering back the whole front, which seemed to be secured by only a couple of clamps. There was a rending tearing sound as it gave way,

but it had hardly hinged back, and partly revealed the contents, before we had an unforeseen interruption. Someone was walking in the chapel above. It was the firm rapid step of one

who came with a definite purpose and knew well the ground upon which he walked. A light streamed down the stairs, and an instant later the man who bore it was framed in the Gothic archway.

He was a terrible figure, huge in stature and fierce in manner.

“A large stable lantern which he held in front”

of him shone upward upon a strong, bravely moustacheed face and angry eyes, which glared round him into every recess of the vault,

finally fixing themselves with a deadly stare

upon my companion and myself. Hold that cavalier you. He thundered. And what are you doing upon my property? Then, as Holmes returned no answer,

he took a couple of steps forward and raised a heavy stick which he carried. Do you hear me? He cried. "Cool, are you?

What are you doing here?" His casual quivered in the air. But instead of shrinking, Holmes advanced to meet him. I also have a question to ask you, so Robert. He said in his sternest tone.

"Who is this? And what is it doing here?" He turned and tore open the coffin lid behind him. In the glare of the lantern I saw a body swathed and a sheet from head to foot

with dreadful which like features all nose and chin projecting at one end. The dim glazed eyes staring from a discolored and crumbling face. The barren at its staggered back with a cry and supported himself against a stone sarcophagus.

"How can you, you can know of this?" He cried. And then with some return of his truck-ilant manner, "What's business is it of yours?" "My name is Sherlock Holmes," said my companion.

Possibly it is familiar to you. In any case, my business is that of every other good citizen to uphold the law. It seems to me that you have much to answer for. "The Robert glared for a moment.

But Holmes' quiet voice and cool assured manner had that effect. "For God, Mr. Holmes, that's all right," said he. "The appearances are against me, I'll admit. But I could act, no otherwise." "I should be happy to think so.

But I fear your explanations must be before the police." "Shurabbit shrugged his broad shoulders." "Well, if it must be, it must be." "Come up to the house and you can judge for yourself for your help."

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