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The original and immortal stories of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle dramatize the new,
with Sir Ralph Richardson as Dr. Watson and Sir John Geelgood in the role of Sherlock Holmes.
I should never forget that April morning, when I arse at the end, this elegant stomer,
in the varsity world.
He was the most attractive young lady, dressed in black, with heavily veiled, and the pure,
much displayed.
It's not the cold which makes me shipperness to Holmes.
Fear.
Terror.
I can stand this train no longer.
I should go mad if it continues.
I have no one to turn to.
Even my fiancee believes it's only my imagination must be.
Fear will soon serve matters to right side, no doubt.
My name is Helen Stoner, when I'm living with my stepfather,
who is the last survivor of one of the oldest families in England,
the royale up the stoke moron on the western border side.
The name is familiar to me now.
The family used to be very rich.
Now there's nothing left to the two acres in an old house crushed under a heavy mortgage.
Eight years ago, my mother died.
Were your mother a wealthy woman?
She had a fortune of some thousand pounds a year,
but she bequeathed to Dr. Roilert entirely,
so long as we reside in particular,
with the provision that a certain annual sum should be allowed to both
Julia and myself survive that it was should marry.
Uh-huh.
But tell me it did Dr. Roilert continue to practice after you're returned to England?
No, not after the death of my mother.
He took my sister and me to live with him at stoke moron,
and for a time we were quite happy together.
But a terrible change began to come over our stepfather.
He shut himself up and only came up to indulge in violent quarrels with his neighbors.
He's ended by a completely fear in the village.
He has no friends at all, but the wandering bands of gypsies
that he allows to camp in his homes.
He's a collective, strange animals.
He has an Indian cheater and a baboon which wandered freely over the estate,
and is feared by the village as almost as much as he is.
No serpent would stay with us.
We had to do all the work at the house.
We could imagine what it was like for my sister and me.
And when she died, though she was only 30,
Julia's head began to turn white in from his mind head.
No sister died just two years ago.
Soon after she'd become engaged to be married.
It's only a fortnight before the wedding.
She died in terrible suffering.
Did your stepfather offer any objection to our marriage?
No, he didn't appear to.
The circumstances of your sister's death.
Please be precise about the detail.
It's easy to be so full.
Every event of that gutful time is feared into my memory.
As I said, the manor house is very old.
And only one wing is now used.
The bedroom in this wing are on the ground floor.
So my stepfather's then my sister's in men's mind.
There's no communication between them.
But they open on the same corridor and look out after the same lawn.
That night, Dr. Reuler, my stepfather,
had gone to his room early.
But it was not yet asleep for my sister
who was troubled by the strong smell of his Indian figure.
She left her room and came into mind
where she sat chatting about her coming wedding.
Well, Helena, how are you getting back to bed?
He must be asleep by now.
My way, have you ever heard a strange whistle in the dead of night?
A whistle?
No, why?
There's a lot of you nights.
About three in the morning.
I've been wakeened by a low clear whistle.
I haven't heard it, but I sleep more heavily than you do.
And it's of no consequence.
Good night.
I couldn't sleep that night.
I'd locked my door after Julia left.
You heard her not hers, too.
We always locked our doors for fear of the cheetah
and the baboon that put it out every night in the grounds.
I remember it was a wild night.
But when he was hardly outside in the rain, he didn't get to window.
I had a terrible premonition of evil.
And suddenly, through the storm,
I knew it was my sister who screamed.
I spanked on my bed.
Got to show her, and then rushed into the corridor.
As I opened my door, I heard a distant whistle.
A whistle?
And a clanging sound is if a massive metal had fallen somewhere.
As I ran towards it, my sister doors are not as slowly swung open.
The night of a lamp I saw her standing there,
her face bounced with cheetah.
Her hands grew up in the help of her whole figure swing, too, though.
And when it came for him, she fell to the ground.
She almost screamed the one thing before she died in my arms.
It was the band.
The speckled band.
It seems that Julius Turner's death was carefully investigated by the local coroner.
The doctor, while it's conduct, had been notorious in the country,
and far away it was suspected.
But no satisfactory explanation of the tragedy was ever found.
The doctor had been asleep in his room.
The scream had awakened him.
Julius' room had been locked on the inside.
The windows heavily shutted.
The chimney was barred by iron staples.
It was certain that Julius Turner had been quite unknown when she had met her end.
It was nothing to indicate how she had met it.
There were no marks of violence on the body, and the doctors could find no evidence of poison.
It's my belief that she died in sheer terror and nervous shock.
So what it was to frighten her, I cannot imagine.
Were any gypsies camping in the plantation of the time?
Yes, they didn't really always come there.
And what did you gather from her using the speckled band?
