Sherlock Holmes Short Stories - A Study in Scarlet: Part Three

Episode Date: September 23, 2026

Inspectors Lestrade and Gregson each have their own prime suspect… but what will Sherlock Holmes make of their conclusions?  Part three of seven.  A Noiser podcast production. Narrated by Hugh Bonneville  Written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle Produced by Duncan Barrett Sound Design: Mirianna Pitman-Latham Assembly Edit: Cody Reynolds-Shaw, Cian Ryan-Morgan Sound Supervisor: Matt Peaty Compositions: Dorry Macaulay and Oliver Baines Mix & Mastering: Ralph Tittley Series Consultant: Dan Smith Executive Producer: Katrina Hughes   For ad-free listening and early access to new episodes, join Noiser+. Just click the subscription banner at the top of the feed to get started. Or go to noiser.com/subscriptions Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

I'm Hugh Bonneville and welcome to A Study in Scarlet, Part 3. Last time, Holmes and Watson paid a visit to the crime scene in Brixton, where the great detective made a number of discoveries. The footprints of a tall man wearing square-toed boots, who had evidently been let in without a struggle. A woman's wedding ring discarded on the floor near the body. And the German word, racher, smearer. in blood across the wall.

Now, Holmes and Watson have returned to Baker Street to ponder the case. From the Noyser Podcast Network, this is A Study in Scarlet, Part 3. Our morning's exertions had been too much for my weak health, and I was tired out in the afternoon. After Holmes' departure for the concert, I lay down upon the sofa and endeavored to get a couple of hours' sleep. It was a useless attempt. My mind had been too much excited by all that had occurred, and the strangest fancies and surmises crowded into it. Every time that I closed my eyes,

I saw before me the distorted, baboon-like countenance of the murdered man. So sinister was the impression which that face had produced upon me, that I found it difficult to feel anything but gratitude for him who had removed its owner from the world. If ever human features bespoke vice of the most malignant type, they were certainly those of Enoch J. Drebber of Cleveland. Still, I recognised that justice must be done and that the depravity of the victim was no condonement in the eyes of the law.

The more I thought of it, the more extraordinary did my companion's hypothesis that the man had been poisoned appear. I remembered how he had sniffed his lips and had had, no doubt that he had detected something which had given rise to the idea. Then again, if not poison, what had caused the man's death since there was neither wound nor marks of strangulation? But on the other hand, whose blood was that which lay so thickly upon the floor? There were no signs of a struggle, nor had the victim any weapon with which he might have wounded an antagonist. As long as all these questions were unsolved, I felt that sleep would be.

no easy matter, either for Holmes or myself. His quiet, self-confident manner convinced me that he had already formed a theory which explained all the facts, though what it was I could not for an instant conjecture. He was very late in returning, so late that I knew that the concert could not have detained him all the time. Dinner was on the table before he appeared. It was magnificent. He said as he took his seat. Do you remember what Darwin says about music? He claims that the power of producing and appreciating it existed among the human race long before the power of speech was arrived at.

Perhaps that is why we are so subtly influenced by it. There are vague memories in our souls of those misty centuries when the world was in its childhood. That's rather a broad idea, I remarked. One's ideas must be as broad as nature if they are to interpret nature, he answered. What's the matter? You're not looking quite yourself.

This Brixton Road affair has upset you? To tell you the truth, it has, I said. I ought to be more case-hardened after my Afghan experiences. I saw my own comrades hacked to pieces at my wand without losing my nerve. I can understand. There is a mystery about this which stimulates the imagination. Where there is no imagination, there is no horror. Have you seen the evening paper?

No. It gives a fairly good account of the affair. It does not mention the fact that when the man was raised up a woman's wedding ring fell upon the floor. It is just as well. It does not. Why? Look at this advertisement, he answered. I had one sent to every paper this morning immediately after the affair.

He threw the paper across to me, and I glanced. at the place indicated. It was the first announcement in the found column. In Brixton Road this morning, it ran, a plain gold wedding ring found in the roadway between the White Hart Tavern and Holland Grove, apply Dr. Watson, 221B Baker Street, between 8 and 9 this evening.

