The Adventure of the Sussex Vampire: Part Two

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“Welcome to Sherlock Holmes Short Stories.”

I'm Hugh Bonneville and from the Noise of Podcast Network. This is the Adventure of the Sussex Vampire, Part 2. Last time, Holmes and Watson were summoned to the countryside.

Robert Ferguson, an old rugby charm of Watson's, begged them to investigate his second wife.

They met five years ago in Peru, and she recently gave birth to a baby boy. But now the child has been found with strange marks on his neck. Robert is starting to think that the second Mrs. Ferguson may be a vampire. She certainly has a violent temper. She's been known to beat her 15-year-old steps on Jack,

who already has a spinal injury to contend with. Holmes will have to get to the bottom of the Ferguson's complex family dynamics

“and separate suspicion from superstition,”

if he's to uncover the terrible truth. [music] It was evening of a dull foggy November day when, having left our bags at the checkers, lambally, we drove through the Sussex Clay of a long winding lane,

and finally reached the isolated and ancient farmhouse in which Ferguson dwelt.

[music] It was a large, straggling building, very old in the center, very new at the wings, with towering, tutor chimneys, and a liken-spotted, high-pitched roof of Horsham slabs.

The doorsteps were worn into curves,

“and the ancient tiles which lined the porch”

were marked with the rebuess of a cheese and a man after the original builder.

Within, the ceilings were corrugated with heavy ochen beams,

and the uneven floors sagged into sharp curves, an odor of age and decay pervaded the whole crumbling building. [music] There was one very large central room into which Ferguson led us.

Here, in a huge old fashioned fireplace with an iron screen behind it dated 1670, their blazed and splattered, a splendid log fire. The room, as I gazed round, was a most singular mixture of dates and of places.

The half-paneled walls may well have belonged to the original human farmer of the 17th century. They were ornamented, however, on the lower part, by a line of well chosen modern watercolors. While above, where yellow plaster took the place of oak,

there was hung a fine collection of South American utensils and weapons, which had been brought no doubt by the Peruvian lady upstairs. Homes rose with that quick curiosity, which sprang from his eager mind,

and examined them with some care. He returned with his eyes full of thought. "Hello!" he cried, "Hello!" "Hello!" A spanial had lain in a basket in the corner.

It came slowly forward towards its master,

Its hind legs moved irregularly,

and its tail was on the ground. It licked Ferguson's hand. What is it, Mr. Homes? The dog, what's the matter with it? Well, that's what puzzled the vet,

a sort of paralysis. Spinal meningitis, he thought,

“but it is passing, he'll be all right soon.”

And once you follow, the shiver of a scent passed through the drooping tail. The dog's mournful eyes passed from one of us to the other. He knew that we were discussing his case. Did it come on suddenly?

In a single night, how long ago?

May have been four months ago. Very remarkable, very suggestive. What's to you see in it, Mr. Homes? A confirmation of what I had already thought. For God's sake, what do you think, Mr. Homes?

It may be a mere intellectual puzzle to you, but it is life and destiny. My wife and would be murderer, my child in constant danger, don't play with me, Mr. Homes.

It is too terribly serious.

“The big rugby three quarter was trembling all over.”

Homes put his hand soothingly upon his arm.

I fear that there is pain for you, Mr. Ferguson, whatever the solution may be, said he. I would spare you all I can. I cannot say more for the instant, but before I leave this house, I hope I may have something definite.

Please, God, you may. You will excuse me, gentlemen, I will go up to my wife's room and see if there has been any change. He was away some minutes during which Homes resumed his examination of the curiosities upon the wall.

When our host returned, it was clear from his downcast face that he had made no progress. He brought with him a tall slim brown skinned girl.

“Though the tea is ready, Dolores, sent Ferguson.”

See that your mistress has everything she can wish. She very ill, cried the girl, looking within dignan eyes at her master. She not ask for a food. As she very ill, she need, doctor.

I frighten, stay alone with her without, doctor. Ferguson looked at me with a question in his eyes. I should be so glad if I could be a few. Who would your mistress see, doctor Watson? I take him, I know ask leave she needs, doctor.

Then I'll come with you at once. I followed the girl who was quivering with strong emotion up the staircase and down an ancient corridor. At the end was an iron clamped and massive door. It struck me as I looked at it that if Ferguson tried to force his way to his wife, he would find it no easy matter.

The girl drew a key from her pocket, and the heavy ochen planks creaked upon their old hinges. I passed in and she swiftly followed, fastening the door behind her. On the bed, a woman was lying who was clearly in a high fever. She was only half conscious, but as I entered she raised a pair of frightened but beautiful eyes,

and glared at me in apprehension. Seeing a stranger, she appeared to be relieved and sank back with a sigh upon the pillow. I stepped up to her with a few reassuring words, and she lay still while I took her pulse and temperature. Both were high, and yet my impression was that the condition was rather that of mental and nervous excitement than of any actual seizure. She lay like that one day, two day, a fridge she dye, said the girl.

