The Adventure of the Three Garridebs: Part Two

network, this is the Adventure of the Three GaryDebs, part 2. Last time, Holmes and Watson met an eccentric London collector, Nathan GaryDeb, and an American stranger with an extraordinary tale. With three men sharing the same surname could be found a fortune awaited them all. Now, as Holmes closes in on the truth, he uncovers a plot built on greed and false identity,

and when the con unravels a gun is drawn, leading to a potentially deadly end to the case.

“We join the story with the American John GaryDeb, giving Nathan an important document,”

one that could be worth a fortune. The American lawyer handed over the paper to our client, who stood staring at a marked advertisement. Holmes and I leaned forward and read it over his shoulder. This is Howard Ran.

Howard GaryDeb, constructor of agricultural machinery, binders, repas, steam, and hand-plows, drills, harrows, farmers' carts, buckboards, and all other appliances, estimates for artesian wells, apply grove-na-buildings-estant.

Horace, gossped our host, "That makes our third man!" I had opened up inquiries in Birmingham

said the American, and my agent there has sent me this advertisement from a local paper. We must hustle and put the things through.

“I have written to this man and told him that you will see him in his office tomorrow afternoon”

at 4 o'clock. You want me to see him? What do you say, Mr. Holmes? Don't you think it would be, Wiser? Here am I, a wandering American with a wonderful tale.

Why should he believe what I tell him? But you are a Britisher with solid references, and he is bound to take notice of what you say.

I would go with you if you wished, but I have a very busy day tomorrow, and I could always

follow you if you are in any trouble. Well, I have not made such a journey for years. It is nothing, Mr. Garrettib. I have figured out how our connections, you leave at 12 and should be there soon after two, then you can be back the same night.

“All you have to do is to see this man explain the matter and get an affidavit of his existence.”

But I the Lord, he had it hotly. Considering I've come all the way from the center of America, it is surely little enough if you go 100 miles in order to put this matter through. Quite so, said Holmes. I think what this gentleman says is very true.

Mr. Nathan Garrettib shrugged his shoulders with a disconsolate air. "Well, if you insist, I shall go," said he. It is certainly hard for me to refuse you anything, considering the glory of hope that you have brought into my life. And that is agreed," said Holmes, and no doubt you will let me have a report as soon

as you can. "I'll see to that," said the American. "Well," he added, looking at his watch, "I'll have to get on, I'll call tomorrow, Mr. Nathan, and see you after Birmingham. Coming my way, Mr. Holmes?"

"Well, then, goodbye, and we may have good news for you tomorrow night." I noticed that my friend's face cleared when the American left the room, and the look of thoughtful perplexity had vanished. "I wish I could look over your collection, Mr. Garrettib," said he. "In my profession, all sorts of odd knowledge comes useful, and this room of yours is a storehouse

of it," a client shone with pleasure, and his eyes gleaned from behind his big glasses.

"I had always heard that you were a very intelligent man," said he.

"I could take you round now if you have the time," unfortunately I have not. But these specimens are so well labelled and classified that they hardly need your personal explanation. If I should be able to look in tomorrow, I presume that there would be no objection to my glancing over them.

And at all, you are most welcome, the place will of course be shut up, but Mrs. Saunders

"Well, I happen to be clear tomorrow afternoon.

“If you would say a word to Mrs. Saunders, it would be quite in order, by the way, who”

is your house agent?" The client was amazed at the sudden question, "Holl away and steal in the edge where rude, but why?" "I am a bit of an archaeologist myself, and it comes to houses," said Holmes laughing. "I was wondering if this was Queen Anne or Georgian."

"A Georgian had beyond doubt." "Really?" "I should have thought a little earlier."

"However, it is easily ascertained, well, goodbye, Mr. Gaddaidib, and may you have

every success in your Birmingham journey." I'm Julie Andrews, and it is my great pleasure to return to Jane Austen stories.

“This time I'll be reading another beloved classic Emma.”

Join me as we step into the village of Hibry, home to the handsome and clever Emma Woodhouse, but as new visitors arrive and quiet mysteries unfold, what will our strong willed hero in learn, both of the secrets of others and of her own hearts desires. Listen to Jane Austen's stories now, wherever you get your podcasts. The house agents was closed by, but we found that it was closed for the day so we made

our way back to Baker Street. It was not till after dinner that homes reverted to the subject. "Our little problem draws to close," said he. "No doubt you have outlined the solution in your own mind. I can make neither of head nor tail of it."

The head is surely clear enough, and the tail we should see tomorrow. "Did you notice nothing curious about that advertisement?" I saw that the word "plow" was miscelled. "Oh, you did notice that did you come, Watson, you improve all the time. Yes, it was bad English, but good American."

The printer had set it up as received, then the buckboards, that is American also, and our teason wells are commoner with them than with us. It was a typical American advertisement, but purporting to be from an English firm. What do you make of that?" I can only suppose that this American lawyer put it in himself.

What his object was, I failed to understand. Well, there are alternative explanations. Anyhow, he wanted to get this good old fossil up to Birmingham, that is very clear.