Excuse my using your name, he said. If I used my own, some of these Dunderheads would recognise it and want to meddle in the affair. That is all right, I answered. But supposing anyone applies, I have no ring. Oh, yes, you have, said he, handing me one. This will do very well. It is almost a facsimile.

And who do you expect will answer this advertisement? Why, the man in the brown coat, our florid friend with the square toes. If he does not come himself, he will send an accomplice. Would he not consider it as too dangerous? Not at all. If my view of the case is correct, and I have every reason to believe that it is, this man would rather risk anything than lose the ring.

According to my notion, he dropped it while stooping over Drebber's body and did not miss it at the time. After leaving the house, he discovered his loss and hurried back, but found the police already in possession, owing to his own folly and leaving the... the candle burning. He had to pretend to be drunk in order to allay the suspicions which might have been aroused by his appearance at the gate. Now, put yourself in that man's place.

On thinking the matter over, it must have occurred to him that it was possible that he had lost the ring in the road after leaving the house. What would he do then? He would eagerly look out for the evening papers in the hope of seeing it among the articles found. His eye, of course, would light upon this. He would be overjoyed. Why should he fear a trap? There would be no reason in his eyes why the finding of the ring should be connected with the murder. He would come. He will come. You shall see him within an hour. And then, I asked. Oh, you can leave me to deal with him then. Have you any arms? I have my old service revolver and a few cartridges. You have had better clean it and load it. He will be a desperate man, and though I shall take him unawares,

it is as well to be ready for anything. I went to my bedroom and followed his advice. When I returned with the pistol, the table had been cleared, and Holmes was engaged in his favourite occupation of scraping upon his violin. The plot thickens, he said as I entered. I have just had an answer to my American telegram. My view of the case is the correct one. And that is? I asked eagerly. My fiddle would be the better for new strings, he remarked. Put your pistol in your pocket. When the fellow comes, speak to him in an ordinary way. Leave the rest to me. Don't frighten him by looking at him too hard. It is eight o'clock now, I said, glancing at my watch.

Yes, he will probably be here in a few minutes. Open the door slightly. That will do. Now put the key on the inside. Thank you. This is a queer old book I picked up at a stall yesterday. De Jure Intergentes, published in Latin at Lège in the Lowlands in 1642. Charles's head was still firm on his shoulders when this little brown-backed volume was struck off. Who is the printer? Philippe de Croix, whoever he may have been, on the flyleaf in very faded ink, is written, Ex Libris Gulliolme White. I wonder who William White was. Some pragmatical 17th century lawyer, I suppose. His writing has a legal twist about it. Here comes our man, I think.

As he spoke, there was a sharp ring at the bell. Sherlock Holmes rose softly and moved his chair in the direction of the door. We heard the servant pass along the hall, and the sharp click of the latch. as she opened it. Does Dr. Watson live here? Asked a clear but rather harsh voice. We could not hear the servants reply,

but the door closed and someone began to ascend the stairs. The footfall was an uncertain and shuffling one. A look of surprise passed over the face of my companion as he listened to it. It came slowly along the passage and there was a feeble tap at the door. "'Come in,' I cried. "'At my summons, instead of the man of violence whom we expected,

"'a very old and wrinkled woman hobbled into the apartment. "'She appeared to be dazzled by the sudden blaze of light, "'and after dropping a curtsy she stood blinking at us with bleared eyes "'and fumbling in her pocket with nervous, shaky fingers. "'I glanced at my companion and his face had assumed such a disconsolate expression that it was all I could do to keep my countenance. The old crone drew out an evening paper and pointed at our advertisement.

It's this as has brought me, good gentleman, she said, dropping another curtsy. A gold wedding ring in the Brixton Road. It belongs to my girl, Sally, as was married only this time 12-month, which her husband is steward aboard a union boat, and what he'd say if he come home and found her without her ring is more than I can think he being short enough at the best of times, but more especially when he has the drink. If it please you, she went to the circus last night, along with... Is that her ring? I asked.

The Lord be thanked, cried the old woman. Sally will be a glad woman this night. That's the ring. And what may your address be, I inquired. taking up a pencil. Thirteen Duncan Street, Houndstitch, a weary way from here. The Brixton Road does not lie between any circus and Houndsditch, said Sherlock Holmes sharply.

