The Adventure of the Priory School: Part Two

I'm Hugh Bonneville, and from the Neuser podcast network, this is the adventure of the

priory school, part two.

“Last time, Holmes and Watson travels to the peak district to investigate the disappearance”

of a very important schoolboy. Arthur, Lord Soutire, the 10-year-old son of the Duke of Holonis, his headmaster at the priory school, Dr. Huxstable, Fiers, Scandal, and Ruin. The school's German master is missing too. It looks like the two of them may have fled together in the night, but perhaps heading

for the boy's mother's house in France.

After an acrimonious divorce, young Arthur has been less than happy living with his aristocratic father. Sherlock has already inspected the bedrooms of the two missing persons, both of which it seems

“could only have been exited via the window.”

Now he's determined to get to grips with the geography of the malls around the school, and so plot their likely escape route. Sherlock Holmes left the house alone and only returned after 11. He had obtained a large ordinance map of the neighborhood, and this he brought into my room, where he laid it out on the bed, and having balanced the lamp in the middle of it, he began to smoke over it

and occasionally to point out objects of interest with the wreaking amber of his pipe. This case grows upon me a Watson, said he, "There are decidedly some points of interest in connection with it. In this early stage I want you to realize those geographical features which may have a good deal to do with our investigation. Look at this map. This dark

“square is the priory school. I'll put a pin in it. Now this line is the main road. You”

see that it runs east and west past the school, and you see also that there is no side road for a mile either way. If these two folk passed away by road, it was this road." Exactly. By a singular and happy chance we are able to some extent to check what passed along this road during the night in question. At this point where my pipe is now resting,

a country constable was on duty from 12 to 6. It is, as you perceive the first cross-road

on the east side. This man declares that he was not absent from his post for an instant, and he is positive that neither boy nor man could have gone that way unseen. I have spoken with this policeman tonight, and he appears to me to be a perfectly reliable person. That blocks this end. We have now to deal with the other. There is an inn here, the red bull, the land lady of which was ill. She had sent to Mackelton for a doctor, but he did not arrive

until morning being absent at another case. The people at the inn were alert all night, awaiting his coming, and one or other of them seems to have continually had an eye upon the road. They declare that no one passed. If their evidence is good, then we are fortunate enough to be able to block the west, and also to be able to say that the fugitives did not use the road at all. But the bicycle I objected. Quite so. We will come to the bicycle presently.

To continue our reasoning, if these people did not go by the road, they must have traversed the country to the north of the house or to the south of the house. That is certain. Let us wear the one against the other. On the south of the house is, as you perceive, a large district of Adabilland cut up into small fields with stone walls between them. There, I admit that a bicycle is impossible. We can dismiss the idea. We turn to the country on the

north. Here they lies a grove of trees marked as the ragged shore, and on the father's side stretches a great rolling moor, lower gill moor, extending for ten miles and sloping gradually upwards. Here, at one side of this wilderness is Holderness Hall, ten miles by road, but only six across the moor. It is a peculiarly desolate plain. A few moor farmers have small holdings where they rear sheep and cattle, except these, the plover and the curlew are the only inhabitants,

then till you come to the Chesterfield High Road, there is a church there, you see a few cottages and an inn. Beyond that, the hills become precipitous. Surely it is here to the north

"a good cyclist does not need a high road. The moor is intersected with paths and the moor was at

the full." "Hello? What's this?" There was an agitated knock at the door and an instant afterwards Dr. Huxtable was in the room. In his hand he held a blue cricket cap with a white Chevron on the peak. "At last, we have a clue," he cried. "Thank heaven, but last we are on the dear boy's track. It is his cap." "Where was it found?" In the van of the gypsies who camped on the moor. They left on Tuesday. Today the police traced them down and examined their caravan. This was found.

"How do they account for it?" "They, shuffled and lied, said that they found it on the moor on

Tuesday morning. They know where he is, the rascals. Thank goodness they are all safe on the lock

“and key. Either the fear of the law or the Duke's purse will certainly get out of them all that they know."”

"So far so good," said Holmes when the doctor had at last left the room. "It at least bears out the theory that it is on the side of the lower-gill moor that we must hope for results. The police have really done nothing locally, save the arrest of these gypsies.

