Sherlock Holmes Short Stories - The Adventure of Shoscombe Old Place: Part Two

Episode Date: August 12, 2026

Holmes and Watson arrive in Berkshire, tackle in hand, ready for a spot of fishing. But the great detective has his eye on a bigger catch than those found in the lake of Shoscombe Old Place. A Noiser podcast production.   Narrated by Hugh Bonneville  Written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle Produced by Duncan Barrett Script Supervisor: Chris McDonald Sound Design and Audio Editing by Tony Onuchukwu Sound Supervisor: Tom Pink 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

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Welcome to Sherlock Holmes short stories. I'm Hugh Bonneville and from the Noiser podcast network, this is The Adventure of Shoshcombe Old Place, part two. Last time, Holmes and Watson were drawn to a grand estate in Berkshire. Shoscombe Old Place is home to one of the finest racing stables in the country. But Sir Robert Norberton faces ruin. If his prized horse, Shoscombe Prince, fails to win the upcoming Derby. He's up to his neck in debt,

and the house itself belongs to his invalid sister, Beatrice. When she dies, it will revert to her late husband's family, leaving Sir Robert both penniless and homeless. It's Shostcom's head groom, John Mason, who has brought in Sherlock Holmes to investigate. As far as he's concerned, Sir Robert's financial problems are the least sinister part of the whole affair. His master's behaviour is growing increasingly erratic, following a rumoured affair with his sister's maid.

Lady Beatrice is barely seen any more. Her beloved dog has been given away to a local innkeeper, and the charred remains of a human leg bone have been found in the furnace underneath her bedroom. And then there's the mysterious nighttime visitor who's been skulking around the family crypt, where yet, More bones have recently appeared. Holmes will have to dig past several layers of rumour and scandal if he's to uncover the shocking truth buried beneath. Because at Shostcombe Old Place, not everything, or everyone, is what they seem. We pick up the story as Holmes and Watson are en route to a local pub,

The Green Dragon, ostensibly for a fishing holiday. Thus it was that on a bright May evening, Holmes and I found ourselves alone in a first-class carriage and bound for the little Halt-on-demand station of Shostcombe. The rack above us was covered with a formidable litter of rods, reels and baskets. On reaching our destination, a short drive took us to an old-fashioned tavern, where a sporting host Josiah Barnes entered eagerly into our plans for the extirpation of the fish of the neighbourhood.

What about the whole lake and the chance of a pike? said Holmes. The face of the innkeeper clouded. That wouldn't do, sir. You might chance to find yourself in the lake before you were through. How's that then? It's Sir Robert, sir.

He's terrible jealous of touts. If you two strange, "'Cangers were as near his training quarters as that. "'He'd be after you as sure as fate. "'He ain't taking no chances, Sir Robert ain't. "'I've heard he has a horse entered for the Derby. "'Yes, and a good cult, too. "'He carries all our money for the race

"'and all Sir Roberts into the bargain. "'By the way,' he looked at us with thoughtful eyes, "'I suppose you ain't on the turf yourselves?' "'No, indeed, just too. weary Londoners who badly need some good Bakshah air. Well, you are in the right place for that. There is a deal of it lying about. But mind what I have told you about, Sir Robert. He's the sort that strikes first and speaks afterwards. Keep clear of the park. Surely, Mr. Barnes, we certainly shall. By the way, that was a most beautiful spaniel that was whining in the hall.

I should say it was That was the real Soscom breed There ain't a better in England I am a dog fancier myself Said Holmes Now if it is a fair question What would a prize dog like that cost Oh

More than I could pay, sir It was Sir Robert himself who gave me this one That's why I have to keep it on a lead It would be off to the hall and a jiffy If I gave it its head We are getting some some cards in our hand, Watson, said Holmes, when the landlord had left us. It's not an easy one to play, but we may see our way in a day or two.

By the way, Sir Robert is still in London, I hear. We might perhaps enter the sacred domain tonight without fear of bodily assault. There are one or two points on which I should like reassurance. Have you any theory, Holmes? Only this, Watson, that something happened a week or something. ago which has cut deep into the life of the Shostcombe household. What is that something? We can only guess at it from its effects. They seem to be of a curiously mixed character. But that should surely help us. It is only the colourless, uneventful case which is hopeless. Let us consider

our dutter. The brother no longer visits the beloved invalid sister. He gives away her favourite dog. Her dog, Watson. Does that suggest nothing to you? Nothing but the brother's spite. Well, it might be so. Or, well, there is an alternative. Now, to continue our review of the situation from the time that the quarrel, if there is a quarrel, began. The lady keeps her room, alters her habits, is not seen, save when she drives out with her made, refuses to stop at the stables to greet her favourite horse, and apparently takes to drink. That covers the case, does it not? Save for the business in the crypt.