The old woman faced round and looked keenly at him from her little red-rimmed eyes. The gentleman asked me for my address, she said. Sally lives in lodgings at three Mayfield Place, Peckham. And your name is. "'My name is Sawyer. Hers is Dennis, which Tom Dennis married her, "'and a smart, clean lad, too, as long as he's at sea, "'and no steward in the company more thought of.

"'But when on shore, what with the women, and what with liquor shops, "'here is your ring, Mrs. Sawyer,' I interrupted in obedience to a sign from my companion. "'It clearly belongs to your daughter, and I am glad to be able to restore it to the rightful owner. With many mumbled blessings and protestations of gratitude, the old crone packed it away in her pocket and shuffled off down the stairs. Sherlock Holmes sprang to his feet the moment she was gone and rushed into his room. He returned in a few seconds enveloped in an ulster and a cravat. I'll follow her, he said hurriedly.

She must be an accomplice and will lead me to him. Wait up for me. The hall door had hardly slammed behind our business. her before Holmes had descended the stair. Looking through the window, I could see her walking feebly along the other side, while her pursuer dogged her some little distance behind. Either this whole theory is incorrect, I thought to myself, or else he will be led now to the heart of the mystery. There was no need for him to ask me to wait up for him, for I felt that sleep was impossible until I heard the result of his adventure. I'm Julie Andrews, and it's

It is my great pleasure to return to Jane Austen Stories. This time I'll be reading another beloved classic Emma. Join me as we step into the village of Highbury, home to the handsome and clever Emma Woodhouse. But as new visitors arrive and quiet mysteries unfold, what will our strong-willed heroine learn, both of the secrets of others and of her own heart's desires. Listen to Jane Austen's stories now wherever you get your podcasts. It was close upon nine when he set out. I had no idea how long he might be,

but I sat stolidly puffing at my pipe and skipping over the pages of Henri Mourges' Vie de Bohem. Ten o'clock passed, and I heard the footsteps of the maid as they patted off to bed. "'11, and the more stately tread of the landlady "'past my door bound for the same destination. "'It was close upon twelve before I heard the sharp sound of his latch-key. "'The instant he entered I saw by his face "'that he had not been successful.

"'Amusement and chagrin seemed to be struggling for the mastery "'until the former suddenly carried the day "'and he burst into a hearty laugh. "'I wouldn't do it. "'Have the Scotland Yarders know it for the world,' he cried, dropping into his chair. "'I have chaffed them so much that they would never have let me hear the end of it. "'I can afford to laugh because I know that I will be even with them in the long run.' "'What is it, then?' I asked.

"'Oh, I don't mind telling a story against myself. "'That creature had gone a little way when she began to limp and show every sign of being "'foot-saw. "'Presently she came to a halt and hailed a four-wheeler which was passing. I managed to be close to her so as to hear the address, but I need not have been so anxious, for she sang it out loud enough to be heard at the other side of the street. Drive to 13 Duncan Street Houndstitch, she cried. This begins to look genuine, I thought, and having seen her safely inside, I perched myself behind.

That's an art which every detective should be an expert at. Well, away we rattled and never drew rain until we reached the street in question. I hopped off before we came to the door and strolled down the street in an easy, lounging way. I saw the cab pull up, the driver jumped down, and I saw him open the door and stand expectantly. Nothing came out, though. When I reached him, he was groping about frantically in the empty cab and giving vent to the finest assorted collection of oaths that ever I listened to. There was no sign or trace of his passenger, and I feared it will be some kind of. time before he gets his fare. On inquiring at number 13, we found that the house belonged to a

respectable paper-hanger named Kizek, and that no one of the name either of Sawyer or Dennis had ever been heard of there. You don't mean to say, I cried in amazement, that that tottering, feeble old woman was able to get out of the cab while it was in motion without either you or the driver seeing her? Old woman, bed damned, said Sherlock. Holmes sharply. We were the old women to be so taken in. It must have been a young man and an active one, too, besides being an incomparable actor. The get-up was inimitable. He saw that he was followed, no doubt, and used this means of giving me the slip. It shows that the man we are after is not as lonely as I imagined he was, but has friends who are ready to risk something for him.

