Sherlock Holmes - The Sussex Vampire

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Hambolador. 2,2,1,D,Baker, Nithil Karev.

From London we present the Sussex Vampire, a play for radio based on the short story

by Sir Arthur Curnham Doyle, the Sussex Vampire.

It was evening, over the whole fog in November day. Following our usual custom,

Sherlock Holmes and I had taken a stroll about the streets of joining Regent's Park,

but the poisonous brown air had driven us back, thankfully, the warmth and comfort of the

city-room had 2,2,1,Baker Street. As I stretched out my toes to the welcoming plays,

Holmes read Geoffrey a note which the last posted brought him. Then with a dry chuckle,

which was as near as the approach to a laugh, he tossed it over to me.

But a mixture of the modern and the medieval, of the practical and the wildly

sensible, I think that is surely the limit. What do you make of it, Barton?

Let's see. 46th of June, November the 19th. Sir, our clowns, Mr. Robert Ferguson,

a Ferguson and we're head tea-brookers, a mincing land, has made some inquiry from us in a

communication of even date concerning vampire. Vampires? Go on. As our firm specialises

entirely upon the assessment of machinery, the matter hardly comes within our purview,

and we have therefore recommended Mr. Ferguson to call upon you and lay the matter of oil.

We ask, uh, faithful, yours, Morrison, Morrison and Dodd.

The first scriptum to that letter, which you failed to read out, my dear, was,

oh, sorry, advises us, but the gentleman himself will be calling upon us,

a dinnercloth tomorrow morning. I fancy he may be able to close some lights upon what he's worrying in.

Hello, Watson. Ah, you don't look quite the man you did when I threw you over

up into the cloud at the old deer park. Ha, ha, Ferguson, it's you, mate.

Well, I never one instant connected the name. It's, it's big Bob Ferguson Holmes.

Oh, how do you do? I do. I find his three-pointer Richmond never had.

In those days I pay to back his. What? You amazed me. There's no limit to your versatility.

You could scarcely picture me playing Rugga, as you see me now, Mr. Holmes.

No, Watson, I fancy. Ah, ha, ha, ha, ha.

Oh, but face it, that Mr. Ferguson, and tell us what brings you to us.

No, thank you. Oh, man, I asked where you live.

The lovely Sussex, south of Washington, the host is called Cheezmans.

I know that part pretty well. Full of old houses, called after the middle of Britain,

Adler's, Harvies, Carrotons, Cheezmans. Yes, that's so awesome.

But I'm not here on my own behalf. Oh, no, I'm acting for a friend, I see.

A playlet has had the particulars then. Yes. This, this gentleman married some five years ago,

a Peruvian lady. He'd met her during a business trip to South America.

She was, she is very beautiful, but, well, what, with her alien ways and so on,

it seems as though there are sides of her character and he can never hope to explore.

In short, he's come to regard their union as a mistake, I say.

She remains as loving and devoted a wife as a man could wish for, but at the same time,

she's begun to show some curious traits, quite unlike her general nature. Of what kind?

Well, my friend had been married before. There's a son of fifteen by the first marriage,

charming and affectionate lad, unfortunately partially crippled in a childhood accident.

Now, on two occasions, my friend's present wife had been caught in the act of

assaulting this poor lad in the most unprovoked way. There's also child of the present

marriage, a deal little by just under a year old. On one occasion about a month ago, this child

had been left by its nurse for a few minutes, a load cry from the baby caught her back.

As she ran into the room, she saw her employer, my friend's wife, leaning over the baby,

and apparently biting its neck.

Horrible. There was a small wound in the neck from which a stream of blood dwindled.

The nurse was so horrified that she started to call for the husband, but the lady in poor

her not to and actively gave her five pounds to keep silent.

Faye continue, Mr. Ferguson. As you can imagine, this made a terrible impression on the

nurse's mind, and she began to keep a close watch on her mistress. It began to seem to her

that even as she watched the mother, so the mother watched her, and that every time she was

compelled to leave the baby, the mother was waiting to get at it. Day and night the nurse covered

the child, and day and night the watchful mother seemed to be lie in wait as a wolf waits for

a lamb. Incredible. Yes, that's how it must sound to you, Watson, yet I'm not exaggerating when I

say that a child's life and a man's sanity may depend on it. My friend, well, remembers the day

when the nurse's nerve gave way, and she told him everything. To him it seemed as wild a tale as it

may nose into you. He knew his wife to be a loving wife and a loving mother. Then Faye should

she assault her stepsun and wound her own dear little baby. He told the nurse that she was dreaming

that such libles upon her mistress were not to be tolerated, first they were talking a certain

cry of pain was held. Not some master rushed to the nursery together. Imagine his feelings. As he

saw his wife rise from a kneeling position beside the cot, and saw blood upon the child's exposed

neck and on the sheet. With a cry of horror he turned his wife's face to the light and saw blood

all around her lips. It was she, she, beyond all questions, who had drunk the poor baby's blood.

