THE ADVENTURE OF THE STUTTERING GHOST and THE CLUE OF THE HUNGRY CAT THE NEW ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES

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Now, once again, it's time to renew our weekly visits with that genial host and incomparable

storyteller, Dr. Watson, and here he is waiting for us in his comfortable and familiar study.

Hello, Dr. Watson.

It's mighty good to see you again.

Good evening, Mr. Bell.

Good gracious me.

It's a long time since you last dropped into the seam.

Too long entirely, but I'm certainly glad to be back.

I'm glad to have you back, my boy.

It seems like old times.

Thank you, sir.

By the way, I heard you had quite a trip this summer.

Went back to England, didn't you?

Yes, Mr. Bell.

I must say, I had a very delightful time renewing old friendships.

It's a dente.

I think you'd be particularly interested in one visit that I made.

It was for the vaults of Cox's Bank in Channing Cross.

Cox's Bank.

Oh, that was the home of your old black tin dispatch box, wasn't it?

The one that contained all the notes on your adventures with a great Sherlock home.

It was, my boy.

We have a very good memory.

And by any chance, is that the box standing there on your table now?

Yes, certainly is.

I brought it back with me.

You see, I find it contained a veletable treasure trove of material.

Notes on adventures that I'd forgotten.

And in some cases, toys at Sherlock Holmes insist this must not be published during the lifetime

of certain famous people involved.

You?

That certainly is a treasure trove.

And do you mind if I take a peek in the sacred box, Dr. Weiss?

Not at all, Mr. Bell, not at all.

Must be papers all tied up in tape.

An old signant ring.

Oh, that just a token of the Duke of Bedford's esteem.

Never did fit.

Hey, what's this, Dr. Weiss?

And a small dog collar.

Yes, my boy, a small dog collar.

And it brings to mind one of the most exciting, bizarre adventures at Sherlock Holmes and I ever encountered.

I was referred to it as the adventure of the Stuttering Ghost.

Stuttering Ghost?

That sounds provocative, Dr. Weiss.

I hope you'll find it, sir, Mr. Bell.

In just a moment, Dr. Weiss will tell us the story of the Stuttering Ghost.

But first, I'd like to ask a question.

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Now, Dr. Watson, the floor is yours.

Well, Mr. Bell, the story began on a certain September afternoon in,

well, more years ago, and I, and I'd like to admit,

Holmes and I was seated in our Baker Street lodgings,

having returned a few hours previously from a much-needed holiday in Devonshire.

Though I tripped it proved far from restful as far as I was concerned,

I could see that the change had worked wonders for my old friend.

There was a distinct touch of color in his usually pale face,

and I knew by the sparkle in his eye that he was happy to be back in harness,

as he stepped there skimming through the letters that had accumulated during his absence.

Watson, has it ever occurred to you that the entire course of history might have been changed

to probably for the better if paper and ink had never been invented?

Oh, rubbish.

It's good to be back in Baker Street again, eh, Holmes?

Hmm, yes. Back to the routine of stupid letters from stupid people,

after two peaceful weeks at the seaside.

Peaceful.

You spent most of your time solving the problem of the lifeguard, the Calabash,

and the dying nurse made merely a routine matter, Watson,

though it did have its points of interest.

Anything's startling in this morning's post?

The usual trivialities.

The Duke of Grennick suspects the Duchess of planning to alope with the underfootman.

Oh, knowing the Duke I can't say that I'd blame her.

Right.

Doesn't anyone use imagination and committing crimes anymore?

Ah, this looks more promising.

Huh? What is it, Holmes?

Hmm.

I shall present my problem to you at three o'clock tomorrow afternoon.

So, almost three now, the letters dated yesterday.

Well, some particularly promising to me, who's it from?

It's simply signed Ferdinand.

Oh, Ferdinand?

Holmes? It might be royalty.

Only a raiding monarch signed themselves to strangers, simply by their first names.

If you're referring to Ferdinand of Spain, he's dead, you know.

Well, eh, well, eh.

Still, I can't recall a Ferdinand on any current European throne?

Nor can I.

And yet there is a certain tone of royal parental in this in the praising.

There's a front doorbell.

It's exactly three o'clock.

That could be him now.

Yes.

While Mrs. Hudson answers the door, suppose we have another look at this note.

Expensive paper.

Written with a quill pen.

And the presumably august scribe was unfortunate enough to get a smear

ink on the outer side of her right little finger.

Right, you say her right, little finger.

It's a woman's writing.

Come in.

Yes, Mrs. Hudson?

You have a visitor, Mr. Holmes, and she's got a wee dog with her.

She said you might be expecting her.

Where on Mrs. Hudson? Show her up, please.

Yes, sir.

A woman and a wee dog.

And here we are waiting for royalty.

Watson, I've sometimes observed a distinctly snobbish strain in you.

Most regrettable in these democratic days.

Democratic hours.

Where?

Love and comfort of all my vulnerable men.

Oh, Mrs. Sherlock Holmes, you dear, dear man.

Oh, I've heard so much about you.

Oh, I suppose you're wondering who I am.

Naturally, madam.

Sit down, won't you?

May I introduce my friend, Dr. Watson?

How do you do, madam?

How do you do?

I'm Mrs. Frampton.

Mrs. James Frampton.

That's the Buckinghamshire Frampton, you know?

And I've traveled all the way up here with darling little spasely.

And you don't see trains, don't you see that?

Well, Mrs. Frampton, would you mind telling me why you signed your note, Ferdinand?

Well, Mr. Holmes, whatever makes you think I wrote your note.

Among other things, there is slight trace of an ink stain on your right little finger.

Oh, dear, it's so simple when you explain it, isn't it?

Well, since you're so clever, I did write that note.

But only because Ferdinand here asked me to.

Yes, the darling dictated it all by himself.

He said, and I wrote it all down for him.

If you were the mother of the ball, yeah.