Now, doctor, you are looking done up. Take my advice. and turn in. I was certainly feeling very weary, so I obeyed his injunction. I left Holmes seated in front of the smouldering fire, and long into the watches of the night I heard the low, melancholy wailings of his violin, and knew that he was still pondering over the strange problem which he had set himself to unravel. The papers next day were full of the Brixton mystery, as they termed it. Each had a long account of the affair, and some had leaders upon it in addition. There was some information in them which was new to me. I still retain in my scrapbook numerous clippings and extracts bearing upon the case. Here is a condensation of a few of them. The Daily Telegraph remarked that in the

history of crime, there had seldom been a tragedy which presented stranger features. The German name of the victim, the absence of all other motive, and the sinister inscription on the wall, all pointed to its perpetration by political refugees and revolutionists. The socialists had many branches in America, and the deceased had, no doubt, infringed their unwritten laws and been tracked down by them, after alluding airily to the Vemgericht, Aquitofana, Carbonari, the Marchioness de Bramvillier, the Darwinian theory, the principles of Malthus, and the Ratcliffe Highway murders, the article concluded by admonishing the government and advocating a closer watch over foreigners in England. The standard commented upon the fact that lawless outrages of the sort usually

occurred under a liberal administration. They arose from the unsettling of the minds of the masses and the consequent weakening of all authority. The deceased was, an American gentleman, who had been residing for some weeks in the metropolis. He had stayed at the boardinghouse of Madame Charpentier in Torquay Terrace Camberwell. He was accompanied in his travels by his private secretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson. The two bade adieu to their landlady upon Tuesday the 4th, and departed to Houston Station with the avowed intention of catching the Liverpool Express. They were afterwards seen together upon the platform.

Nothing more is known of them until Mr Drebber's body was, as recorded, discovered in an empty house in the Brixton Road, many miles from Houston. How he came there, or how he met his fate, are questions which are still involved in mystery. Nothing is known of the whereabouts of Stangerson. We are glad to learn that Mr. Lestrade and Mr. Gregson of Scotland Yard are both engaged upon the case, and it is confidently anticipated that these well-known officers, will speedily throw light upon the matter. The Daily News observed that there was no doubt as to the crime being a political one.

The despotism and hatred of liberalism which animated the continental governments had had the effect of driving to our shores a number of men who might have made excellent citizens, were they not soured by the recollection of all that they had undergone? Among these men there was a stringent code of honour, any infringement of which was punished by death. Every effort should be made to find the secretary, Stangerson, and to ascertain some particulars of the habits of the deceased. A great step had been gained by the discovery of the address of the house at which he had boarded,

a result which was entirely due to the acuteness and energy of Mr. Gregson of Scotland Yard. This September on the Noiser podcast network, On Jane Austen's stories, Dame Julie Andrews continues to bring Austin's beloved classic Emma to life. On short history of, we're in medieval England for the fascinating story of the peasants' revolt, and 25 years on from 9-11 were on the ground in New York City. On real survival stories, we're on a luscious winery in Northwest America, and venturing into a missile silo in the dead of night as the US is threatened with nuclear disaster. And in Sherlock Holmes short stories, get two episodes each week as Hugh Bonneville explores Conan Doyle's great novel, a study in Scarlet.

Get all of these shows and more early and ad-free on Noiser Plus. Sherlock Holmes and I read these notices over together at breakfast, and they appeared to afford him considerable amusement. I told you that whatever happened, Lestrade and Gregson would be sure to score. Well, that depends on how it turns out. out. Oh, bless you, it doesn't matter in the least. If the man is caught, it will be on account of their exertions. If he escapes, it will be in spite of their exertions. Its heads I win and tails you lose. Whatever they do, they will have followers. We'll show, en plus so he admire. What in earth is this? I cried, for at this moment there came the pattering of many

steps in the hall and on the stairs, accompanied by audible expressions of disgust upon the part of our landlady. It's the Baker Street Division of the Detective Police Force. And as he spoke, there rushed into the room half a dozen of the dirtiest and most ragged street urchins that ever I clapped eyes on. Tension! cried Holmes in a sharp tone, and the six dirty little scoundrel stood in a line like so many disreputable statuettes. In future, you shall send up Wiggins alone to report, and the rest of you must wait in the street. Have you found it, Wiggins? No, sir, we hanged, said one of the youths. I had hardly expected you would. You must keep on until you do. Here are your wages.