Great heavens, so to the matter stands, and my friend appeals to you, Mr. Holmes,

his wife is now confined to a room. He himself is half-dimented. It's vampireism, Mr. Holmes.

Mr. Ferguson, I will examine your case with pleasure. Oh, no, I know how this agency is not

a home for the weak-minded. I see it's no use my pretending to be anyone's deputy. It is

simpler to deal direct for him, Mr. Holmes. You can imagine how difficult it is when you're

speaking of the one woman you're bound to protect, to help, I understand. Then what am I to do?

How am I to go to the police with the story like this? And yet I must protect those youngsters.

Is it a madness, Mr. Holmes? Something in a blood? Have you experienced of any case like it?

For pictures sake, give me some advice. I might be with you. No, no, sit here and pull yourself

together, Mr. Ferguson, and just give me a few clear answers. Yes, just of course. I can

assure you that I am very far from being at my wit's end, and I am confident we shall find

some solution. Tell me what happened after you discovered your wife in this act.

We had a dreadful scene. I suppose I raved at her. She seemed horrified. She wouldn't even speak.

She only looked at me in a wild, despairing sort of way. Then she rushed to her room and locked

herself in. Since then she's refused to see me. Who attends to her works? A maid, Delores.

All separated? Yes. She's been with my wife for some years. She's more that friend than a servant,

and a child, the baby. The nurse swarmed to me that she would not leave it night or day.

As for poor Jack, the unoffensive little crippled, I only hope if he comes out of her room,

he won't happen to be near a fan. What exactly is his complaint for some

injuratorless pain? He can get about, but only in a limited sort of way. And yet you say,

your wife, who is at the loving disposition, has assaulted him twice. In what way? She's

struck him savagely. This maid, Delores, had been with your wife even before your marriage. I

take it. Oh, yes, quite some time. Then she might know more about your wife's character than you

yourself. I suppose so. Well, I think, yeah, maybe a more you said, Lambo, live in here.

It's eminently a case for personal investigation. If the lady remains in her room,

our presence cannot annoy her, inconvenience her. It's what I'd hope to hear you say, Mr.

Holmes. There's an excellent train from Victoria too, if you could manage it. With pleasure.

Watson comes with us, of course. Of course. There are just one or two points I

should like to be sure about before we start. Yes. This unhappy lady, as I understand it,

has appeared to have sought both her own baby and your son. That's so. But their

thoughts have taken different forms. Did she give no explanation why she'd beaten your son?

Only that she hated him. Oh, I thought I'm coming among stepmothers, you know. I know.

There's never been any love between them. Is your wife jealous by nature? Highly. But the boy,

he's 15, I understand. Yes. And probably a very developed in mind since his body has been

circumscribed in action. Didn't he explain the assaults? He could find no reason. I see.

No doubt you and the boy were great comrades before the second marriage. Oh, yes, indeed.

He was my greatest comfort after the loss of my first wife. And the boy remained

devoted to the memory of his mother. Most devoted. Most interesting lad.

Now, I have one final inquiry to make of you. Yes. Were the strange attacks on the baby

and the assaults on your son made at the same times? Yes. In the fast case, that is. It was as if

as if some friends he had seized her and she'd mentored her rage on both of them. But on the second

occasion when she attacked my son, she made no attempt on the baby. Oh, but that certainly

complicates matters. I don't quite follow you. There are possibly not. One forms provisional

theories and waits for time or full acknowledgement to explode them. However, I'll only say at this

stage that your problem does not appear to me to be insoluble. The ancient farmhouse in which

Bob Ferguson dwelt proved to be a large straggling place, very old in the centre, that in you

with the wings, an order of age and decay pervaded the whole crumbling building. The large central

room into which Ferguson lit us was a most singular mixture. The half-panel walls may well have

belonged to the original yeoman farmer of the 17th century. They were ornamented, however,

on the lower part by a line of world chosen modern watercolors. While above, where yellow plastered

up the pace of oak, there was hung a fine collection of South American weapons, which had

been brought no doubt by the Peruvian lady. Homes with that quick curiosity which sprang from

his eager mind examined them with some care, and then turned his attention to a spaniel,

which came slowly forward from its basket in the corner. It walked with difficulty to Ferguson

and licked his hand. Dear me, what the matter with your dog, Mr. Ferguson? That's what's puzzling the

bait, a sort of paralysis, spinal meningitis, he thought, but it's passing, isn't it, boy?

You'll be all right soon, Calvary. Did he come on suddenly and a single night?