Sometimes I thought it was made a delirium.
Sometimes I wondered if it might have referred to some band of people,
perhaps those very gypsies in the plantation with their spotted handkerchiefs on their heads.
These are very deep waters in the stone of Pizdoan.
I was a part of Pizdoan until lately my life has been lonely of an epic.
A month ago, however, I became engaged to the marriage to a Mr. Armitage,
a neighbor I was an affinity friend.
I said my stepfather might offer objections, but he's made no difficulties,
and we had to be married later this spring.
Two days ago, some repair was started in the West Wing.
So that I'd had to move out of my own room into the room next door,
the room in the practice to die.
Last night, I lay awake thinking of her terrible face.
I suddenly heard in the silence of the night that same noise.
The room was locked, and I appeared to be nothing wrong,
trying out a bed with her lamp, and then Stona had been too terrified to go back to bed.
As soon as it was light, she brought an early morning creed into London
that comes straight round to ask the advice of Sherlock Holmes.
You were done very wisely.
Are you sure you told me everything?
Yes, everything.
I think you are still shielding your stepfather, Mr. Armitage,
and at the mark of his grip there, on your wrist.
He's a hard man.
Back to your heart, he knows his own strength.
This is a very deep business, and from what you told me,
there may not be a moment to lose.
If we were to come down to Stokemore on the day,
would it be possible to see over the bedrooms
without the knowledge of your stepfather?
I think so. He told me last night he was coming to London for the day.
There should be no one to disturb you.
Excellent, and we shall both come.
What are you going to do yourself?
I have one or two things to attend to in town,
but I shall be home shortly after noon.
And you may expect us early this afternoon, Mr. Armitage.
Goodbye for the prince.
We discussed many possible theories after Mr. Armitage.
We were in the midst of our deliberations
when we received another visitor.
Which of you is Holmes?
My name, sir, but you have the advantage of me.
I am Dr. Grimes the Royal Lift, Stokemorel.
My stepfather has been here.
What have you been saying to you?
It is a little cold at the time of the year.
I'm not sure she's been saying to you.
But I've heard that the caucuses promised very well.
No, you'll put me up to you.
I know Mr. Honour has been to see you.
But don't you dare meddle in my affairs?
Well, my dangerous man, the ball fell off.
See that you're kicked as I'm out of my grip.
Oh, like this poker, I'll spinker.
A maniable person,
bending up poker almost double you observe.
I'm not quite so bulky,
but if you remain,
I might have shown him that my grip
is not much more feeble than his own.
There.
I think that's just a much straight again.
You know my dear, what's in this little incident
gives a new zest to our investigations.
We shall certainly see what we can find that Stokemore is afternoon.
Good afternoon, Mr. Honour.
You said we'd been as good as our words.
I've been waiting so eagerly for you.
And make the best use of our time,
so kindly take us at once to the room of your journey.
The building was a grave,
milking block stone
with a high central portion
and two curting wings
like the pearls of a crab
thrown out on each side.
The central block
and the east wing were emptied
the lines to the windows
and bruised smoke curting up from the kidneys
showed that part of the west wing
in which the family resided.
So, be careful,
being erected against the end wall
and the stonework had been broken into it,
but there were no work on about
homes that were down on the outside
of the free bedroom windows
with the closest window.
This, I think,
allows for the room in which you sleep.
The center one is your sister's room
and the one next to the main building
is Dr. Roller's.
Yes, but I'm sleeping in the middle one, of course.
Fending the alterations, as I understand.
By the way,
it wouldn't seem to be in a pressing need
for the pears to that end wall.
There were none.
I believe that it was an excuse
to move me from my own room
into my sister's.
Oh, that is suggested.
Well, these windows and shutters are quite firm.
No one could possibly get in this way
if they were firmly built on the inside.
We shall have to see if the room was themselves
in a really light on this matter.
A small side door
leading to the white wash corridor
from which the feet bedrooms opened.
The rooms,
first and once,
into the room
in which Helen's corner was now sleeping
in the middle one of the three,
the bedroom
from which her sister
had met her death.
It was a homey little room
played in a furnace.
Homey's eyes
traveled round and round
up and down
taking in every detail.
What does that bell communicate with?
The housekeeper's room.
It looks newer than the other thing.
Yes, it was put in a couple of years ago
just before my sister's death.
I can't think why
she's definitely never used it.
Indeed.
It's such a nice long bell pool
but it can be used
actually for all the castle hangers
down to the very clear.
Let me see.
Why, it's a dummy.
Won't it ring?
No.
I'll give you the text to a wire.
You can see it.
It's passing to a folk up there.
It's about the middle opening
of the ventilator.
Okay, it's set.
I never noticed it before.
There is.
Okay.