He handed each of them a shilling. Now, off you go, and come back with a better report next time. He waved his hand, and they scampered away downstairs like so many rats, and we heard their shrill voices next moment in the street. There's more work to be got out of one of those little beggars than out of a dozen of the force, Holmes remarked. The mere sight of an official-looking person seals men's lips. These youngsters, however, go everywhere and hear everything. They are as sharp as needles, too.

All they want is organisation. Is it on this Brixton case that you are employing them, I asked? Yes. There is a point which I wish to ask. attain. It is merely a matter of time. Hello? We are going to hear some news now with a vengeance. Here is Gregson coming down the road with beatitude written upon every feature of his face. Bound for us, I know. Yes, he is stopping. There he is. There was a violent peal at the bell. And in a few seconds the fair-haired detective came up the stairs, three steps at a time, and burst into

to our sitting-room. My dear fellow, he cried, ringing Holmes' unresponsive hand. Congratulate me. I have made the whole thing as clear as day. A shade of anxiety seemed to me to cross my companion's expressive face. Do you mean that you are on the right track? he asked. The right track, why, sir? We have the man under lock and key. And his name is? Arthur Charpentier, sub-lieutenant in Her Majesty's Navy, cried Gregson pompously, rubbing his fat hands and inflating his chest.

Sherlock Holmes gave a sigh of relief and relaxed into a smile. Take a seat and try one of these cigars, he said. We are anxious to know how you managed it. Will you have some whiskey and water? I don't mind if I do, the detective. answered. The tremendous exertions which I have gone through during the last day or two have worn me out. Not so much bodily exertion, you understand, as the strain upon the mind. You will appreciate that, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, for we are both brain workers.

You do me too much honour, said Holmes gravely. Let us hear how you arrived at this most gratifying result. The detective seated himself in the armchair and puffed complacently at his cigar. Then, suddenly, he slapped his thigh in a paroxysm of amusement. The fun of it is, he cried, that that fool, Lestrade, who thinks himself so smart, has gone off upon the wrong track altogether.

He is after the secretary, Stangerson, who had no more to do with the crime than the babe unborn. I have no doubt that he has caught him. by this time. The idea tickled Gregson so much that he laughed until he choked. And how did you get your clue? Ah, I'll tell you all about it.

Of course, Dr. Watson, this is strictly between ourselves. The first difficulty which we had to contend with was the finding of this American's antecedents. Some people would have waited until their advertisements were answered or until parties came forward and volunteered information, that is not Tobias Gregson's way of going to work. You remember the hat beside the dead man. Yes, said Holmes, by John Underwood and Sons' 129 Camberwell Road.

Gregson looked quite crestfallen. I had no idea that you noticed that, he said. Have you been there? No. Ah! cried Gregson in a relieved voice. You should never know. Neglect a chance, however small it may seem. To a great mind, nothing is little, remarked home sententiously.

Well, I went to Underwood and asked him if he had sold a hat of that size and description. He looked over his books and came on it at once. He had sent the hat to a Mr. Drebber residing at Charpentier's boarding establishment Torquay Terrace. Thus I got at his address. "'smart, very smart,' murmured Sherlock Holmes. "'I next called upon Madame Charpentier,' continued the detective. "'I found her very pale and distressed. "'Her daughter was in the room, too. "'An uncommonly fine girl she is, too.

"'She was looking red about the eyes, "'and her lips trembled as I spoke to her. "'That didn't escape my notice. "'I began to smell a rat. "'You know the feeling, Mr Sherlock Holmes, "'when you come upon the rights. scent, a kind of thrill in your nerves. Have you heard of the mysterious death of your late border, Mr. Enoch J. Drebber of Cleveland?