Look here, Watson. There is a water course across the moor. You see it marked here in the

map, in some parts it widens into a moor ass. This is particularly so in the region between Holderness Hall and the school, which is vain to look elsewhere for tracks in this dry weather, but at that point there is certainly a chance of some record being left. I will call you

“early tomorrow morning and you and I will try if we can throw some little lights upon the mystery."”

"The day was just breaking when I woke to find the long, thin form of homes by my bedside. He was fully dressed and had apparently already been out. "I have done the law and the bicycle shed," said he. "I have also had a ramble through the ragged shore. Now, Watson, that is cocoa ready in the next room, I must beg you to hurry for we have a great day before us." His eyes, Sean, and his cheek was flushed with the exhilaration of the master workman

who sees his work lie ready before him. A very different home to this active alert man from the introspective and padded dreamer of Baker Street. I felt as I looked upon that supple

“figure alive with nervous energy that it was indeed a strenuous day that awaited us.”

And he had it opened in the Blackest Disappointment. With high hopes, we struck across the piti, rust it more, intersected with a thousand sheep paths until we came to the broad light-green belts which marked the morass between us and holdeness. Certainly, if the lad had gone homewards, he must have passed this, and he could not pass it without leaving his traces. But, no sign of him or the German could be seen.

With a darkening face, my friend strode along the margin, eagerly observant of every muddy stain upon the mossy surface. Sheep marks there were in profusion, and at one place some miles down, cows had left their tracks, nothing more. "Check, number one," said Holmes, looking gloomily over the rolling expense of the more. "There is another morass down yonder and a narrow neck between." "And who, and who, hello, what have we here?" We had come on a small black ribbon of

pathway, in the middle of it, clearly marked on the sudden soil, was the track of a bicycle. "Horrah!" I cried. "We have it!" But Holmes was shaking his head, and his face was puzzled and expectant rather than joyous. "A bicycle certainly, but not the bicycle," said he. "I am familiar with 42 different impressions left by tires. This, as you perceive, is a

chudinal stripes. Evelyn, the mathematical master, was short upon the point. Therefore, it is not

“hiding as track." "The boys, then," possibly, if we could prove a bicycle to have been in”

his possession. "But this we have utterly failed to do. This track, as you perceive, was made by a rider who was going from the direction of the school." "Or towards it?" "No, no, my dear, Watson, the more deeply sunk impression is, of course, the hind wheel. Upon which the weight rests, you perceive several places where it has passed across and obliterated the more shallow mark of the front one. It was undoubtedly heading away from the school. It may or may not be connected

with our inquiry, but we will follow it backwards before we go any further." "We did so, and at the end

of a few hundred yards lost the tracks as we emerged from the boggy portion of the more." Following the path backwards, we picked out another spot where a spring trickled across it.

“Here, once again, was the mark of the bicycle, though nearly obliterated by the hoofs of cows.”

After that, there was no sign, but the path ran right on into ragged shore, the wood, which backed onto the school. From this wood, the cycle must have emerged. Homes sat down on a boulder and rested his chin in his hands. I had smoked two cigarettes before he moved. "Well, well," said he at last. "It is, of course, possible that a cunning man might change the tire of his bicycle in order to leave unfamiliar tracks. A criminal who was

capable of such a thought is a man whom I should be proud to do business with, we will leave this question undecided, and hark back to our morass again. For we have left a good deal and explored. We continued our systematic survey of the edge of the sudden portion of the more, and soon our perseverance was gloriously rewarded. Right across the lower part of the bog, lay a myri path. Homes gave a cry of delight as he approached it. An impression, like a fine bundle of

telegraph wires, ran down the center of it. It was the Palmer tire. Here is her high-digger shore enough, guide homes excellently. My reasoning seems to have been pretty sound, Watson. I congratulate you. But we have a long way still to go, kindly walk clear of the path. Now let us follow the trail. I fear that it will not lead very far. We found, however, as we advanced, that this portion of the more is intersected with soft patches,

and though we frequently lost sight of the track, we always succeeded in picking it up once more.

“Do you observe, said homes, that the rider is now undoubtedly forcing the pace?”

There can be no doubt of it. Look at this impression, where you get both tires clear. The one is as deep as the other that can only mean that the rider is throwing his weight onto the handlebar as a man does when he is sprinting. But jove, his had a fall. There was a broad irregular smudge covering some yards of the track, then there were a few foot marks and the tire reappeared once more. A side slip, I suggested. Homes held up a crumpled branch of flowering gorse.