Dog writing note.

Don't you think, Mrs. Frampton, that if your dog has any problems,

a veteran or a surgeon would be the logical person to consult?

Oh, dear, now you've upset.

And he's so terribly sensitive.

Dr. Watson, I wonder if you'd mind taking him out for a little walk.

Well, me?

Yes.

I'd much rather he was out of the way when I tell Mr. Holmes about it.

He's so human, you know.

I'm quite sure he understands every word I say.

Oh, please, Dr. Watson.

I'm really mad at my dog.

Come, Watson. Can't you see the little fellow is dying for some air?

I think a little walk would do you both well.

Well, come along, you little boy.

And now, Mrs. Frampton, may I ask what has brought you to see me in?

Well, Mr. Holmes, a two weeks ago, one of 30's gold collars was stolen.

And a week after that, he was sent back to me with a very strange note.

You have the note with you?

Yes, yes, it's here in my purse.

Put your hands up, Mr. Holmes.

Well.

That's right.

Do you mind pointing that revolver another way, Mrs. Frampton?

I have no intention of pointing it another way.

Furthermore, you'd be astonished at my skill in using it.

It's not at all.

Oh?

When a woman has the audacity to call on me with the outline of the revolver,

plainly visible through the side of her purse, I naturally assume she is able to use it.

You knew I was armed, and yet I...

I regret to say that sometimes my curiosity overcomes my caution.

And I was very curious as to the purpose of the ridiculous rules of the letter writing dog.

I still am.

You'll very soon see.

Go and sit in that upright chair by the desk there.

Mr. Holmes, I assure you I won't hesitate to use this revolver.

Go over to that chair.

Very well.

Sit down in it.

With your back to me.

That's it.

I was admiring these handcuffs on your mental keys.

They'll do very well the fastened you to the chair.

Put your hands behind you.

Thank you.

What's the game, Mrs. Frampton?

Daylight robbery?

Yes, or murder if you don't help me.

You realize that my friend is liable to come back at any moment?

Oh, no, Mr. Holmes.

That beastly dog was a deliberate device to separate you and your friend.

A colleague of mine will see the doctor Watson has taken care of as soon as he gets outside.

And now, Mr. Holmes, I do hope you're not going to be too difficult.

Come along, you stupid creature.

You don't have to sniff everything.

Come on.

Playing nursemaid, too.

If I don't run into anyone, I know.

Come on, little brute.

Do you believe me, Governor?

Yes, yes, yes.

You got a match.

A match is it?

I'm going to go ahead.

Cool, you're an awful nice little dog, Governor.

What's his name?

His name, huh?

Never mind.

You come here now.

Why are you struggling to put down that piece of your life?

Get out of there.

I don't want to see you.

I want to see you.

Oh, you would, would you?

Go away.

I'm not going to come here.

Get out of there.

No!

Madam, if you'll just tell me what you're looking for,

I'll be delighted to tell you where to find it.

There's no sense in missing all my files up.

I want your records of the Rothea case.

In the third drop is Cabinet.

Oh.

Well, here we are.

In O. P. Coo.

Randall.

Rothea.

Well, thank you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

Ah, there's the rescue party.

But it can't be Dr. Watson.

I'll think it was to take care of him.

Dr. Watson has resorted.

That might surprise you.

Sometimes they surprise even me.

Well, ah, I've got for I came.

Holmes, I had the most amazing experience.

Yes, yes, yes.

You were set upon by Ruffin in the street.

I'll ask for a match in it.

Oh, you know.

Elementary, my dear Watson.

Now, please get the key off the mantelpiece

and unlock these handcuffs.

Good.

Heavens.

Who'd trust you up like that?

Mrs. Prampton.

At revolver point.

You see?

If you hadn't made me go out with that little dog,

you would never have revealed her purpose in coming here.

What's in the whole thing was a plot

to gain access to my files on the Rothea case.

Rothea case, why that case?

I'll carry it with that key, will you, O champ?

Of course.

There you are.

I say.

How did that woman get out?

Obviously, down the back stairs,

as you didn't pass on the front.

I assume her accomplice got away, too.

Yes, you wouldn't.

I hadn't tripped up over the doglish.

I'd have to sit at a beach downstairs.

Who was it, Hudson?

Suppose we see if our caller took anything of any consequence.

But Holmes, why should anyone go to such fantastic lengths

to steal the file on a criminal case

that happened years ago?

That's what we have to find out.

You'll recall the Rothea Fair Watson?

Yes, I could do something to do with the jewel robbery, was it?

Yes.

Rothea and his English accomplice.

Gentlemen, known as Stuttering Steve Hacker,

stole the famous Schroesbury emerald.

Yes, yes, yes, of course, of course.

The jewels were never recovered,

but I was instrumental in bringing the men to justice.

I remember it now.

Rothea was killed resisting arrest, wasn't he?

Yes.

And Stuttering Steve Hacker was sentenced to seven years in Dartmoor.

By George Watson, I recall reading a small item in yesterday's paper

that told of Hacker's death in prison.

That's the answer.

I mean that on his death, that Hacker might have told him

some of the secret of where the jewel is hidden.

Precisely.

And the tea to that secret must line these files.

Let me see.

Yes, sir.

Yes, I recall the case vividly now.

And there was a small piece of paper found on Rothea's body.

And apparently, meaning the series of numbers and figures,

it was here in the file.

Now she's got away with it Watson.

I deserve to be kicked from here tonight's home.

Now listen to me, I was going through the file

a few weeks ago making some notes from my stories,

and I remember coming across it's a paper.

I copied the figures down my notebook.

Bravo Watson, I don't know what I'd ever do.

Oh, just a minute, just a minute, here we are.

Here we are.

Here are the figures.

T2N302S50.

What deduced does it mean, Holmes?

I don't know, but I think I may have a glimmering.

Get your coat and hat, old chap.