The woman turned her flushed and handsome face towards me. Where is my husband? He is below, and would wish to see you, they will not see him. I will not see him. Then she seemed to wander off into delirium.

A fiend? A fiend? Oh, what shall I do with this devil? Can I help you in any way? No. No one can help. It is finished, all is destroyed, do what I will, all is destroyed.

The woman must have some strange delusion.

Madame, I said, your husband loves you dearly. He is deeply grieved at this happening.

Again, she turned on me those glorious eyes. He loves me, yes, but do I not love him?

“Do I not love him even to sacrifice myself rather than break his dear heart?”

That is how I love him, and yet he could think of me. He could speak of me so. He is full of grief, but he cannot understand. No. He cannot understand, but he should trust. Will you not see him, I suggested?

No.

No, I cannot forget those terrible words.

No, the look upon his face, I will not see him. Go now. You can do nothing for me. Tell him only one thing. I want my child. I have a right to my child. That is the only message I can send him.

She turned her face to the wall and would say no more. The story is not completely spectacular. As the mother and the father of the child, the children of the world, the black thief, the California gold troupe, Chernobyl, the fall of the Berlin mayor.

“You know this story, but have you ever thought more about it?”

My name is David Nathan, and I am the chairman of a short story about the story. Every week we sit in the first row, in the arena of the gladiator. In you, on Blackbeard's Pirates ship. In the verloren city of Patre.

With worldwide peace and power, we have reached the most important part of the story.

From the 13-year-old Podcast Network, New Year. They are looking for a short story about how they live in Patre. I returned to the room downstairs where Ferguson and Holmes still sat by the fire. Ferguson listened modily to my account of the interview. "How can I send her the child?"

“He said, "How do I know what strange impulse might come upon her?”

How can I ever forget how she rose from beside it? With this blood upon her lips?" He shudded at the recollection. The child is safe with Mrs. Mason and there he must remain. The smart made the only modern thing which we had seen in the house had brought in some tea.

As she was serving it, the door opened and a youth entered the room. He was a remarkable lad, pale faced and fair-haired, with excitable light blue eyes which blazed into a sudden flame of emotion and joy as they rested upon his father. He rushed forward and threw his arms round his neck with the abandon of a loving girl. "Oh, Daddy!" he cried. "I did not know that you were due yet, I should have been here to meet you or I am so glad to see you."

Ferguson gently disengaged himself from the embrace with some little show of embarrassment. "The dear old chap said he patting the flex and head with a very tender hand. I came early because my friends, Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson have been persuaded to come down and spend an evening with us. Is that Mr. Holmes the detective?" Yes.

The youth looked at us with a very penetrating hand as it seemed to me unfriendly gaze. "What about your other child, Mr. Ferguson?" Asked Holmes, "Might we make the acquaintance of the baby?" "Ask, Mrs. Mason, to bring Baby down," said Ferguson. "The boy went off with a curious, shambling gate which told my surgical eyes that he was suffering from a weak spine."

"Presently he returned and behind him came a tall, gaunt woman bearing in her arms a very beautiful child, dark-eyed, golden-haired,

Ferguson was evidently devoted to it.

“For he took it into his arms and fondled it most tenderly.”

Fancy anyone having the heart to hurt him, he muttered, as he glanced down at the small angry red pucker upon the chair of throat. It was at this moment that I chanced to glance at Holmes and saw a most singular intentness in his expression. His face was as set as if it had been carved out of old ivory and his eyes which had glanced for a moment at father and child, when our fixed with eager curiosity upon something at the other side of the room. Following his gaze, I could only guess that he was looking out through the window at the melancholy dripping garden.

It is true that a shutter had half closed outside and obstructed the view, but nonetheless it was certainly at the window that Holmes was fixing his concentrated attention. Then he smiled and his eyes came back to the baby. On its chubby neck there was this small puckered mark.

Without speaking, Holmes examined it with care. Finally he shook one of the dimpled fists which waved in front of him.

Goodbye little man. You have made a strange start in life. Nurse, I should wish to have a word with you in private.

“He took her aside and spoke earnestly for a few minutes. I only heard the last words which were,”

"Your anxiety will soon I hope be set at rest." The woman who seemed to be a sour silent kind of creature with Drew with the child. "What is Mrs Mason like?" asked Holmes. "Not very prepossessing external ears you can see, but a heart of gold and devoted to the child." "Do you like her, Jack?"

Holmes turned suddenly upon the boy. His expressive mobile face shadowed over and he shook his head.

A Jackie has very strong likes and dislikes said Ferguson putting his arm round the boy.

Luckily I am one of his likes. The boy cooled and nestled his head upon his father's breast. Ferguson gently disengaged him. "Run away, little Jackie," said he. "And he watched his son with loving eyes until he disappeared. Now, Mr Holmes, he continued when the boy was gone.

“I really feel that I have brought you on a fool's errand for what can you possibly do?”