To my horror, I perceived that the yellow blossoms were all dabbled with crimson. On the path too, and among the heather, were dark stains of clotted blood. Bad, said homes, bad, stand clear Watson, not an unnecessary foot step. What do I read here? He fell wounded, he stood up, he remounted, he proceeded. But there is no other track, cattle on this side path. He was surely not corded by a bull,

impossible. But I seen no traces of anyone else. We must push on Watson, surely with stains as well as the track to guide us, he cannot escape us now. Our search was not a very long one. The tracks of the tire began to curve fantastically upon the wet and shining path. Suddenly, as I looked ahead, the gleam of metal caught my eye from amid the thick gorse bushes. Out of them, we dragged a bicycle, hammer,

tired, one pedal bent, and the whole front of it horribly smeared and slobbered with blood.

rider. He was a tall man, full bearded with spectacles, one glass of which had been knocked out.

“The cause of his death was a frightful blow upon the head, which had crushed in part of his skull.”

That he could have gone on after receiving such an injury said much for the vitality and courage of the man. He wore shoes, but no socks, and his open coat disclosed a night shirt beneath it. It was undoubtedly the German master. Homes turned the body over reverently and examined it with great attention. He then sat in deep thought for a time, and I could see by his ruffled brow that this grim discovery had not in his opinion advanced us much in our inquiry.

"It is a little difficult to know what to do," Watson said he at last. "My own inclinations are to push this inquiry on for we have already lost so much time that we cannot afford to waste another hour. On the other hand we are bound to inform the police of the discovery, and to see that this poor fellow's body is looked after. I could take a note back, but I need your company and assistance. Wait a bit." There is a fellow cutting peat up yonder, bring him over here,

and he will guide the police. I brought the peasant across and homes dispatched the frightened man with a note to Dr. Huxtable. "Now," Watson said he, "we have picked up two clues this morning. One is the bicycle with the palm attire, and we see what that has led to. The other is the bicycle with the patched Dunlop. Before we start to investigate that, let us try to realize what we do

know, so as to make the most of it, and to separate the essential from the accidental.

"First of all, I wish to impress upon you that the boys certainly left of his own free will. He got down from his window and he went off, either alone or with someone that is sure." I ascended. "Well now, let us turn to this unfortunate German master. The boy was foot-addressed when he fled. Therefore he foresaw what he would do, but the German went

“without his socks. He certainly acted on very short notice. Undoubtedly. Why did he go?”

Because from his bedroom window, he saw the flight of the boy because he wished to overtake him and bring him back. He seized his bicycle pursued the lad and in pursuing him, met his death.

"So it would seem." Now I come to the critical part of my argument, the natural action of a man

in pursuing a little boy would be to run after him. He would know that he could overtake him, but the German does not do so. He turns to his bicycle. I am told that he was an excellent cyclist. He would not do this if he did not see that the boy had some swift means of escape. The other bicycle. Let us continue our reconstruction. He meets his death five miles from the school, not by a bullet mark you, which even a lad might conceivably discharge,

but by a savage blow dealt by a vigorous arm. The lad then had a companion in his flight. And the flight was a swift one since it took five miles before an expert cyclist could overtake them.

“Yet we survey the ground round the scene of the tragedy. What do we find? A few cattle tracks?”

Nothing more. I took a wide sweep round and there is no path within 50 yards. Another cyclist could have had nothing to do with the actual murder. Nor were there any human footmarks. Holmes, I cried, this is impossible. "Admirable," he said. "A most illuminating remark, it is impossible as I stated, and therefore I must in some respect have stated it wrong, yet you saw for yourself. Can you suggest any fallacy?"

He could not have fractured his skull in a fall. In a morass, Watson. "I am at my wit's end." "Tut, tut, we have solved some worse problems. At least we have plenty of material if we can only use it. Come then, and having exhausted the Palmer, let us see what the done-lop with the patched cover has to offer us. We picked up the track and followed it onwards for some distance. But soon the more arose into a long,

Heather tuffed it curve, and we left the water course behind us. No further help from tracks

have led to Holdeness Hall, the stately towers of which rose some miles to our left,

or to a low-grade village which lay in front of us, and marked the position of the Chesterfield High Road. As we approached the forbidding and squalid in with the sign of a gamecock above the door, Holden's gave us sudden groan and clutched me by the shoulder to save himself from falling. He had had one of those violent strains of the ankle which leave a man helpless. With difficulty he limped up to the door where a squat, dark, elderly man, was smoking a black clay pipe.