The games are foot.

Where are we going to Scotland Yard?

And then I hope we'll be on the track of the Shrowsbury Emeralds.

I say Holmes, if you don't want to talk,

you might at least tell me why we're driving

about in this dreary part of London.

I don't care what at all, especially at dusk.

Sorry, Watson, I was thinking.

Inspectorless Trout has just informed me

that he's unearthed a new clue in the case.

Well, it seems that when Raphael was hiding

from the police, he worked for a time in this neighborhood.

Oh, well, at a place known as Gaunt's Castle,

it's somewhere here off the Myland Road.

Apparently it's a sort of museum run by a certain eccentric man

named Jesra Gaunt.

Its main claim to distinction is that it contains a catacombe,

or to be precise several catacombs.

Oh, nothing.

An ideal place to hide stone and jewels, I'd say.

Catacombs?

Here in London?

Impossible.

Not at all, Watson.

But I thought they were vast underground tombs

only found in Italy.

These are refuted to be reproductions

of the early catacombs of Rome.

Good gracious me.

Apparently Mr. Gaunt found these deep underground caverns

some years ago.

And their natural contour has made it possible for him

to convert them into a modern caunt

apart of the Italian ones.

All right, Cavie, this is a place.

There you are.

Keep the chain.

Thank you, Governor.

Come on.

Get up.

So this is Grant's castle.

A frightening looking place like a prison.

It's getting dark.

Why can't we come back in the morning homes?

I think there's somebody wanting us

through the people in the dorm.

There would be.

Uh-huh.

He's opening it.

Good evening, gentlemen.

You're late.

I was just locking my museum up for the night.

Yes, sir.

Your service?

My name is Sherlock Holmes.

And this is my friend, Dr. Watson.

How do you do, Mr. Holmes?

Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson?

Well, this is a great honor.

Please step inside, gentlemen.

I'll turn the gas up.

There.

I hope you'll find the castle as I call it.

Interesting.

Mr. Gaunt, time is vitally important.

Some three years ago, you had a man working for you

as a laborer.

His name was Rothea.

I can't recall any man of that name, Mr. Holmes.

He was a Frenchman, Mr. Gaunt.

Does that mean anything to him?

Oh, I'm sorry, but in this part of London,

there are many foreigners and many of them have worked for me.

But...

This man Rothea was a jewel thief.

He is known to have hidden some very valuable emeralds

and it seems quite possible he may have hidden them here.

Timmy!

Stolen trails in my categories, Mr. Holmes?

Oh, no, I...

I want you to give us your permission

to conduct a detailed examination of your caves

and to take some measurements.

Yes, of course.

What an extraordinary coincidence.

Coincidence?

Yes.

A man and a woman were here a little while ago.

I didn't pay much attention to them as they entered,

but I happened to observe them later in the catacombs.

They were taking measurements like Joe Holmes.

Go on, Mr. Gaunt.

When they saw I was watching them,

they were very evasive and left after a few moments.

Until you mentioned taking measurements,

the whole incident seemed unimportant.

It was far from unimportant, Mr. Gaunt.

They're desperate.

We must work fast.

May we start our search at once?

Of course, of course.

I'll go and light the gas.

Mr. Holmes?

Mr. Frampton, that accomplice who attacked me

must have come here straight from Baker Street.

Yes, and they'll be back.

Probably tonight.

It's a race against time.

Well, sir, for they apparently haven't succeeded

into deciphering the code.

And neither we.

Watson is a battle of wits.

Oh, really?

They won the first round.

Let's hope we can win the second.

Dr. Watson will continue his story in just a moment.

In the meantime, I'd like to say,

and just see if you don't agree with me,

any man who wants that modern, prosperous appearance

should certainly use a hairdressing.

And, men, I'm right here to tell you

I wouldn't use anything else but Kremel hair tonic.

Do you know why?

Because Kremel is one hair tonic,

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Every hair neatly in place.

Yet it never has that greasy plastered down look.

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In addition, Kremel does lots more

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It relieves itching of dry scalp.

It removes dandruff flakes.

Kremel actually helps condition the hair,

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Why not ask for an application of Kremel at your barber shop?

Buy a bottle at any drug counter.

Just see how attractive looking it keeps your hair.

That's right.

It's spelled K-R-E-M-L.

Kremel hair tonic.

Well, Dr. Watson, how did you and the great Sherlock Holmes make out

when you explored the underground caves?

For that first hour we searched that strange place exhaustively

without finding a clue.

Then I remember we descended into one of the deepest and darkest caves.

Must have been a weird picture as we stood there.

Our voices echoing hollow air.

A vast black chasm yawning in front of us.

And a feeble flicker of gaslight throwing a pool of light

on the piece of paper which Holmes held in his hand.

Watson, I'm certain the figures on this paper

are the clue to the missing emeralds.

But why can't I get the code?

T2N3O2S50.

We might be pacing direction.

Obviously, but beginning where?

I don't know, but two N could be two places north.

Still, how about T and O?

The T being the first letter is presumably the starting point.

But what does it stand for?

But of course!

Here's the answer.

Look here on the wall.

You mean that colored tablet?

Yes.

It's a common early Christian symbol known as St. Antonis Cross.

And it's also the Greek letter T.

This is our starting point.

T is the first letter on this code.

And then comes two N.

Let's try it.

Two places north.

So then comes the letter O.

Oh, it could mean zero.

Yes, it could.

Oh, it might be.

Oh, no.

I had it.

Remember that Rothier was a Frenchman.

What's that got to do with it?

The French word for West is West spelled O-U-E-S-T.

French compasses have an O where ours have the W.

Two places north.

Three O.

Three places west.

Seat gone to lend us a spade.

What's in there, chap?

Well, you're getting warm.

We're getting decidedly warm.

Oh, sir.

I think we've drawn a blank.

So do I.

Yet the code is a logical one.

Two places north.