That is another line of thought. There are two, and I beg you will not tangle them. Line A, which concerns Lady Beatrice, has a vaguely sinister flavour, has it not? I can make nothing of it. Well, now, let us take up line B, which can tell us. concerns Sir Robert. He is mad keen upon winning the Derby. He may at any moment be sold up and his racing stables seized by his creditors. He is a daring and desperate man. He derives his income from his sister. His sister's maid is his willing tool. So far we seem to be on fairly safe ground,

do we not? But the crypt. Ah, yes, the crypt. Let us suppose, Watson, it is merely a scound. It is The scandalous supposition, a hypothesis put forward for argument's sake, that Sir Robert has done away with his sister. My dear Holmes, it is out of the question. Very possibly, Watson. Sir Robert is a man of an honourable stock, but you do occasionally find a carrion crow among the eagles. Let us for a moment argue upon this supposition. He could not fly the country until he had realised his fortune, and that fortune could only be realised. by bringing off this coup with Shostom Prince.

Therefore, he has still to stand his ground. To do this, he would have to dispose of the body of his victim, and he would also have to find a substitute who would impersonate her. With the maid, as his confidante, that would not be impossible. The woman's body might be conveyed to the crypt, which is a place so seldom visited, and it might be secretly destroyed at night in the furnace, leaving behind it such evidence as we have already seen.

What say you to that, Watson? Well, it is all possible if you grant the original monstrous supposition. I think that there is a small experiment which we may try tomorrow, Watson, in order to throw some light on the matter. Meanwhile, if we mean to keep up our characters, I suggest that we have our host in for a glass of his own wine and hold some high converse upon eels and dace, which seems to be the straight road to his affections.

We may chance to come upon some useful local gossip in the process. In the morning, Holmes discovered that we had come without our spoon-bait for Jack, which absolved us from fishing for the day. About eleven o'clock we started for a walk, and he obtained leave to take the black spaniel with us. This is the place, said he. as we came to two high park gates with heraldic griffins towering above them.

About midday, Mr. Barnes informs me, the old lady takes a drive, and the carriage must slow down while the gates are opened. When it comes through, and before it gathers speed, I want you, Watson, to stop the coachman with some question. Never mind me, I shall stand behind this holly bush

and see what I can see. This episode is brought to you by Accenture. When your advertising operations fall out of sync, everything else follows. Spotify and Accenture are working together to reinvent the rhythm of ad sales, using automation, analytics, and smarter workflows to simplify campaign delivery and access better data across the business. The result? Less time spent on operations, more time connecting brands with the moments and fandoms that matter most. Learn more at Accenture.com slash Spotify. It was not a long vigil. With In a quarter of an hour, we saw the big open yellow barouche coming down the long avenue,

with two splendid, high-stepping grey carriage horses in the shafts. Holmes crouched behind his bush with the dog. I stood unconcernedly swinging a cane in the roadway. A keeper ran out and the gates swung open. The carriage had slowed to a walk, and I was able to get a good look at the occupants. A highly coloured young woman with flaxen hair and impover. impudent eyes sat on the left. At her right was an elderly person with rounded back and a huddle of shawls about her face

and shoulders which proclaimed the invalid. When the horses reached the high road, I held up my hand with an authoritative gesture, and as the coachman pulled up, I inquired if Sir Robert was at Shoscombe Old Place. At the same moment, Holmes stepped out and released the Spaniard. With a joyous cry, it dashed forward to the carriage and sprang upon the step. Then, in a moment, its eager greeting changed to furious rage, and it snapped at the black skirt above it. Drive on. Drive on!

Shrieked a harsh voice. The coachman lashed the horses, and we were left standing in the roadway. Well, Watson, that's done it, said Holmes, as he fastened the lead to the neck of the excited Spanish. He thought it was his mistress, and he found it was a stranger. Dogs don't make mistakes. But it was the voice of a man, I cried. Exactly. We have added one card to our hand, Watson,

but it needs careful playing all the same. My companion seemed to have no further plans for the day, and we did actually use our fishing tackle in the mill stream with the result that we had a dish of trout for our sapper. It was only after that meal that Holmes showed signs of renewed activity. Once more, we found ourselves upon the same road as in the morning, which led us to the park gates. A tall, dark figure was awaiting us there, who proved to be our London acquaintance, Mr. John Mason, the trainer. Good evening, gentlemen, said he.

I got your note, Mr. Holmes. Sir Robert has not returned yet, but I hear that he is expected tonight. "'How far is this crypt from the house?' asked Holmes. "'A good quarter of a mile. "'Then I think we can disregard him altogether. "'I can't afford to do that, Mr. Holmes. "'The moment he arrives he will want to see me "'to get the last news of Shostcombe Prince.