Save, give me your sympathy. It must be an exceedingly delicate and complex affair from your point of view. It is certainly a delicate," said my friend with an amused smile, "but I have not been struck up to now with its complexity. It has been a case for intellectual deduction, but when this original intellectual deduction is confirmed,

point by point by quite a number of independent incidents, then the subjective becomes objective, and we can say confidently that we have reached our goal. I had, in fact, reached it before we left Baker Street, and the rest has merely been observation and confirmation. Ferguson put his big hand to his furrowed forehead.

"For Heaven's sake, Holmes," he said horsely. "If you can see the truth in this matter, do not keep me in suspense. How do I stand? What shall I do? I can nothing is to how you have found your facts, so long as you have really got them.

Certainly I owe you an explanation and you shall have it, but you will permit me to handle the matter in my own way. Is the lady capable of seeing us Watson?" "She is ill, but she is quite rational." "Very good. It is only in her presence that we can clear the matter up.

Let us go up to her." "She will not see me," cried Ferguson. "Oh yes, she will," said Holmes. He scribbled a few lines upon a sheet of paper. "You at least have the entree Watson,

will you have the goodness to give the lady this note?" "Midithian yoga joggen, nothing is spanned, bitch." "Midithian yoga joggen, nothing is spanned, bitch." "Midithian yoga joggen, nothing is spanned, bitch." "Midithian yoga joggen, nothing is spanned, bitch."

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The idea of a vampire was to me absurd. Such things do not happen in criminal practice in England, and yet your observation was precise. You had seen the lady rise from beside the child's cot with the blood upon her lips.

I did. Did it not occur to you that a bleeding wound may be sucked

“for some other purpose than to draw the blood from it?”

Was there not a queen in English history who sucked such a wound to draw poison from it? Poison? A South American household. My instinct felt the presence of those weapons

upon the wall before my eyes ever saw them. It might have been other poison, but that was what occurred to me. When I saw that little empty quiver beside the small bird bow, it was just what I expected to see. If the child were prickled with one of those arrows dipped in curare

or some other devilish drug, it would mean death if the venom were not sucked out. And the dog. If one were to use such a poison,

would one not try it first in order to see that it had not lost its power?

I did not foresee the dog, but at least I understand him and he fitted into my reconstruction. Now do you understand? Your wife feared such an attack. She saw it made and saved the child's life.

And yet she shrank from telling you all the truth. For she knew how you loved the boy and feared, lest it break your heart. Jackie? I watched him as you fondled the child just now.

His face was clearly reflected in the glass of the window where the shutter formed a background. I saw such jealousy. Such cruel hatred, as I have seldom seen in a human face. Why?

Jackie? You have to face it, Mr. Ferguson. It is the more painful because it is a distorted love. A maniacal exaggerated love for you. Possibly for his dead mother, which has prompted his action.

His very soul is consumed with hatred for this splendid child, whose health and beauty are a contrast to his own weakness.

Good God, it's incredible.

Have I spoken the truth madam? The lady was sobbing with her face buried in the pillows. Now she turned to her husband. How could I tell you Bob? I felt the blow, it would be to you.

It was better that I should wait

When this gentleman who seems to have powers of magic

wrote that he knew all I was glad.

“I think a year at sea would be my prescription for Master Jackie,”

said Holmes, rising from his chair. Only one thing is still clouded madam. We can quite understand your attacks upon Master Jackie. There is a limit to a mother's patience. But how did you dare to leave the child these last two days?

I had told Mrs. Mason.

She knew exactly so I imagined.

Ferguson was standing by the bed, joking. His hands outstretched and quivering. "This, I fancy, is the time for our exit." Watson said Holmes and a whisper. "If you will take one elbow of the two faithful daughters,

I will take the other." There now he added as he closed the door behind him.

“I think we may leave them to settle the rest among themselves.”

I have only one further note of this case.

It is the letter which Holmes wrote in final answer to that, with which the narrative begins. It ran thus. Baker Street November 21st. Re-Vampires.

Sir, referring to your letter of the 19th, I beg to state that I have looked into the inquiry of your client, Mr. Robert Ferguson, of Ferguson and Miohead, T. Brokers of Mincing Lane, and that the matter has been brought

to a satisfactory conclusion. With thanks for your recommendation, I am Sir, the faithfully yours. Sherlock Holmes.

“Next time on Sherlock Holmes' short stories,”

Holmes and Watson are summoned to the headmaster's office in the adventure of the priory school. A young boy has vanished from an elite boarding school in the peak district, and not just any boy, but the son of a Duke.

The school's reputation hangs in the balance, but the local police are baffled. With no ransom note, no witnesses, and no sign of the missing child, their investigation has ground to a halt.

As Holmes begins his own inquiry, each clue draws him closer to a web of lies reaching into the highest ranks of society. That's next time. Can't wait a week until the next episode,

well, listen to it right away by subscribing to Neuser Plus. Head to www.neuser.com/subscriptions for more information, or click the link in the episode description. More Feuer, more intrigued than the Dragoncurens. Furthermore, he is a little bit more interested in the character.

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