Three west.

Two south.

Five way.

Wait a minute.

Paces are inaccurate, Watson.

They vary.

A man would surely leave his records in carefully measured feet.

Here's a tape measure.

Why don't you try measuring it out and feet?

Thanks.

Now.

Two feet north.

Three west.

Two south.

Five west.

Would be.

Here.

Give me the spade, Watson.

I'll do the digging this time.

Oh, thanks very much.

Holmes, if you dig any deeper, you'll come out in Australia.

And yet I know we're basically on the right track.

What an unmitigated idiot I am.

Watson, look on the other side of this tape measure.

What's on it?

It's marked in meters.

Rote was French.

Now we have the answer, Watson.

Two meters north.

Three west.

Two south.

And five west.

Give me the spade again.

Here.

If I'm wrong this time, I'll retire from my profession.

What's that?

It's a metal box.

Watson.

Unless I'm very much mistaken, we've found the Schroesbury emerald.

Great.

Hot.

Box is a little damaged.

Little rusty.

But its contents are undamaged.

Look at these emeralds, Watson.

Aren't they exquisite?

In this gaslight, they look just like liquid jade.

Quite a poet, aren't you, Dr. Watson?

Oh, hello.

It's the gold you've quite startled me.

We've found the treasure.

I'm so glad, gentlemen, you've done the hard work for her.

Well, that Watson is a track.

Come back here, Holmes.

Drop that revolver, girl.

I missed your friend, Dr. Watson, but I won't miss you.

Stand where you are.

In any case, Mr. Holmes can't get away.

Fortunately for us, he's running to a cave from which there is no exit.

Gertrude.

Alfie.

Here we are.

Find your chest.

Yes, my dear.

Clepper of them, wasn't it?

I doubt whether we could have solved the code without their help.

Countries, I will start getting my hands on you.

Dr. Watson, surely you're in no position to threaten.

The three of us are armed.

And your friend can't help you.

Mr. Sherlock Holmes, come out of that cave with your hands up.

We've won the final round.

Not when I have the emeralds, you haven't.

All round him out of there.

Blast him.

It seems to me, Dr. Watson, that Mr. Holmes is being unusually stupid today.

Be careful, Holmes.

What do you mean, Sophie?

Holmes.

Holmes.

Dear me, I'm afraid your friend's been injured, don't you?

Let me go to him.

I'm a doctor.

No, I'm afraid I can't trust you.

However, I'll tell Alfie to break his body out here.

Alfie.

Never mind about Alfie.

I just can't count him one hour before I shot Mr. Holmes.

That voice.

It's stuttering, Steve Hacker.

It can't be, Steve Hacker's dead.

That's what you think.

But he ain't dead.

I bribed the prison doctor in his kite.

Remember, I'm in the dark.

You can't see me, but I can see you.

You're standing in the light.

You better do like I say.

Dr. Watson.

Yes, I go.

What is it?

I remember you.

You ain't a bad shot of a text assistant.

I trust you more than these rats.

If you don't want me to show you,

better drop your revolvers at Dr. Watson's feet.

I'll trust him.

Go on.

Then drop them.

You better do as he says.

I think he means business.

All right, hacker.

Here.

Now yours, Ditchie.

Gertrude.

There.

Pick him up, Dr. Watson.

I've got him.

Play the Holmes.

Then hand me one.

But Holmes?

Where's Steve Hacker?

Aside from the fact that he's dead, I have no idea, Champ.

I took the liberty of impersonating him,

or rather his ghost, temporarily.

You shot Alfie.

Certainly.

He was about to shoot me.

But he is not quite dead, unfortunately.

And now, once in old chap, I think it's about time

we turn this unsavory little gathering over to the police.

Watson, it's rather pleasant to be back in Baker's street.

It's been a tiring day.

You know, Holmes, the way you imitate it,

starting Steve Hacker was amazing.

Well, thanks, old chap.

You had them completely fooled.

Of course.

Of course.

You were very clever, though.

You shot Alfie and then faked your own wounded groans.

Yes.

It was remarkably effective.

And Alfie's subsequent confession confirmed my suspicions.

Hacker, ill and afraid of dying,

talked with Alfie during his recent stay in Dartmoor

and told him to find the booty and share it with Hacker's wife.

But Alfie, as soon as he was released from prison

and thinking Hacker dead, decided to get it all for himself

and his accomplices.

Huh.

That's pretty a tangle of criminality as I've ran into.

Perhaps you're a turn to practice with his dollars, you think?

Come in.

Excuse me, Mr. Holmes, but about the dog.

Dog?

What dog?

The nice sweet fella, the lady brought this afternoon.

He's still downstairs.

I gave him a toss and a nice big beef bowl.

Now what do you want me to do with him?

Hmm.

An intriguing problem.

Let me see now.

He's been cooped up a long time.

Oh, here it comes.

I think it'd be an excellent idea if Dr. Watson took him for a nice walk.

A nice walk with Holmes.

Oh, come, Watson.

Remember, he's quite a remarkable animal.

He wrote a letter.

He convinced you that he was royalty and then undoubtedly saved your life.

I think you owe him a little consideration, don't you?

Well, of course, if you put it that way, I suppose he's got it.

And that's how you acquired this little dog collar, right?

Mr. Bell, I have that wretched animal in my hands to the died of old age.

I got quite fond of it as a matter of fact.

I see.

And what story are you going to tell us next week, Dr. White?

Well, next week I think I'll tell you a story I call the adventure of Black Angus.

I always think it was one of the most gruesome and macabre experiences

that Sherlock Holmes and I ever encountered.

Well, look who's here if it isn't Janie.

Do you look gorgeous tonight?

And your hair, it's lovely.

It should be, Joe, because I always wash it with Cremel shampoo.

I learned that duty trick long ago from those stunning powers model.

Yes, Cremel shampoo is famous.