The mother nodded. She didn't seem able to get out a word. The daughter burst into tears. I felt more than ever that these people knew something of the matter. At what o'clock did Mr. Drebber leave your house for the train? At eight o'clock? she said, gulping in her throat to keep down her agitation. His secretary, Mr. Stangerson, said that there were two trains, one at nine-fifteen and one at eleven.

He was to catch the first. And was that the last which you saw of him? A terrible change came over the woman's face as I asked the question. Her features turned perfectly livid. It was some seconds before she could get out the single word, Yes, and when it did come it was in a husky unnatural tone. There was silence for a moment, and then the daughter spoke in a calm, clear voice. No good can ever come of falsehood mother, she said.

Let us be frank with this gentleman. We did see Mr. Drebber again. God forgive you, cried Madame Charpentier, throwing up her hands and sinking back in her chair. You have murdered your brother. Arthur would rather that we spoke the truth, the girl answered firmly. You had best tell me all about it now, I said. Half confidences are worse than none.

Besides, you do not know how much we know of it. On your head be it Alice, cried her mother. And then, turning to me, I will tell you all, sir. Do not imagine that my agitation on behalf of my son arises from any fear lest he should have had a hand in this terrible affair. He is utterly innocent of it. My dread is, however,

that in your eyes and in the eyes of others he may appear to be compromised. That, however, is surely impossible. His high character, his profession, his antecedents would all forbid it. "'Your best way is to make a clean breast of the facts,' I answered. "'Depend upon it. If your son is innocent, he will be none the worse.' "'Perhaps, Alice, you had better leave us together,' she said, and her daughter withdrew.

"'Now, sir,' she continued, "'I had no intention of telling you all this, but since my poor daughter has disclosed it, I have no alternative. Having once decided to speak, I will tell you all without omitting any particular. It is your wisest course, said I. Mr. Drebber has been with us nearly three weeks. He and his secretary, Mr. Stangerson, had been traveling on the continent. I noticed a Copenhagen label upon each of their trunks,

showing that that had been their last stopping place. Stangerson was a quiet reserved man, but his employer, I am sorry to say, was far otherwise. He was coarse in his habits and brutish in his ways. The very night of his arrival he became very much the worse for drink, and indeed after 12 o'clock in the day he could hardly ever be said to be sober. His manners towards the maid servants were disgustingly free and familiar. Worst of all, he speedily assumed the same attitude towards my daughter, Alice, and spoke to her more than once in a way which, fortunately, she is too innocent to understand.

On one occasion he actually seized her in his arms and embraced her, an outrage which caused his own secretary to reproach him for his unmanly conduct. But why did you stand all this, I asked. I suppose that you can get rid of your borders when you wish. Mrs. Charpentier blushed at my pertinent question. Would to God that I had given him notice on the very day that he came, she said. But it was a sore temptation. They were paying a pound a day each, fourteen pounds a week,

and this is the slack season. I am a widow, and my boy in the Navy has cost me much. I grudged to lose the money. I acted for the best. This last was too much, however, and I gave him notice to leave on account of it. That was the reason of his going. Well, my heart grew light when I saw him drive away. My son is on leave just now, but I did not tell him anything of all this, for his temper is violent, and he is passionately fond of his sister. When I closed the door behind them, a load seemed to be lifted from my mind. Alas, in less than an hour there was a ring at the bell, and I learned that Mr. Drebber had returned.

He was much excited and evidently the worse for drink. He forced his way into the room where I was sitting with my daughter and made some incoherent remark about having missed his train. He then turned, to Alice, and before my very face, proposed to her that she should fly with him. You are of age, he said, and there is no law to stop you. I have money enough and to spare. Never mind the old girl here, but come along with me now, straight away. You shall live like a princess. Poor Alice was so frightened that she shrunk away from him.

but he caught her by the wrist and endeavored to draw her towards the door. I screamed, and at that moment my son Arthur came into the room. What happened then I do not know. I heard oaths and the confused sounds of a scuffle was too terrified to raise my head. When I did look up,