How long ago? About four months, very remarkable. That is suggested. What do you mean, Mr. Holmes?

It confirms what I've already thought. For hidden, say, what do you think? Look here, this may be just

an intellectual puzzle to you, but it's life and dance to me. My wife would be muddler, my child

in constant danger. Don't play with me, Holmes. I'm afraid there is pain for you, Mr. Ferguson,

whatever the solution may be. I would spare you all I can. I can say no more for the moment,

but before I leave this house, I hope I may have something definite.

All right, please, God, you may. I ask your pardon, Mr. Holmes.

Now, if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I'll go up to my wife's room and see if there's been an

change. Come on, Carlaw.

Well, Holmes, a charming old room, Watson. Just look at those oak beams. Magnificent. Holmes,

see that arm fast, be 1670. And all these fascinating weapons and three-kissers,

a must-interesting collection, my dear Watson. Holmes, I do wish to you.

You, sir, please. Me, yes, sir. You are, Dr. Sir. I am. Oh, my mistress, very ill.

She knows what mood, very ill. She needs Dr. Sir. You are the lorry.

She's the lorry.

Would your mistress see this gentleman? Oh, she needs, sir. She sees him. I say so.

But you will not see Mr. Ferry. You know, sir.

Watson, yes, because I'll go. It will be of any use.

Sir, I thank you a thousand times. You follow me, now, sir. Quick.

Oh, she's like that one day, two days. I pray she dies.

The lorry, the lorry, is that you see the other?

Oh, who are you? I am Dr. Mann.

A doctor? Did my husband send for you? Where is he?

He's in the house. He's only waiting for you to say you will see him.

No, no, I will not. Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do in his feet in his mouth?

Madam, I'm here to help you. No, I'm going to help.

And his finished all is destroyed. Whatever I do, what is destroyed?

No, madam, your husband loves you dearly. He is deeply grieved at what has happened.

Why not love him then? Why not love him enough to sacrifice myself rather than break his dear heart?

Yes, doctor, that is how I love him. And yet he can think such things of me,

think of me in such a way. Oh, ma'am, he doesn't understand.

No, he does not understand. But he should trust me.

No, no, I cannot forget those terrible words. No, we look on his face.

But I can promise you, madam. No, I will not see him go away.

You can do nothing for me.

Hello, madam. Tell him only one thing.

I want my child. I have a right to my child. That is the only message I can send to you.

Oh, good dear. Can I send the child to her?

How do I know what you might not do to it?

I have never, never forget seeing her beside it.

With its blood on her lips. No.

The child stays with Mrs. Mason. Where is he?

Oh, daddy.

Jackie, my boy, coming lad.

I didn't know you were home yet, daddy. I'd have been here to meet you.

Well, that's all right, old chap. I came home early because my friends,

Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson, have come to spend an evening with us.

Hello, Jackie.

Is that Mr. Holmes, the detective?

No, no, no, my boy. How'd you do, Jackie?

I want about your other child, Mr. Ferguson.

I think we may be acquaintance of the daddy.

Come in.

Oh, I beg pardon, sir.

No, wait, Mrs. Mason. Don't go.

Very good, sir. I just brought baby for his goodnight, sir.

Well, I didn't know you was engaged.

Here he is, Mr. Holmes.

You have requested a day into an instant.

No.

Isn't he a fine little fella?

And little chap.

Mr. Holmes.

Holmes.

What do you think of him?

Oh, my word, yes.

Yes, he's father and miniature. Do you think so?

Hey, Watson?

Well, yes, we're not a nightmare, baby.

Hi.

Well, Jackie, I'm sure you like your little brother.

Jackie has very strong lights and dislikes.

Luckily, I am one of his lights.

Am I not glad?

You know you are, daddy.

Thank you, Mrs. Mason.

Not really all.

Thank you, sir.

Good night, little one.

You'll keep him safe.

You can count on me for that, sir.

Dear little thing, fancy anyone having the heart to heart him.

Right.

Right.

No, go along, Jackie.

These gentlemen and I have important matters to discuss.

All right, daddy.

Don't be too long.

No, I won't.

Ah, poor boy.

If Mr. Holmes, I'm beginning to feel that I've brought you on a fool's errand.

Oh, what can you possibly do?

Say, give me your sympathy.

This whole affair must appear most exceedingly delicate and complex.

It is certainly delicate, but I hadn't been struck up to now with its complexity.

Have you not?

It's been a case for intellectual deductions.

But when this intellectual deduction is confirmed,

point by point by quite a number of independent incidents,

then we can say confidently that we have reached our goal.

Reached our path, say, sir?

I had in fact reached it before we left Baker Street.

The rest has merely been observation and confirmation.

For haven't safe homes, if you can see the truth in this matter,

don't keep me in suspense.