It leaves hair sparkling for days with natural, glassy highlights.

What's more, Cremel shampoo is a hard water shampoo.

It whips up just gobs of leather in every type of water.

It's fine, rich foam penetrates right to the scalp

and removes all loose dandruff as well as the dirt.

White even has a beneficial oil base which helps keep hair from becoming dry.

We're all using Cremel shampoo at our house.

I'd suggest you take a tip from my wife and buy the large family size.

Tonight's new Sherlock Holmes adventure was suggested by an incident

in the Sir Arthur Conan Doyle story, the adventure of the noble bachelor.

Nigel Bruce appeared by permission of California pictures

and Tom Conway through the courtesy of Eagle Lion picture.

This is Joseph Bell speaking for Cremel hair tonic and Cremel shampoo

and inviting you to be with us next week at this same time

when Dr. Watson will tell us the adventure of Black Angus.

This is ABC, the American Broadcasting Company.

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Once again, it's time to drop in for a visit with our old friend, Dr. Watson.

Storyteller, beyond compare and confident of the immortal Sherlock Holmes.

And here he is, waiting to greet us in his familiar study.

Good evening, Dr. Watson.

I must admit that on such a cold and foggy evening,

your fireplace looks even more cheery than usual.

A very good evening to you, Mr. Bell.

Here, come and sit down.

It's tear-feel good.

Thank you, Dr. Watson.

Nasty night out.

Yes, it certainly is.

In weather like this, I find my old wound gives me an occasional cringe.

Just hail a bullet, you know, souvenir of a border scourge in Afghanistan.

Long before you were born, my boy.

I've always been amazed, Dr. Watson, that with all the tight spots

you and Sherlock Holmes found yourselves in,

you were fortunate enough to escape with only one bullet wound.

Cheers, Holmes, you to say that I was born to be hanged.

I can remember more than one narrow escape.

As a matter of fact, there's a souvenir of one of them

right before you on the mantelpiece.

On the mantelpiece?

Oh.

A small part of ivy.

A framed photograph of you and Mr. Holmes.

Two sporting prints and a small blue saucer.

Not very exciting.

You see, Mr. Bell, but you do not observe

as my friend, Sherlock Holmes, you to say.

That small blue saucer from which an ordinary house cat

was accustomed to eat its evening meal

was the key that saved an innocent man

from the shadow of the gallows,

and bought a fetishly-cover murderer to justice.

It all began one day when Holmes and I,

finding it a bit earlier for lunch,

as we walked down the strand,

turned into the old baler, wondering if the jury had yet brought

in the verdict in a sensational murder case,

which Holmes had been following in the papers

with considerable interest.

As we entered the courtroom,

we heard the clerk of the court saying,

''Frisal murder, the braw you sang,

convicted of murder by the verdict of a jury of your peers.

Have you anything to say before gentlemen is pronounced upon you?

Early by lulls and gentlemen of the jury,

that I am innocent of this crime.

Decided in sin the court?

Robert Saunders,

you have been found guilty of the murder of Amanda Post.

The sentence of this court

is that you be taken to that place from whence you came.

And with two weeks from today,

on the 12th of October,

you'll be hanged by the neck until you are dead.

You may the Lord have mercy on your soul.

I must say that for the Saunders

that it coming to him Holmes,

open a shot case if I ever heard one.

I wonder what's in it.

Oh, now really Holmes,

even you can't find anything to wonder about

in the killing of that poor woman.

A husband was away,

that for the Saunders saw his chance,

broke into the house,

robbed Mr. Post's cash box,

and evidently woke up Mrs. Post.

Thank you that she'd recognize him,

so he made quite sure that she'd never testify

by choking the poor woman to death.

He then tried to burn the house down to conceal his crime.

But if you asked me,

hang in still good for him.

The cash box is what intrigues me,

Watson.

And what praise intriguing about the cash box?

Why, that fellow saunders admit

that he stole eight pounds out of him?

You tell me, Watson, why any sane man?

And I heard no testimony

he had used to prove that Saunders was insane.

Should steal the sum of eight pounds

out of a cash box that contained 65.

Oh, let me see what perhaps you,

the fellow was suddenly frightened.

Or the balance might have been in large notes

that could have been traced.

No way could the chops for me,

they had it through its own.

Oh, very good, sir.

Sorry, Watson,

but I can't accept your alternatives.

Saunders only defends,

and I grant you that it was a feeble one,

was that Mr. Post had owed him eight pounds,

and that that was his reason for taking only that sum.

Oh, delicious.

There's no chopper,

there's no price in London.

I suppose you believe Saunders' story.

Despite your evident amusement,

I do.

Oh, I can say Holmes, is it?

Look, that girl over there in the corner,

the one who's crying into a hangative.

Didn't we see her in the corks as well?

Not only did we see her,

but as you should know,

from the drawings which have been published

in every newspaper these last few days,

she's the fear say of the convicted man.

I say, Holmes, where are you going?

Come on, Watson.

My curiosity is aroused.

Good heavens.

The last time your curiosity was aroused,

I find myself in the Sahara Desert

in the middle of July.

I beg your pardon, Miss Cornwell.

I couldn't help noticing your evident distress,

and although I don't wish to hold out in it falls hopes,

let me assure you that I share your belief

that your fear say has been convicted

of a crime of which he's innocent.

You really...

Oh, leave me alone.

You are another of those newspaper reports.

I assure you, my dear, that I'm not.

My name is Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock Holmes?

Oh, Mr. Holmes.

You really believe that Bob is innocent?

Your fear say, Miss Cornwell, is a young man

of good education and very evident intelligence.

I cannot bring myself to believe that he's stupidly and brutally killed

and is supposed to conceal a minor theft.

Oh, Holmes.

I can't tell you what it means to me.

Just to hear you say that.

Wait, even Mr. Briggs,

when he was defending Bob in that horrible carton

didn't speak as though he believed Bob's own story.