I saw Arthur standing in the doorway laughing with a stick in his hand. I don't think that fine fellow will trouble us again. I will just go after him and see what he does with himself. With those words, he took his hat and started off down the street. The next morning, we heard of Mr. Drebber's mysterious death. This statement came from Mrs. Charpentier's lips with many gasps and pauses. At times, she spoke so low that I could hardly catch the words. I made shorthand notes of all that she said, however, so that there should be no possibility of her mistake. This September, on the Noiser Podcast Network. On Jane Austen stories, Dame Julie Andrews continues to bring Austin's beloved classic Emma to life. On short history of, we're in

medieval England for the fascinating story of the Peasants' Revolt. And 25 years on from 9-11, were on the ground in New York City. On real survival stories, we're on a luscious winery in Northwest America and venturing into a missile silo in the dead of night as the US is threatened with nuclear disaster. And in Sherlock Holmes short stories, get two episodes each week as Hugh Bonneville explores Conan Doyle's great novel, A Study in Scarlet.

Get all of these shows and more early and ad-free on Noiser Plus. It's quite exciting, said Sherlock Holmes with a youth. yawn. What happened next? When Mrs. Charpentier paused, the detective continued, I saw that the whole case hung upon one point. Fixing her with my eye in a way which I always found effective with women, I asked her at what hour her son returned. I do not know, she answered.

Not no? No, he has a latch-key, and he let himself. in. After you went to bed? Yes. When did you go to bed? About eleven. So your son was gone at least two hours? Yes. Possibly four or five? Yes. What was he doing during that time? I do not know, she answered, turning white to her very lips. Of course, after that, there was nothing more to be done. I found out where Lieutenant Charpentier was, took two officers with me and arrested him. When I touched him on the shoulder and warned him to come quietly with us,

he answered us as bold as brass, I suppose you are arresting me for being concerned in the death of that scoundrel Drebber. We said nothing to him about it, so that his alluding to it had a most suspicious aspect. Very, said Holmes. He still carried the heavy stick, which the mother described him as having with him when he followed Drebber. It was a stout oak cudgel.

What is your theory then? Well, my theory is that he followed Drebber as far as the Brixton Road. When there a fresh altercation arose, between them in the course of which Drebber received a blow from the stick, in the pit of the stomach perhaps, which killed him without leaving any mark. The night was so wet that no one was about, so Charpentier dragged the body of his victim into the empty house. As to the candle and the blood and the writing on the wall and the ring,

they may all be so many tricks to throw the police onto the wrongs, "'Well done,' said Holmes in an encouraging voice. "'Really, Gregson, you are getting along. "'We shall make something of you yet.' "'I flatter myself that I have managed it rather neatly,' "'the detective answered proudly. "'The young man volunteered a statement in which he said "'that after following Drebber some time,

"'the latter perceived him and took a cab in order to get away from him. On his way home, he met an old shipmate and took a long walk with him. On being asked where this old shipmate lived, he was unable to give any satisfactory reply. I think the whole case fits together uncommonly well. What amuses me is to think of Lestrade, who had started off upon the wrong scent. I am afraid he won't make much of it. Why, by Joe, here's the... the very man himself. It was indeed Lestrade, who had ascended the stairs while we were talking,

and who now entered the room. The assurance and jauntiness, which generally marked his demeanour and dress, were, however, wanting. His face was disturbed and troubled, while his clothes were disarranged and untidy. He had evidently come with the intention of consulting with Sherlock Holmes, for on perceiving his colleague he appeared to be embarrassed and put out. He stood in the centre of the room fumbling nervously with his hat and uncertain what to do. "'This is a most extraordinary case,' he said at last. "'A most incomprehensible affair.' "'Ah, you find it so, Mr. Lestrade,' cried Gregson triumphantly.

"'I thought you would come to that conclusion. "'Have you managed to find the secretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson?' The secretary, Mr Joseph Stangerson, said Lestrade gravely, was murdered at Halliday's private hotel about six o'clock this morning. Next time, in a study in Scarlet, with Gregson's prime suspect exonerated, and Lestrard's stabbed to death, Holmes attempts to steer the police in a new direction. The discovery of a bottle of pills at the second crime scene leads to a shock. shocking scientific experiment.

And the great detective finally lays his hands on the murderer. That's next time. Can't wait until the next episode? Well, listen to it right away by subscribing to Noyser Plus. Head to

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