I might have told him that he was clearly going on a wild goose chase, but on second

thought, it seemed better to clear the stage by letting him go. Tomorrow, Watson, well, tomorrow, will speak for itself. Homes was up and out early. When he returned at lunchtime, I noticed that his face was very grave. This is a more serious matter than I had expected, Watson, said he.

It is fair to tell you, so, though I know it will only be an additional reason to you for running your head into danger.

“I should know my Watson by now, but there is danger, and you should know it.”

Well, it is not the first we have shared, Homes. I hope it may not be the last. What is the particular danger this time? We are up against a very hard case. I have identified Mr. John Gadadeb Kounseler at law. He is none other than killer evidence of sinister and murderous reputation.

I fear I am none the wiser. Ah, it is not part of your professional carry about a portable new gate calendar in your memory. I have been down to see friendless strad at the yard. There may be an occasional warmth of imaginative intuition down there, but they lead the

world for thoroughness and method. I had an idea that we might get on the track of our American friend in their records. Sure enough, I found his chubby face smiling up at me from the rogue's portrait gallery, James Winter, Alias Morecroft, Alias Killer Evans, was the inscription below. Homes drew an envelope from his pocket.

shot three men in the states.

This gate from penitentiary through political influence came to London in 1893, shot a man over cards and a nightclub in the Waterloo Road in January 1895. Man died, but he was shown to have been the aggressor in the row. Dead man was identified as Roger Prescott, famous as Forger and Coina in Chicago. Killer Evans released in 1901 has been under police supervision since, but so far as known

has led an honest life, very dangerous man, usually carries arms and is prepared to use them.

“That is our bird, Watson, a sporting bird, has you must admit, but what is his game?”

Well, it begins to define itself. I have been to the house agents our client, as he told us has been there five years. It was unlet for a year before then. The previous tenant was a gentleman at large named Waldron. Waldron's appearance was well remembered at the office.

He had suddenly vanished, and nothing more been heard of him. He was a tall, bearded man with very dark features, now Prescott, the man whom killer Evans had shot was, according to Scotland Yard, a tall, dark man with a beard. As a working hypothesis, I think we may take it that Prescott, the American criminal, used to live in the very room which our innocent friend now devotes to his museum.

“So at last we get a link, you see, and the next blink?”

Well, we must go now and look for that. We took a revolber from the drawer and handed it to me. I have my old favorite with me, if our wild west friend tries to live up to his nickname, we must be ready for him. I'll give you an hour for a seester, Watson, and then I think it will be time for our

Ryder Street Adventure. I'm Julie Andrews, and it is my great pleasure to return to Jane Austen stories. This time I'll be reading another beloved classic Emma. Join me as we step into the village of Hibri, home to the handsome and clever Emma Woodhouse. But as new visitors arrive and quiet mysteries unfold, what will our strong-willed hero

“in learn both of the secrets of others and of her own hearts, desires?”

Listen to Jane Austen stories now, wherever you get your podcasts. It was just for a clock when we reached the curious apartment of Nathan Garrett Deb. Mrs. Saunders, the caretaker, was about to leave, but she had no hesitation in admitting us for the door shut with a spring lock and Holmes promised to see that all was safe before we left.

Shortly afterwards the outer door closed, her bonnet passed the bow window, and we knew that we were alone in the lower floor of the house. Holmes made a rapid examination of the premises. There was one cupboard in a dark corner which stood out a little from the wall. It was behind this that we eventually crouched while Holmes in a whisper outlined his intentions.

He wanted to get our amiable friend out of his room, that is very clear.

And as the collector never went out, it took some planning to do it.

The whole of this Gatted Deb invention was apparently for no other end, I must say what's done, that there is a certain devilish ingenuity about it, even if the queer name of the tenant did give him an opening which he could hardly have expected. He wove his plot with remarkable cunning, but what did he want? Well, that is what we are here to find out.

It has nothing whatever to do with our client, so far as I can read the situation. It is something connected with the man he murdered, the man who may have been his confederate in crime, there is some guilty secret in the room, that is how I read it.

At first, I thought I friend might have something in his collection more valuable than

he knew something worth the attention of a big criminal, but the fact that Roger Prescott

Well, Watson, we can but possess our souls in patience and see what the hour may bring.

That hour was not long in striking. We crouched closer in the shadow as we heard the outer door open and shut.

“King came the sharp metallic snap of a key, and the American was in the room.”

He closed the door softly behind him, took a sharp glance around him to see that all was safe. Through office overcoat and walked up to the central table, with the brisk manner of one who knows exactly what he has to do and how to do it.

He pushed the table to one side, tore up the square of carpet on which it rested, rolled

it completely back and then, drawing a gemmy from his inside pocket, he knelt down and worked vigorously upon the floor. Presently, we heard the sound of sliding boards, and an instant later a square had opened in the planks.

“Killer Evans struck a match, lit a stump of candle and vanished from our view.”