But it's true.

I know it's true.

I haven't much money, Mr. Holmes.

But he...

There's not a question of my name, Miss Cornwell.

I have an ingrained prejudice against seeing the innocent convicted.

Suppose you come with Dr. Watson myself

while we'd be a visit to the scene of the crime.

As the next door neighbor of the house

where the tragedy occurred, Mrs. Roberts,

won't you tell us in your own words just not happened?

There, Mr. Holmes.

Although it was some time ago,

it still catches me all of a sudden when I think of it.

There takes me a back, it does.

Sometimes I come all over dizzy like him.

I can't believe it, Mrs. Roberts.

So, please, Mrs. Roberts, won't you tell Mr. Holmes what you remember?

Well, that morning, Mr. Post was going away on business to Brighton.

It's going to be gone a couple of days, he was.

Now, around noon time,

I happened to look out at me window.

Not the time the type that's forever mind

and other people's business you'll understand.

And I seen him standing in the front door

just as he was a saying goodbye to her.

Saying what I understood from the evidence

that Mrs. Post was stone deaf?

When I say saying,

I mean, he was woven goodbye to her,

like he always did when he went away.

Did you see Mrs. Post way back to him?

Well, in the manner of speaking, yes.

At least I seen the curtain move inside the front pile of window.

So, I guess she was a wave and to him from inside.

It's fairly conclusive, Holmes.

A poor woman was alive when her husband left,

and she was geared up to the far.

No one else could possibly have killed her.

Rob didn't.

I don't care what you say.

And I have to, Mr. Post, left, Mrs. Roberts.

What happened then?

Nothing.

I was busy with the ass work.

Flying up a nice bit of fish from the old man's supper I was,

and I didn't notice nothing next door until about eight o'clock that evening.

Eight o'clock?

But the fire wasn't until midnight.

But maybe it's silly of me to mention it.

It wasn't anything important.

When a murder has been committed Mrs. Roberts,

no fact is unimportant.

Well, I never did.

It was only about eight o'clock.

Her cat mini came scratch and then yelled and around me that door.

I'm great, she was.

Hmm.

Most enlightened.

Oh, really, Holmes.

Was that the cat's usual habit, Mrs. Roberts?

No.

A man the post was only about that cat.

Gave it its supper every night at six regular.

Liver, she used to feed it at six and a pound.

Now that's scandalous, if you ask me.

But poor people starve.

Yes, I see.

Then what did you do?

Well, I fed the cat.

And then I went to bed.

And the old man and I were as sound asleep as two blessed angels in paradise

when we heard the fire engines.

No, no, no!

Did you hear that?

Did you hear that?

No, I didn't.

The patient's going out to get a change of office.

If there's anyone in there, then it doesn't seem to be the number now.

Oh, it was horrible here in them, say that, Mr. Holmes.

We were still thinking that deaf as she was.

was, poor Mrs. Post had not been awakened

for the crackle of the flames.

And it was until the next day, when the men from Scotland

Yard were looking around the wreckage

that they told us that she'd been strangled in a bed

before the fire ever started, strangled

by that smooth, spoken, murder-n-young devil

that Robert's hand.

No, it isn't true, that's a lie, Bob Cromwell.

Control yourself, please, my dear Miss Goldwell.

Thank you, Mrs. Roberts.

I greatly appreciate the assistance you've given us.

Good day.

Oh, not at all, Mr. Rose.

It's been a pleasure, I'm sure.

But in Mr. Holmes, all that woman's evidence

came out in court.

There's nothing there to help you set Robert.

I'm afraid you're right, and I'm gushed

if I can make it a tale out of that stream of nonsense

that woman spotted at us.

Don't be too hasty, Watson.

I should like to call your attention

to the curious incident of Minnes Supper.

But that night, the cat didn't get her supper.

That was the curious incident.

Oh, Holmes, will you put down that violin for a moment

and pay attention?

This is the third time since we got home

that you've interrupted what I'm sure

might prove a magnificent composition, my dear Watson.

What's the matter now?

Well, listen to this note.

My dear Mr. Holmes, may I request your immediate presence

at my home on a matter of the greatest possible importance.

I enclose my check for 500 Guinness as a retainer.

Signed Jeffrey Brookfield in brackets near the Brookfield.

500 Guinness retainer.

If you come to sit here and make a speech, playing the violin.

If you like, you may write to Lord Brookfield

and tell him that the paintings over which he's so worried

have been sold by his son to provide jewels for the dancer

with whom the young man is enamored.

And send his check back to him with my compliments.

Come in.

Yes, Mrs. Watson, what is it?

I gentlemen, to see Mr. Holmes, Mr. Post.

Mr. Post?

Oh, yes.

Show him up, will you please?

Yes, sir.

You act as though you expected this fellow post.

When I put a ferret down a whole lot,

I usually do so in the expectation of starting a rabbit.

You mean those questions of yours, Mrs. Roberts' afternoon?

Our gallealous friend, Mrs. Roberts,

is not the type to keep a visit from Sherlock Holmes,

a secret from the neighborhood.

Mr. Post, Mr. Holmes?

Good evening, Mr. Post.

Mr. Sherlock Holmes?

Quite.

And this is my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson.

Good evening, sir.

Doctor.

Won't you sit down?

Thank you, thank you, Mr. Holmes.

I have prepared a stand.

I must confess I'm somewhat upset by what my former neighbor,

Mrs. Roberts, told me this evening.

Oh, what was that?

That you and Dr. Watson and that young woman

were asking questions this afternoon.

There's nothing for you to be upset about, Mr. Post.

But I confess that the unfortunate matter of your late wife's death

had certain features which seemed to me odd, shall we say?

But this morning, Sanders was found guilty and could them to be hanged.

I'm aware of that.

But as long as you're here, Mr. Post,

I'm sure you won't mind answering your question or two.