"'I see. In that case, we must work without you, Mr. Mason. "'You can show us the crypt and then leave us.' "'It was pitch dark and without a moon.' But Mason led us over the grasslands until a dark mass loomed up in front of us, which proved to be the ancient chapel. We entered the broken gap, which was once the porch, and our guide, stumbling among heaps of loose masonry, picked his way to the corner of the building,

where a steep stare led down into the crypt. Striking a match, he illuminated the melancholy place, dismal and evil-smelling, with ancient crumbling walls of rough-hewn stone and piles of coffins. Some of lead and some of stone, extending upon one side right up to the arched and groined roof, which lost itself in the shadows above our heads. Holmes had lit his lantern, which shot a tiny tunnel of vivid yellow light upon the mournful scene. Its rays were reflected back from the coffin plates, many of them adorned with the the griffin and coronet of this old family, which carried its honours even to the gate of death.

You spoke of some bones, Mr. Mason. Could you show them before you go? They are here in this corner. The trainer strode across and then stood in silent surprise as our light was turned upon the place. They are gone, said he. So I expected, said Holmes chuckling. I fancy the ashes of them might even now be found in that oven which had already consumed a part. But why in the world would anyone want to burn the bones of a man who has been dead a thousand years? asked John Mason.

That is what we are here to find out, said Holmes. It may mean a long search, and we need not detain you. I fancied that we shall get our solution before morning. When John Mason had left us, Holmes set to work, making a very careful examination of the graves, ranging from a very ancient one, which appeared to be Saxon, in the centre, through a long line of Norman, Hugues and Odos, until we reached the Sir William and Sir Dennis Folder of the 18th century. It was an hour or more before Holmes came to a leaden coffin, standing on end before the entrance to the vault. I heard his little cry of satisfaction and was aware from his hurried but purposeful movements

that he had reached a goal. With his lens he was eagerly examining the edges of the heavy lid. Then he drew from his pocket a short jemmy, a box opener, which he thrust into a chink, levering back the whole front, which seemed to be secured by only a couple of clamps. There was a rending, tearing sound as it gave way, but it had hardly hinged back and partly revealed the contents

before we had an unforeseen interruption. Someone was walking in the chapel above. It was the firm, rapid step of one who came with a definite purpose and knew well the ground upon which he walked. A light streamed down the stairs, and an instant later the man who bore it was framed in the Gothic archway. He was a terrible figure, huge insisting. stature and fierce in manner. A large stable lantern which he held in front of him shone upward

upon a strong, heavily-mastached face and angry eyes, which glared round him into every recess of the vault, finally fixing themselves with a deadly stare upon my companion and myself. "'Who the devil are you?' he thundered. "'And what are you doing upon my property?' Then, as Holmes returned no answer, he took a couple of steps forward and raised a heavy stick which he carried. Do you hear me? He cried.

Who are you? What are you doing here? His cudgel quivered in the air. But instead of shrinking, Holmes advanced to meet him. I also have a question to ask you, Sir Robert, he said in his sternest tone. Who is this? And what is it doing here? He turned and tore open the coffin lid behind him.

In the glare of the lantern, I saw a body swathed in a sheet from head to foot, with dreadful, witch-like features all nose and chin projecting at one end, the dim, glazed eyes staring from a discoloured and crumbling face. The baronet had staggered back with a cry, and supported himself against a stone sarcophagus. "'How came you can know of this?' he cried. and then with some return of his truculent manner. What business is it of yours? My name is Sherlock Holmes, said my companion.

Possibly it is familiar to you. In any case my business is that of every other good citizen to uphold the law. It seems to me that you have much to answer for. Sir Robert glared for a moment, but Holmes's quiet voice and, cool, assured manner had their effect. For God, Mr. Holmes, it's all right, said he.

Appearances are against me, I'll admit, but I could act no otherwise. I should be happy to think so, but I fear your explanations must be before the police. Sir Robert shrugged his broad shoulders. Well, if it must be, it must be. Come up to the house and you can judge for yourself how the matter stands. This episode is brought to you by Accenture. When your advertising operations fall out of sync, everything else follows. Spotify and Accenture are working together to reinvent the rhythm of ad sales,

using automation, analytics, and smarter workflows to simplify campaign delivery and access better data across the business. The result? Less time spent on operations, more time connecting brands with the moments and fandoms that matter most. Learn more at Accenture.com slash Spotify. A quarter of an hour later, we found ourselves in what I judge from the lines of polished barrels behind glass covers to be the gunroom of the old house. It was comfortably furnished, and here Sir Robert left us for a few moments. When he returned, he had two companions with him,

the one, the florid young woman whom we had seen in the carriage, the other, a small rat-faced man with a disagreeably furtive manner. These two wore an appearance of utter bewilderment, which showed that the baronet had not yet had time to explain to them the turn events had taken. "'There,' said Sir Robert with a wave of his hand, "'Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Norlet, Mrs. Norlott, under her maiden name of Evans, has for some years been my sister's confidential maid. I have brought them here because I feel that my best course is to explain the true position to you, and they are the two people upon earth who can substantiate what I say.