"How are you Mr. Ruben Hayes?" said Holmes. "Oh you, and how'd you get my name so pat the countryman answered with a suspicious flash of a pair of cunning eyes?" "Well it's printed on the board above your head, it's easy to see a man who is master of his own house. I suppose you haven't such a thing as a carriage in your stables?" "No, I have not." "I can hardly put my foot to the ground. Don't put it to the ground. But I can't walk." "Well then, hot." Mr. Ruben Hayes's

man I was far from gracious, but Holmes took it with admirable good humour. "No, here my man," said he. "This is really rather an awkward fix for me. I don't mind how I get on." "No, the do I. Said the Maros Landlord. The matter is very important. I would offer you a sovereign for the use

“of a bicycle. The Landlord picked up his ears. Where do you want to go? To hold a nest's hole?”

"House of the Duke, I suppose," said the Landlord, surveying our mud-stained garments with ironical eyes. Holmes laughed good naturedly. "He'll be glad to see us anyhow." "Why?" "Because we bring him news of his lost son." The Landlord gave a very visible start. "Well, will you on his track?" "He has been heard of in Liverpool. They expect to get him every hour. Again a swift change passed over the heavy unshaven face. His manner was suddenly genial. "I've less reasoned to wish

the Duke well than most men," said he. "For I was his head coachman once, and cruel baddied treated me. It was him that sacked me without a character on the word of a lying cornchanger. But I'm glad to hear that the young Lord was heard of in Liverpool, and I'll help you to take the

news to the hole." "Thank you," said Holmes. "We'll have some food first, then you can

bring round the bicycle?" "I haven't got a bicycle." Holmes held up a sovereign. "I'll tell you man that I haven't got one. I'll let you have two horses as far as the hole." "Well, well," said Holmes. "We'll talk about it when we've had something to eat." "When we were left alone in the stone flaged kitchen, it was astonishing how rapidly that sprained ankle recovered." It was nearly nightfall, and we had eaten nothing since early morning,

so that we spent some time over our meal. Holmes was lost in thought, and once or twice he walked over to the window and stared earnestly out. It opened onto a squalid courtyard. In the far corner was a smithy where a grimy lad was at work. On the other side were the stables. Holmes had sat down again after one of these excursions when he suddenly sprang out of his chair

“with a loud exclamation. "By, heaven, Watson, I believe that I've got it!" he cried.”

"Yes, yes, it must be so. Watson, do you remember seeing any cow tracks today?" "Yes, several. Where?" "Well, everywhere. They were at the morass and again on the path and, again, near where poor high-digger met his death." "Exactly!" "Well, now, Watson, how many cows did you see on the more?"

"I don't remember seeing any." "Strange, Watson, that we should see tracks all along our line, but never

a cow on the hole more." "That is strange, Watson, eh?" "Yes, it is strange. Now, Watson, make an effort, throw your mind back. Can you see those tracks up on the path?" "Yes, I can. Can you recall that the tracks were sometimes like that?" "What's in?" he arranged a number of breadcrumbs in this fashion.

“"And sometimes like this, and occasionally like this, can you remember that?"”

"No, I cannot, but I can. I could swear to it. However, we will go back at our leisure and verify it."

"And what is your conclusion? Only that it is a remarkable cow which walks, canters and gallops.

“By George Watson, it was no brain of a country publican that thought out such a blind as that.”

The coast seems to be clear, save for that lad in the smithy, let us slip out and see what we can see." There were two rough-haired, unkempt horses in the tumble-down stable. Homes raised the hind leg of one of them, and laughed aloud. "Oh, old shoes, but newly shot, old shoes, but new nails, this case deserves to be a classic." "Let us go across to the smithy."

The lad continued his work without regarding us.

I saw Homes' eye darting to right and left among the litter of iron and wood, which was scattered

about the floor. Suddenly, however, we heard a step behind us, and there was the landlord. His heavy eyebrows drawn over his savage eyes, his swore the features convulsed with passion.