Not at all.

So I feel to see what you're doing.

Oh, do you sit down, Mr. Post?

You will be nervous walking back and forth.

I'm off the side, Dr. Ever since this horrible thing happened,

I can't seem to sit here.

Oh, you two, come, sorry, I'm sorry.

Yes, hello, Sanders.

A former employee of yours, wasn't he, Mr. Post?

He was, he was.

I sacked him.

Fellow is always nosing about things that didn't concern him.

And according to him, you'll still

owe him eight pounds back wages.

Boss, not a bit of truth to it.

I'm sure there wasn't.

After all, the matter of eight pounds

could mean very little to you.

You'll probably mind mentioning it, Mr. Post,

but you must be a man of considerable wealth.

Now, if you mean since my wife's death, yes, I am.

When I came to England from Australia,

a couple of years ago, all I had

was a few hundred pounds and some business experience.

I met and married my dear Amanda

within the past year, Mr. Holmes.

And the final wife, no man ever had.

I can assure you that I'd give all the wealth she left me

and a dozen times over to have her back with me.

Of course, of course.

The sentiment does you quit, sir.

Quite.

And now that I've met you, Mr. Post,

let me assure you that any doubts

I may have had in the matter entirely resolved.

Ah, I'm glad to hear it, Mr. Holmes.

You pardon my intrusion, but where do you understand?

We are indeed indeed indeed.

Good night, gentlemen.

Well, good night, sir.

Good night, Mr. Post.

Mm-hmm.

Pleasant puller.

Well, Holmes, I'm glad that your doubts of final air

being said at rest.

Yes.

Any lingering doubts I may have had

as to Sanders' innocence have now been completely removed.

Sanders' innocence?

Watson.

Does it occur to you that there's something

about our friend, Mr. Post, that doesn't quite ring true?

Oh, come, come, come home.

Seems to me a fine upstanding fuller.

But did you happen to notice his curious wave

pacing up and down?

Oh, the poem ends over a lot.

Probably can't keep still.

It's natural enough being a duck.

Ah, sitting room, Watson, is 23 feet in length,

with no obstructions in the area

where Mr. Post chose to do his pacing.

Yet he turned automatically again and again

at each end of what I estimate to be an eight-foot walk.

Eight-foot?

Oh, what are you driving at?

Eight-feet, Watson, happens to be exactly

the length of a prison cell.

And I got to Watson, what did Sherlock Holmes do

after he called your attention to the art behavior of Mr. Post?

Well, it was too late that night for us to do anything.

Although Holmes did send off a cable to Australia,

asking for all available information

from the mysterious Mr. Post.

But right and early in the next morning,

Holmes and I set off an handsome cab almost

before I'd finished my breakfast.

Our destination, being the Far Brigade Station,

nearest to late Mrs. Post's house.

You all convinced the fire was in Senderer, Captain?

No, no question, my mind.

It's all Mr. Holmes, brazing like a guy

forced peace at work by the time we got there.

After we finally had a wetting down,

there was a smell of penifinal oil

shone up to choke you all over the place.

So you were very rightly sent for the police?

Oh, I did that, sir.

Just as soon as I found that poor woman allowing dead

and her bed, all left of it.

Well, I thought she died of sobbing.

No, medical evidence.

It's been strangled for the first time.

It was clear enough.

I know, Dr. Richardson, the son of man, very son of man.

And it was you who found the cashbox, Captain?

Yes, Mr. Holmes.

Being of stout metal, it hadn't come to no harm.

Very odd fire like that.

Sometimes as a freakish way of burning

something to a crisp, leaving others all mutton damaged.

You think we often see an odd business?

I wish I could have inspected the house

the morning after the fire.

Watson, this shows you the disadvantage

of attempting to follow a cold trail.

Oh, I'm sure I don't know what you expect to find.

I don't know myself, but there must be something.

Perhaps you won't do any goodness, Holmes,

because it's a regular rag-bag collection of odds and ends.

But most of the things from Mrs. Post Bedroom

are right back there on that table in the corner.

Those who weren't too badly burned.

They want to have been thrown out this morning.

The police made us keep them until after the child.

Capital.

Capital, there you are.

Welcome to take a look at them, sir.

Shh.

Smells more like a selv itself.

You're a shopping collection.

And what is that horrible looking object?

A certain kind of a stuffed fish that was mounted on a plate.

It's his souvenir of Brighton.

And it was there with a pool in his horsehair pillow.

That's hard stuff to burn.

What's this?

Oh, a dragon with its covers burned off.

And an alarm clock that had been on the bureau

was still running when we picked it up as a better fact.

It was a surprise.

We picked it up as a better fact.

It was set from the owner's ear.

And this change looking change.

And now to be the late Mrs. Post Corseter,

all over the left of it.

Oh, the gruesome, I must say.

Makes me think of the relics.

We all have to leave behind when we shuffle off this bottle

coil.

Don't be morbid, Watson.

And he hears some silver that was on the dresser.

And he's pieces of the picture and base

and the silkish.

And we left the whole collection.

What must be learnt from that, eh, Holmes?

As I've told you on previous occasions, Watson,

you'll see, but you do not observe.

And what may I ask you to be observed

from this incineratory and odorous collection?

Only enough I trust to remove Robert Sanders

from the shadow of the gallows and to substitute

the estimate of Mr. Post in his place.

Good gracious may.

Would you be good enough Watson to ring for Mrs. Hudson?

No, right, Holmes, if you'd say so.

But how you expect to frighten Post

into confessing that he murdered his wife

and then set the house on fire while he was 50 miles away

in Brighton is beyond leave.

You were in possession of the same facts that I am Watson.

And since you know my methods,

you should be able to reach the same conclusions.

I must admit, come in.

Oh, you're right, Mr. Holmes.

We're expecting a visitor, Mrs. Hudson.

Mr. Post was here last night.

Oh, I remember him, sir.