A lot more of a buildover
would open the ventilator
into the next room
when you might have made it
through the outer wall
to the fresh air.
That's also quite modern.
It was done about the same time
as the bell looked.
There were several little changes
headed out about that time.
Shocked clear before your sister's death.
Why?
Yes.
It moved into the bedroom
next door, the room of Dr. Reiler.
It was large of the respect
daughters but just as plainly
furnished.
It can't bed.
An armchair.
A plain wooden chair
against the wall.
A round table.
And the large iron safe
with the principal things
which met their eye.
Once again,
holdings examine them all
with the accused interest.
In one coma of the dead,
you found a small dog lash.
Noted.
So it's to make a loop
of the whipped core.
Hmm, this is interesting.
What do you make of that, Watson?
That is common enough.
Lash.
I don't see why it should be tied
into a loop
and that's not quite so common.
Is it?
Ms. Turner,
what is your step-product
keep in the safe here?
It's Disney tapers.
Or you've seen inside it then.
Only once,
some years ago,
it was put a paper
saying
there wasn't a cat in it
by any chance.
No.
This change idea.
Well, then why the
saucer of milk standing
on the top of it?
No.
We don't keep a cat.
But,
if I told you,
there's a tea turn to the moon.
Oh, yes,
it's a cold.
Well, the tea turn
is just a big cat.
And yet, the saucer of milk
doesn't go very far
to satisfy it.
I guess so.
No, just one more point.
Let me examine this wooden chair.
Hmm.
Very interesting.
And now, Ms. Turner,
I want to listen carefully
and follow my advice
in every respect.
I assure you that
I need your hands,
it's a hug.
Your life may depend on it.
The matter is too serious.
Any hesitation.
In the first place,
then,
Dr. Watson and I
must spend the night here
in your room.
That's about the death door.
Oh, no,
there's a clear idea of what's in it.
You must stand in a potato
to tidy your room
on the terms of the headache.
When your stepfather comes back.
When you hear him
retarder the night
into this next door room,
you must open the shutters
of your window
and do the house
to put your lamp there
as a signal to us.
You shall see if you know
that they have a village.
Then, go back
into your old room,
despite the repairs
of the study-perfect
level one night.
Oh, yes, of course.
We shall spend the night
in the middle room.
And then, we shall be able
to investigate the cause
of this noise,
which is a distraction.
Oh, yes, of course.
Sherlock Holmes and I
had no difficulty
in engaging rooms
of the village even
from which
we could command the view
of the Inhibitive Wing
of Stoke Modern Manor House.
At dusk,
we saw Dr. Graham's day
while at the dry pass
and actually in his house.
The track turned
into the Manor Drive.
In the few moments,
we saw a certain light
springing up among the trees
as the lamp was lit
in one of the sitting rooms.
You know what my punks
couples about taking you
tonight because
the distinct element of danger
can either the system
your punks might be invaluable
then are certainly come.
But you speak of danger.
You obviously see more
in these rooms
and were visible to me.
No, but I think
the eye may have deduced
a little more.
I imagine that you saw
all I did.
I saw nothing
remarkable.
It's a better world.
But what purpose
you saw the ventilator, too.
Yes.
There's nothing very unusual
about that.
There's a bit of curious
coincidence in dates.
A ventilator is made.
A cord is hanging
and a lady who sleeps
in the bed below
time.
Does that not strike you?
Can't the yet
see any connection?
Did you observe
anything very peculiar
about the bed?
No.
It was clamped
to the floor.
So that it must always
be in the same position
relative to the ventilator
and the door up.
Ones?
A scene to see
didn't they?
What's your driving?
They're only just
in time to prevent
some subtle and
horrible crime.
Yes, well,
I think we shall
have horrors
enough before the night is
over.
About nine o'clock
for light among the trees
was extinguished
and always dark
in a manor house.
Two hours passed
slow rearway.
And then,
suddenly,
a single bright light
shone out from the darkness
of the West Wing.
That's our signal.
It comes from a
little window.
Come on!
It's a little
difficult here
in entering the ground
through a hole
in the park wall.
We crossed the lawn
and we came to the
room.
When out of a
clump of
marble bushes,
they have darted
what seemed to be
a serious and
disported child.
It suits
them on the grass
with a writhing
limb and then
wands
quickly into the
darkness.
I have
you.
Do you see
at home?
Yes.
A nice house,
so that was the
baboon.
Quick, quick,
in through the
windows before
they didn't
go through the
shadows and moving
the lamp onto the
table.
Ooms cast his
eyes around the
room.
Or was, as we had
seen it,
that afternoon.
In a
single light,
you can see it
through the
ventilator.
Yes.
Don't fall asleep.
Don't
feel like we
depend upon it.
