Sherlock Holmes - The Sussex Vampire

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From London, we present the Sussex Vampire.

Let us return to our humble abode.

Two to one the biggest details, Karen.

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 the evening of a dull foggy 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 two to one be vaguely.

As I stretched out my toes to the welcoming blaze, Holmes read, Geoffrey, a note which

the last posted brought him.

Then we'd be dry chuckle, which was as near as approach to a laugh.

He tossed it over to me.

But a mixture of the modern and the very evil 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 clansmen Mr. Robert Ferguson, a Ferguson of wherehead tea-brookers, a mincing land,

has made some enquiry from us in a communication of even date concerning vampire.

Vampires?

Go on.

As our firm specializes in tally 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 before you.

We also have faithfully yours, Morrison, Morrison and Dodd.

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

us that the gentleman himself will be calling upon us at 10 o'clock tomorrow morning.

I fancy he may be able to close some light upon what he's worrying in.

Hello, Watson.

Ah!

You don't look quite the man you did when I threw you over the ropes into the cloud at the old

rear park.

Hahaha!

Ferguson!

It's you, mate!

Ah!

Well, I never one instant connected the name.

It's big Bob Ferguson Holmes.

Oh!

How do you do?

I do.

Find his three-pointer Richmond never had in those days I pay to back his.

Watson!

You are maisely.

There's no limit to your versatility.

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

No, Watson, I think.

Hahaha!

A bit face at that, Mr. Ferguson, and tell us what brings you to us.

No.

Thank you.

Ah!

May I ask where you live?

It's lovely, Sussex.

Social autumn.

The house is called Cheezmans.

I know that part pretty well.

Full of old houses, called after the middle of Britain.

Odd liars, harvies, canitons.

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 player that has had the particulars then.

Years.

This gentleman married some five years ago a proven lady.

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

She was 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 see.

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 land,

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.

Oh, yes.

There's also child of a present marriage,

a deal little by just under a year old.

On occasion, about a month ago, this child

had been left by its nurse for a few minutes,

a loud 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 went down.

The nurse was so horrified that she started to call for the husband

but the lady employed her not to and

actively gave her five pounds to keep silent.

Hmm.

Faye Continuums, the person.

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.

For him it seemed as wild a tale as it may now seem to you.

He knew his wife to be a loving wife and a loving mother.

Then why should she assault her stepsun and wound her own dear little baby?

He told the nurse that she was dreaming that such libels

upon her mistress were not to be tolerated.

First they were talking, a sudden cry of pain was held.

Nothing.

Nurse and 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.

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Wait.

It's vampireism, Mr. Holmes.

Mr. Ferguson, I will examine your case.

For pleasure.

Oh, no.

I know how this agency is not a home for the week-minded.

I see it's no use my pretending to be anyone's deputy.

It is simpler to deal with our rep.

But, Jim, Mr. Holmes, you can imagine how difficult it is

when you're speaking of the one woman you're bound to protect.

Help, I understand.

And what am I to do?

How am I to go to the police for the story like this?

And yet I must protect those youngsters.

Is it a madness, Mr. Holmes?

Something in a blood?

Have you experienced any case like it?

For pitch is safe.

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.

Yes, 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 seems 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 once?

A maid, Dolores.

Also Peruvian?

Yes.

She's been with my wife for some years.

She's more than a friend than a servant.

And the 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 she comes out of her room, he won't happen to be near a fan.

What exactly is his complaint for some angelator was pined?

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 struck him savagely.

This maid, Dolores, had been with your wife even before your marriage.

I take it obvious quite some time.

Then she might know more about your wife's character than you yourself.

I suppose so.

Well, I think I may be a more use of lambo live in here.

It's eminently a case for personal investigation.

If the lady remains in her room, our presence cannot annoy her or inconvenience her.

That's what I'd hope to hear you say, Mr. Homer.

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

With pleasure.

Watson comes with us, of course.

Of course.

I did.

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 a sort both her own baby and your son.

That's so.

But the assaults have taken different forms.

Did she give no explanation why she'd beaten your son?

Only that she hated him.

No, it's not uncommon 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.

He's probably 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.

Ah.

In the first case, that is.

It was 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.

Well, 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, very new at the wings.

The 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 belong to the original yeoman farmer of the seventeenth century.

They were ornamented, however, on the lower part by a line of world-chosen modern watercolours.

While above, where yellow plaster took the place of oak, there was hung a fine collection of South American weapons,

which had been brought no doubt by the Peruvian leader.

Holmes, with that quick curiosity which sprang from his eager mind, examined him with some care,

and then turned his attention to a spaddle, 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 bit, a sort of paralysis, spinal meningitis he thought,

but it's passing, isn't it, boy?

You'll be alright soon, Calvary.

Did he come on suddenly and a single night?

How long ago, about four months, very remarkable, that he suggested, what you mean, Mr. Holmes?

It confirms what I'd already thought, for heaven's sake, 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 home.

I must say there is pain for you, Mr. Ferguson, whatever the solution may be.

I must bear 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.

But please, God, you may.

I ask your pardon, Mr. Holmes.