Is this necessary, Sir Robert? Have you thought what you were doing? cried the woman. As to me, I entirely disclaim all responsibility, said her husband. Sir Robert gave him a glance of contempt. I will take all responsibility, said he. Now, Mr. Holmes, listen to a plain statement of the facts. You have clearly gone pretty deeply into my affairs, or I should not have found you where I did.

Therefore, you know, already, in all probability, that I am running a dark horse for the Derby, and that everything depends upon my success. If I win, all is easy. If I lose... Well, I dare not think of that. I understand the position, said Holmes. I am dependent upon my sister, Lady Beatrice, for everything. But it is well known that her interest in the estate is for her own life only.

For myself, I am deeply in the hands of the Jews. I have always known that if my sister were to die, my creditors would be on to my estate like a flock of vouchers. Everything would be seized My stables, my horses, for everything Well, Mr. Holmes My sister did die Just a week ago And you told no one

What could I do? Absolute ruin faced me If I could stave things off For three weeks, all would be well Her maid's husband, this man here is an actor It came into our heads it came into my head, that he could, for that short period, personate my sister. It was but a case of appearing daily in the carriage, for no one need enter her room save the maid.

It was not difficult to arrange. My sister died of the dropsy, which had long afflicted her. That will be for a coroner to decide. Her doctor would certify that for months her symptoms have threatened. such an end. Well, what did you do? The body could not remain there. On the first night, Norlet and I carried it out to the old wellhouse, which is now never used. We were followed, however, by her pet spaniel, which yapped continually at the door, so I felt some safer place was needed. I got rid of the spaniel, and we carried the body to the crypt of the church. There

was no indignity or irreverence, Mr. Holmes. I do not feel that I have wronged the dead. Your conduct seems to me inexcusable, Sir Robert. The baronet shook his head impatiently. It is easy to preach, said he. Perhaps you would have felt differently if you had been in my position. One cannot see all one's hopes and all one's plans shattered at the last moment and make no effort to save them. It seemed to me that it would be no unworthy resting place if we put her for the time in one of the coffins of her husband's ancestors, lying in what is still consecrated ground. We opened such a coffin, removed the contents, and placed her as you have seen her. As to the old relics which we took out, we could not leave them on the floor of the crypt. Norlett and I removed them, and he descended at night and burned them in the central furnace.

There is my story, Mr. Holmes. Oh, how you forced my hand, so that I have to tell it is more than I can say. Holmes sat for some time, lost in thought. There is one flaw in your narrative, Sir Robert. he said at last. Your bets on the race, and therefore your hopes for the future, would hold good even if your creditors seized your estate. The horse would be part of the estate.

What do they care for, my bets? As likely as not they would not run him at all. My chief creditor is, unhappily, my most bitter enemy, a rascally fellow, Sam Brewer, whom I was once compelled to horsewhip on Newmarket Heath. Do you suppose that he would try to save me? Well, Sir Robert, said Holmes, rising. This matter must, of course, be referred to the police.

It was my duty to bring the facts to light, and there I must leave it. As to the morality or decency of your conduct, it is not for me to express an opinion. It is nearly midnight, Watson, and I think we may make our way back to our humble abode. It is generally known now that this singular episode ended upon a happier note than Sir Robert's actions deserved. Shostcombe Prince did win the Derby. The sporting owner did net 80,000 pounds in bets, and the creditors did hold their hand until the race was over.

when they were paid in full, and enough was left to re-establish Sir Robert in a fair position in life. Both police and coroner took a lenient view of the transaction, and beyond a mild censure for the delay in registering the lady's decease, the lucky owner got away scathless from this strange incident, in a career which has now outlived its shadows, and promises to end in an honored old age. Next time, on Sherlock Holmes short stories, Holmes and Watson receive a visit from the captain of the Cambridge rugby team. His star player has vanished without a trace, just before a critical match against Oxford.

No note, no clue, only a mysterious telegram and a trail that seems to lead nowhere. As Holmes and Watson pursue the missing athlete, from the bustling streets of London to the quiet cloisters of Cambridge, they uncover a secret far more tragic than either of them could have expected. That's next time. Can't wait a week until the next episode? Well, listen to it right away by subscribing to Noyser Plus.

Head to www.noyser.com slash subscriptions for more information, or click the link in the episode description. This episode is brought to you by Accenture. When your advertising operations fall out of sync, everything else follows. Spotify and Accenture are working together to reinvent the rhythm of ad sales, using automation, analytics, and smarter workflows to simplify campaign delivery and access better data across the business. The result?

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