What's it all come to?

What shall I do about it?

I don't give a hang how you'll fund your facts,

as long as you really have found them.

Well, certainly I owe you an explanation, and you shall have it.

But you permit me to handle the matter in my own way.

But I don't see you.

Is Mrs. Ferguson capable of seeing this, Barton?

Well, she's ill, but she's quite rational.

Yes, very good.

It only in her presence that we can care the matter up.

Let's go to her.

But she won't see me.

Oh, yes, she will.

Oh, excuse me.

One moment, Mr. Ferguson, my life, just right.

This, and Barton, you, at least, at the entree,

have the goodness to give the lady disnerged.

Oh, very well.

Mr. Ferguson, now I will follow in two or three minutes.

I think she'll be ready and up to receive us by then.

Come in, come in, gentlemen.

Please, come in.

My mistress will see you.

Darling.

No, no, do not come near me.

But homes, all in good times, Mr. Ferguson.

Oh, I think we can dispense what the law is.

No, she must stay or you must go.

Very well, Madam, that is what you wish.

Now, Mr. Ferguson, I'm a busy man with many calls on my time,

and my methods have to be short and direct.

The swiftest surgery is at least painful.

That they first say what will ease your mind.

Your wife is a very good, a very loving, and a very ill-used woman.

Mr. Holmes, prove that, and I mean your date for life, I will.

But in doing so, I must wound you deeply in another direction.

But I don't care.

So long as you clear my wife, everything else on earth is insignificant to pay for that.

Then let me tell you the train of reasoning which passed through my mind in take a street.

The idea of a vampire was observed to me.

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 cup of blood on her lips.

I did.

Didn't it occur to you that a bleeding wound may be sucked for other reasons,

and to draw the blood from it?

What?

Wasn't there a queen in English history who sucked such a wound to draw poison from it?

Poison.

Here was the South American household.

My instincts felt the presence of those weapons on your walls downstairs

that for my eyes ever saw them.

It might have been some other poison.

But that was what occurred to me.

When I saw that it'll empty quiver beside the bird bow down there,

it was just what I expected to see.

What do you say?

If the child were pricked with one of those arrows dipped in furari,

or some other devilish drug, it would mean death.

If the venom were not sucked up, but I don't understand.

And the dog, if one were to use such a poison,

wouldn't one try it first in order to see that it hadn't lost its power?

I didn't foresee the dog, but at least I understood why he was crippled,

and he fitted into my reconstruction.

Of course.

Now do you understand?

Your wife feared such an attack.

She saw it made and saved the baby's life.

And yet she shrank from telling you all the truth.

But she knew how you loved the boy,

and feared it might break your heart.

The boy?

Jackie?

I watched him as you fund all the baby downstairs just now.

This face was clearly reflected in the glass of the window,

where the shutter formed the background.

I saw such jealousy, such cruel hatred,

as I have seldom seen in a human face.

By Jackie?

Mr. Ferguson, it's more painful for you, because it is love.

I distorted, but my uncle exaggerated love,

that has prompted his action.

Love for you, and possibly for his dead mouth.

His very soul is consumed with hatred for that delightful baby.

It's health and beauty are a contrast to his own weakness.

It's, it's incredible.

Have I spoken the truth, Madam?

How could I tell you the truth, Bob?

I knew what blow it would be to you.

I could not, I could not tell you.

I understand.

For my darling, I hadn't the faith to trust you.

I suspect you're once.

I accused you.

Called you all those vile mains.

No, no more, dear.

But I, you were not to know.

I think a year at sea would be my prescription for Master Jackie, Mr. Ferguson.

But you're right.

Only one thing puzzles me still, Madam.

Yes?

How could you dare to remain silent and lead your baby open to another attack?

Why had told Mrs. Mason everything she knew?

I thought it's much my darling, what a dreadful experience for you.

And you, I did not know what to do.

Who am I?

Oh, dear, dear, dear, now it's all over.

Now I can't do the flotting.

This I can seize the time for our exit.

If you would take one elder of the two faithful to Lord,

then what are you doing to me?

I will take the other.

I think we may leave your friend at his wife's settle the rest between them, sir.

I only one further note of this case is the letter which Holmes wrote in final answer

to that with which my narrative began.

It realm us.

Take a street in the Vennville 21st.

Read 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,

a Ferguson in your head, tea-brookers of mincing lane,

and that the matter has been brought to a satisfactory conclusion.

With thanks for your recommendation, I am Sir Faithfully yours, Sherlock Holmes.

That was The Sussex Vampire by Michael Hardwick, based on the short story by Sir Arthur Kernan Doyle.

Sherlock Holmes was led by Carlton Hobbs and Dr. Watson by Norman Shelley.

Production for the BBC was by Graham Gold.