If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, now go up to my wife's room and see if there's been any change.

Come on, Calvary.

Well, Holmes, a charming old room, Watson.

Just look at those oak beams.

Magnificent.

Holmes, see that iron fastening, 1670.

And all these fascinating weapons and three-kissers.

A must-interesting collection, my dear Watson.

Holmes, I do wish you...

You, sir, please.

Me, yes, sir.

As you are, Dr. Sir.

I am.

Oh, my mistress, very ill.

She knows what mood, very ill. She needs Dr..

You are the lorry.

Would your mistress see this gentleman?

Oh, she needs, sir.

She sees him. I say so.

But you will not see Mr. Ferguson.

No, sir.

Watson?

Yes, because I'll go.

It will be of any use.

Oh, sir, I thank you a thousand times.

You follow me now, sir.

Quick.

Oh, she liked that one day.

Two days?

I've already died.

The lorry is...

The lorry is...

Is that you, CCD?

Oh, who are you?

I am a doctor, ma'am.

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?

He's seen this man.

Madam, I'm here to help you.

No, I'm done.

And he's finished all his destroy.

Whatever I do, all his destroy.

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, speak of me in such a way.

Oh, ma'am, he doesn't understand.

No, he does not understand.

But he should trust me.

Oh, no, I cannot forget those terrible words.

Nor will he look on his face.

But I can promise you, ma'am.

No, I will not see him go away.

You can do nothing for me.

Hello.

Tell me 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.

Well, it's blood under lips.

No.

The child stays with Mrs. Mason.

Where is he?

Oh, daddy.

Jackie, my boy.

Come in, 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?

None other, my boy.

How'd you do, Jackie?

Hey, what about your other child, Mr. Ferguson?

My female key apprentice of the day, dear.

Oh, I beg your pardon, sir.

No, wait, Mrs. Mason.

Don't go.

Very good, sir.

I just brought baby for his goodnight, sir.

But I didn't know you was engaged.

Here he is, Mr. Holmes.

Your request attained to you in an instant.

No.

Isn't he a fine little fella?

No, no, no, chap.

Mr. Holmes.

Holmes.

What do you think of it?

Oh, my word.

Yes.

Yes, he's father and miniature.

Do you think so?

Hey, what's this?

Well, yes.

Yes, without a doubt.

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 he wants that, eh?

Thank you, Mrs. Mason.

Not at 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.

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 haven't been stuck up to now with its complexity.

Have you not?

It's been a case for intellectual deduction.

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 goal.

I fancy, 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,

along as you really have found them.

Well, certainly I owe you an explanation.

And you shall have it.

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

But I don't see it.

Is Mrs. Ferguson capable of seeing this, Watson?

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 writes this.

And Watson, you, at least, at the entree,

have the goodness to give the lady dismissed.

Oh, very well.

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

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

Come in, come in, gentlemen.

Please, come in.

I, Mr. Ferguson, will you see you?

Darling.

No.

No, do not come near me.

But, Holmes, all in good time, Mr. Ferguson.

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

No.

She must stay or you must go.

Oh, 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 the 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.

I mean, you're dead for life, I will.

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

I, I don't care, so long as you clear my wife,

everything else on earth is insignificant to 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 carpal 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

before my eyes ever saw them.

It might have been some other poison,

but that was what occurred to me.

When I saw that little empty quiver

beside the bird bow down there,

it was just what I expected to see.

What do you see?

If the child were picked with one of those arrows

dipped in furari or some other devilish drug,

it would mean death.

If the venom were not sucked up.

I don't understand.

And the dog.

If one were to use such a poison,

one tried 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.

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.

Because she knew how you loved the boy.

And here it might break your heart.

The boy?

Jackie?

I watched him as you fondled the baby,

downstairs just now.

His 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 mother.

Or 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 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.

Or by darling, I hadn't the faith that thrust you.

I suspected you at once.

I accused you.

Called you all those vile names.

No, no more, dear.

But I...

You were not to know.

I think a year at sea would be my prescription

for Master Jackie and 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?

Oh, I had told Mrs. Mason everything she knew.

Ah, I thought it was much by darling.

What a dreadful experience for you.

And you.

I did not know what to do.

Who am I?

Oh, there, there, there.

Now it's all over.

Now I can't do the philosophy.

Hmm.

This I can see is the time for our exit.

If you would take one elder, the two faithful, the lord.

What?

What are you doing to me?

I will take the other.

I think we may leave your friend at his right

to settle the rest between them, sir.

I only want further note of this case.

It's the letter which Holmes wrote in final answer to that

with which my narrative began.

It realm us.

Take a street in November 21st.

Revent piles.

Sir.

Referring to your letter of the 19th.

I take the state that I have looked into the inquiry

of your client, Mr. Robert Ferguson,

a Ferguson in New York head, tea-brokers of Minsing Lane.

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

Ha, ha, ha.

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 Conan Doyle.

Sherlock Holmes was led by Carlton Hobbs

and Dr. Watson by Norman Shelley.

Production for the BBC was by Graham Gold.

Director.

Director.

Director.

Director.

Director.

Director.

Director.

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