“He held a short, metal-headed stick in his hand, and he advanced in so menacing a fashion”

that I was right glad to feel the revolver in my pocket. "You infernal spies, the man cried. "What are you doing there?" "Why, Mr. Ruben Hayes," said Homes' coolie. "One might think that you were afraid of our finding something out?" The man mastered himself with a violent effort, and his grim mouth loosened into a false laugh,

which was more menacing than his frown. "You're welcome to all you can find out in my smithy," said he. "But look here, Mr. I don't care for folk poking about my place without my leave. So the sooner you pay your score and get out of this, the better I shall be pleased." "All right, Mr. Hayes, no harm meant," said Homes.

“"We have been having a look at your horses, but I think I'll walk after all. It's not far, I believe,”

not more than two miles to the whole gates. That's the road to the left. He watched us with southern eyes until we had left his premises. We did not go very far along the road for Homes stopped the instant that the curve hid us from the landlord's view. "We were warm, as the children say, at that in," said he. "I seem to grow colder every step that I take away from it. No, no, I can't possibly leave it.

I am convinced," said I, that this Ruben Hayes knows all about it,

a more self-evident villain I never saw. "Oh, he impressed you in that way, did he?"

"There are the horses. There is the smithy. Yes, it is an interesting place, this fighting cock. I think we shall have another look at it in an unabtrusive way." Along sloping hillside dotted with gray limestone boulders stretched behind us. We had turned off the road and were making our way up the hill when looking in the direction of Holden's hall. I saw a cyclist coming swiftly along. "Ital Watson!" cried Homes.

"We had hardly sunk from view when the man flew past us on the road. A mid-eroling cloud of dust I caught a glimpse of a pale, agitated face, a face with horror in every liniment. The mouth opened the eyes staring wildly in front. It was like some strange caricature of the Depper, James Wilder, whom we had seen the night before. "The Duke Secretary!" cried Homes. "Come Watson, let us see what he does!"

We scrambled from rock to rock until in a few moments we had made our way to a point from which we could see the front door of the inn. Wilder's bicycle was leaning against the wall beside it. No one was moving about the house, nor could we catch a glimpse of any faces at the windows. Slowly the twilight crept down as the sun sank behind the high towers of Holden's hall. Then, in the gloom, we saw the two side lamps of a trap, light up in the stable yard of the inn,

and shortly afterwards heard the rattle of hooves, as it wheeled out into the road and tore off at a furious pace in the direction of Chesterfield. "What do you make of that Watson?" Homes whispered. "It looks like a flight, a single man in a dog cart, so far as I could see, well it certainly was not Mr. James Wilder." "For there he is at the door." A red square of light had sprung out of the darkness. In the middle of it was the black figure of

someone. Then, at last, there were steps in the road. A second figure was visible for an

“instant against the light. The door shut, and all was black once more. Five minutes later,”

a lamp was lit in a room upon the first floor. "It seems to be a curious class of custom that is done by the fighting cock," said Homes. "The bar is on the other side. Quite so. These are

what one may call the private guests. Now, what in the world is Mr. James Wilder doing in that

den at this hour of night? And who is the companion who comes to meet him there? Come Watson,

“we must really take a risk and try to investigate this a little more closely."”

Together we stole down to the road and crept across to the door of the inn. The bicycle

still leaned against the wall. Homes struck a match and held it to the back wheel, and I heard

him chuckle as the light fell upon a patched, dung-locked tire. Up above us was the lighted window. "I must have a peep through that Watson. If you bend your back and support yourself upon the wall,

“I think that I can manage." An instant later his feet were on my shoulders,”

but he was hardly up before he was down again. "Come, my friend," said he. "Our day's work has been quite long enough. I think that we have gathered all that we can. It's a long walk to the school, and the sooner we get started, the better." He hardly opened his lips during that weary tragic cross the more. Nor would he enter the school when he reached it, but went on to Mackelton station. Whence he could send some telegrams. "Late at night, I heard him consoling Dr. Huckstable,

prostrated by the tragedy of his master's death, and later still he entered my room as alert and vigorous as he had been when he started in the morning." "All goes well, my friend," said he. "I promise that before tomorrow evening, we shall have reached the solution of the mystery." In the next and final part of the adventure of the priory school, homes and Watson returned to Holderness Hall, where the stage is set for an epic showdown. Family secrets are spilled, just as

of a kind is meets it out, and homes claims a hefty reward. That's next time. Can't wait a week until the next episode. Well, listen to it right away by subscribing to Noise Plus. Head to www.noise.com/subscriptions for more information or click the link in the episode description.