They don't
just already
in case it should
be.
I took out my
revolver and I
made it on the
corner of the table.
Ooms are both
on the table,
which he
laid on the
bed beside him.
Next to it, he
placed a box of
messages in a candle.
Then he turned
out the lamp,
and we were
left in utter
darkness.
How shall I
ever forget that
dreadful
detail?
From outside, came
the occasional
cry of a
bird over the
night.
And once, at
our very window,
we were
long-drawn, cat-like
wine, which
told us that the
cheater was indeed
that liberty.
12 o'clock
stock.
1 o'clock.
2 o'clock.
3.
And still we
said our weight
was
on the bed.
For what
did I
might
before?
Suddenly,
there was a
feeling
of light
in the ventilator,
which
varies
immediately.
Ready?
Yes.
Ready?
It's
a burning
oil.
It's
a little
something
on the next
thing.
It's a dark
lamp.
It's a gentle
sound of
movement.
It's a
powerful
sound.
It's a
silent
sound.
A very
gentle,
soothing sound.
Like that
of a
soul
with a
thoughtful
light
of the
soul.
What
do you see
?
What
do you see
?
I see
what
I see
what
I see
what
I see
what
I see
What
I see
what
I see
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, that's clean.
Get on the throttle.
What's in his hands?
He's got some of his oil, but take up this fling
coming me into Dr. Ryloff's room.
Dr. Ryloff's room?
He's got the oil in his room.
He was a strange and terrible sight that met a heart.
On the tables to the dark lanterns of a shut-a-heart open,
throwing a brilliant beam of light upon the iron safe,
the door of which was a guard.
The silent tables touched Dr. Ryloff's bright blue oil
and cried in her long-wrapping down.
His chin was cocked upward in his eyes
while fixed in a dreadful rigid stare
at the cold of a ceiling.
Above his brow, he had a peculiar yellow dam
with brown speckles, which seemed
to be bound tightly around his head.
Then walked in the speckled dam.
The speckled dams wound their head of the dead man
with a snake, but did live in India and fatter,
like some fatter.
And Dr. Ryloff's bright blue oil had died 10 seconds
after that sleep had bitten his ears.
His violent seven tooth was called upon the violence
and the steamer falls into the pit
and speaks for another.
So the thrust with creature back into his bed
had he stoked, playing, drew the dog with
swiftness in the dead man's lap.
And throwing the knotted look around the reptile's neck
drew it from its horrid perch
and squeezed into the iron safe.
And now, my dear fellow, we can remove this stone
at a sunset with shelter
and let the county police know what was happening.
That's how I wore me the greatest suit I needed.
So I didn't use a mission type.
I'm too big enough to help forget.
I have come to an entirely of my nearest conclusion,
which turns my dear walks into how dangerous it always is
for Jesus to be a sufficient daughter.
So in terms of the gifts of Jesus,
the use of the word dam,
that's where God really is, obviously,
is the snake that she's stuck in.
Well, David's decision to put me on an entirely wrong set.
I only corrected my mistake,
and I saw how impossible it was to enter the room
either by the door or the window.
The bed will, the ventilator,
and the tent bed then gave rise to the system
but the looks would vary as it brings you
for something passing through the hole
and coming down today.
The idea of the snake is to be a company
for, as you all know,
the doctor had his own supply of strange pets in India.
And the whistle,
and the clam,
the whistle of the doctor's signal,
to recall the snake,
before the morning light could reveal it as a victim,
after all, once it would come down to the very end.
It might or might not come between the victims,
but two more later the doctor would use the word dam.
I have come to these conclusions before I enter this room.
Do you seem to deduce something
or wouldn't you care?
Of course,
you have to stand on that three-conditionator.
Of course,
I've moved the loop of the loop
called the ion space,
when enough of this cell in it out
to might have remained.
A metallic ion, I suppose,
was the doctor's subject in the snake,
in the safe again.
Exactly.
I'm not the window shot
of being replaced
as it's first ion, I suppose.
A blow to my cane,
of course, builds the group back to the ventilator
and allows it to temper.
It is either by the first person at all.
So, in a way,
I must be responsible for Dr. Roilock's death,
but I cannot say that it's like
it's the way that it happened in my conscience.
A draw up your chair for the fire,
my best fellow,
and be so good as to how many of my violinists.
The only problem we have to solve,
now my dear Watson,
is how to wild away
these other tuning in from evening.
The adventures of Sherlock Holmes,
based on the original stories
of Sir Arthur Coleman Doyle,
have been gone at times in you,
with original music composed by City Talks.
Sir Ralph Richardson,
raised a part of Dr. Watson,
and Sir John Gildred,
died of Sherlock Holmes.
A program was produced by Harry Ellen Towers.