A very nice gentleman.

He took me a shilling on his way out.

I have reason to think that he'll be here very shortly.

Will you show him up as soon as he arrives?

All right, sir.

You were saying I was about to say that the problem

no longer lies in the solution of the crime.

That, of course, is obvious to anyone.

Well, of course, certainly, obviously.

The difficulty is I happened to shred of evidence.

Therefore, the only possibility of justice being done

is through forcing a confession from Mr. Post

by suddenly facing him with an utterly unexpected reconstruction

of what actually happened.

I'd suggest Watson that you arm yourself

for your service revolver.

I have reason to think that Mr. Post may react violently.

I did and ready.

But I do think Holmes, and if you're so sure

that Post is the murderer, you might at least tell the police.

I very much doubt if Scotland Yard would admit itself

completely and the wrong without proof, which, of course,

I haven't got.

No, Watson, I'm coming in.

Good evening, Mr. Holmes.

Dr. Watson, good evening.

I received your note, Mr. Holmes, asking me to call on you

at once on the matter of the greatest importance.

I am sorry to trouble you at this hour of night, Mr. Post,

but there have been one or two puzzling questions

in connection with your wife's death,

which have been bothering Dr. Watson and myself.

But I thought you said last night that all your doubts

have been resolved.

They had, Mr. Post, but I didn't specify what doubts.

I'm afraid you're being a bit cryptic.

I must beg you, Mr. Holmes, to come to the point.

Very well, Mr. Post, let me present you a reconstruction

of what I can only term a highly ingenious crime.

I'm listening.

A certain man who, for the moment, shall be nameless,

meets and courts a wealthy woman, who, despite the handicap

of her death, is still attractive.

And, Mary, sir.

Very interesting, Mr. Holmes.

Then, ruthlessly, and in cold blood,

he strangles this poor, foolish, credulous woman,

knowing that under her will, he will inherit her fortune.

I know, you're insinuating, and I, then you are dead.

I admit nothing.

There's no reason why I have to stay here and listen

to you insult my wife's memory.

Sit down, Mr. Post.

You don't dare leave till you discover just how much I really

do know.

Very well, Mr. Holmes.

And just how does this man do what you say he did

without getting caught?

After he strangled her, and his other preparations have been made,

he stands in the front door of their house,

ostensibly waving goodbye to the wife

who already lies dead upon her bare arms.

Mrs. Robert said that the fond farewell is answered Watson,

by a curtain that moves in one of the front windows.

Who is there to know that the curtain

has merely moved up the twitch of a string

held in the murderous hand?

At least, Mr. Holmes, I must congratulate you

on your ingenuity.

But there were a couple of things the husband overlooked.

First, many his wife's pet cat.

Many comes to the back door, the usual hour.

Her plaintive search is scratching.

She's produced no result.

And why?

Because the wife, who usually feeds many,

already lies dead.

That's what you went home for it's tightly Watson,

after which the house is silent until midnight.

When suddenly a fire breaks forth,

a fire of such intensity is to consume

almost all the evidence of the crime.

And most important of all, a fire which

was meant to produce in the eye of the beholder

an unshakable alibi for the husband,

who at that moment was so far away.

The fact that scientists chose to break in that same night

was sheer good luck for the murderer.

For he gave the police a ready-made suspect.

And now let me ask you one question, Mr. Holmes.

Just how did the husband of whom you speak produce

this conflagration while he was at least 50 miles away?

Probably by means of some simple attachment connected

to the alarm clock in his wife's room,

which was set to go off at 12 midnight Watson,

not 12 noon as you surmised.

You'd heaven's homes, an attachment which

was later destroyed by the heat of the fire.

Very pretty piece of fiction, Mr. Holmes.

Of course it would never stand up in the court of law.

I'm not so sure, Mr. Postal Holmes.

I am.

After all, it would just be your word against mine.

Yes.

The word of Sherlock Holmes against that of an ex-convict.

Why, you two, whose previous wife

died in Australia under suspicious circumstances?

You listen to any more.

What's been said to sufficient?

They'll never get me because those are the two

no for this way you'll do it.

Yes, yes.

I killed my wife.

But you'll never see me.

Oh, no!

Nice work, Watson.

Is it bad to hurt?

I don't think so.

Just a flesh wound in his shoulder.

Not too hard for a few minutes at all.

He'll live, I'm afraid.

Watson, if you hadn't shot first,

oh, nothing would have been a whole, nothing at all,

don't mention it over.

Tell me, how did you ever deduce that whole story,

just from the fact that the cat didn't get her supper?

I didn't, Watson.

Oh, you said that the incident of the cat's supper

served to make me suspicious.

I only became certain at the fire station

when I saw the alarm clock.

But Holmes, I saw that alarm clock.

Seemed like a perfectly ordinary clock to me.

As I remarked before, Watson, you see, but you do not observe.

Why would a woman who is stone deaf have set an alarm clock

to wake in her 12 o'clock?

Well, of all of blind idiots.

Quite.

Now, chap, ring for Mrs. Hudson, will you?

I think, perhaps, the police might be interested in our friend, Mr. Post.

And was, Mr. Post convicted.

Dr. Watter, he was, Mr. Bell.

When he was confronted with the evidence in court,

plus the cable grab that Holmes had to see from Australia,

telling about post-trauma murky at past.

He went all the pieces, broke down and confessed everything.

Of course Robert Sanders was immediately set free.

I see.

Oh, oh, oh, oh.

Oh, oh, oh.

Tonight's new show, Our Combe's Adventure,

was suggested by an incident in Saratha Conan Doyle's story,

the Baskin Valley Mystery.

Nigel Bruce appeared by permission of California Pictures.

And Tom Conway's in the courtesy of Eagle Lion Pictures.

This is Joseph Bell speaking for Cremel Haertonic

and Cremel Shampoo.

Boom, boom, boom.