Clearly, our moment had come. Holmes touched my wrist as a signal, and together we stole across to the open trapdoor. Gently as we moved, however, the old floor must have creaked under our feet, for the head of our American peering anxiously round emerged suddenly from the open space. His face turned upon us with a glare of baffled rage which gradually softened into a rather

shame-faced grin as he realized that two pistols were pointed at his head. "Well, well," said he, culli, as he scrambled to the surface. "I guess you have been one too many for me, Mr. Holmes, saw through my game I suppose and

played me for a sucker from the first.

"Well, sir, I handed to you. You have me beat, and, in an instant, he had whisked out a revolver from his breast and had fired two shots. I felt a sudden hot sear as if a red hot iron had been pressed to my thigh. There was a crash as Holmes' pistol came down on the man's head. I had a vision of him sprawling upon the floor with blood running down his face while Holmes

rummaged him for weapons. Then, my friends, while airy arms were round me and he was leading me to a chair. "You're not hurt, Watson, for God's sake say that you are not hurt. It was worth a wound, it was worth many wounds to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask.

The clear hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking. For the one and only time I caught a glimpse of a great heart, as well as of a great brain. All my years of humble, but single-minded service culminated in that moment of revelation. "Hey, it's nothing, Holmes, it's a mere scratch. He had ripped up my trousers with his pocket knife. "You are right, he cried with an immense sigh of relief. It is quite superficial.

His face set like flint as he glared at our prisoner who was sitting up with a dazed face. By the Lord, it is as well for you. If you had killed Watson, you would not have got out of this room alive. Now, sir, what have you to say for yourself?" He had nothing to say for himself. He only sat and scowled. I leaned on Holmes' arm, and together

“we looked down into the small cellar, which had been disclosed by the secret flap.”

It was still illuminated by the candle, which Evans had taken down with him. Our eyes fell upon a mass of rusted machinery, great rolls of paper, a litter of bottles, and neatly arranged upon a small table, a number of neat little bundles. "A printing press, a counter-fitters outfit," said Holmes. "Yes, sir," said our prisoner, staggering slowly to his feet, and then sinking into the chair. "The greatest counter-fitter London ever saw. That's press cuts machine,

and those bundles on the table are 2,000 of press cuts notes worth a hundred each, and fit to pass anywhere. Help yourselves, gentlemen. Call it a deal, and let me beat it."

country. You shot this man, press cut, did you not?" "Yes, sir, and got five years for it,

“though it was he who pulled on me five years, when I should have had a metal the size of a”

soup plate. No living man could tell a press cut from a bank of England, and if I hadn't put him out, he would have flooded London with them. I was the only one in the world who knew where he made them. Can you wonder that I wanted to get to the place? Can you wonder that when I found this

crazy boob of a bug hunter with the queer name squatting right on the top of it, a never quitting

his room, I had to do the best I could to shift him. Maybe I would have been wiser if I had put him away. It would have been easy enough, but I'm a soft-hearted guy that can't begin shooting unless

“the other man has a gun also. But say, Mr. Holmes, what have I done wrong anyhow? I've not used”

this plan, I've not heard this old stiff. Where do you get me? Only attempted murder, so far as I can see, sit Holmes. But that's not our job. They take that at the next stage. What we wanted at present was just your sweet self. Please give the art a call Watson. It won't be entirely unexpected. So those were the facts about killer Evans and his remarkable invention of the

three Gary Devs. We heard later that our poor old friend never got over the shock of his dissipated

dreams. When his castle in the air fell down, it buried him beneath the ruins. He was last heard

“of at a nursing home in Brixton. It was a glad day at the yard when the Prescott outfit was”

discovered, for though they knew that it existed, they had never been able after the death of the man to find out where it was. Evans had indeed done great service and caused several worthy CID men to sleep the sounder. For the counterfeiter stands in a class by himself as a public danger. They would willingly have subscribed to that "superplate medal" of which the criminal had spoken. But an unappreciative bench took a less favorable view and the killer returned to those shades

from which he had just emerged. In the next episode we set aside the short stories again to go back to the very beginning.

The first meeting between Holmes and Watson and the world's first introduction to one of the

greatest pairings in all of literature. Over the next seven episodes we'll be bringing you Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's debut novel, a study in Scarlett. When this story was first published in Beaton's Christmas annual 1887, the 27-year-old writer could scarcely have guessed that it was the work that would define his entire career. Let alone that his new character, a consulting detective called Sherlock Holmes, would prove so popular that we'd still be reading and dissecting his adventures

more than a century later. So join us as we go back to where it all began, with a mysterious double murder in London that has its roots thousands of miles away in the desert plains of Utah. That's next time. Don't wait a week until the next episode. Well, listen to it right away by subscribing to Noise A Plus. Head to www.noisa.com/subscriptions for more information or click the link in the episode description.

On real survival stories we're on a luscious winery in northwest America and venturing into a missile silo in the dead of night as the US is threatened with nuclear disaster.

Conan Doyle's great novel, a study in Scarlett. Get all of these shows and more early and add free on Noise A Plus.