Sherlock Holmes Short Stories - The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans: Part Three

Episode Date: February 27, 2025

As a thick fog settles over London, Holmes and Watson break into a spy’s home on a quiet street in Kensington. There, they discover a series of cryptic messages, and the true nature of the conspiracy comes to light. In a final bid to get the Bruce-Partington plans back before they fall into enemy hands, Holmes sets a dangerous trap for the traitors.  A Noiser production, written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Narrated by Hugh Bonneville Produced by Katrina Hughes and Addison Nugent Sound Design and Audio Editing by Miri Latham, Anisha Deva and George Tapp Compositions: Dorry Macaulay and Oliver Baines Mix & Mastering: Cody Reynolds-Shaw and Liam Cameron Series Consultant: Dan Smith For ad-free listening and early access to new episodes, join Noiser+. Click the Noiser+ banner to get started. Or, if you’re on Spotify or Android, go to noiser.com/subscriptions Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

TD Direct Investing offers live support. So whether you're a newbie or a seasoned pro, you can make your investing steps count. And if you're like me and think a TFSA stands for Total Fund Savings Adventure, maybe reach out to TD Direct Investing. Welcome to Sherlock Holmes Short Stories. I'm Hugh Bonneville and this is The Adventure of the Bruce Partington Plans Part 3. Last time, Holmes' examination of the railway tracks at Algett Station revealed something crucial about the death of Cadogan West. His body had been placed on the roof of a train, not thrown from it. But how did his body get on the roof of a train, and who put it there?

To find out, Holmes first visited the Woolwich Arsenal, where the top-secret Bruce Partington submarine plans were kept. There, he discovered signs of tampering at the office window. Then came the startling news that Sir James Walter, the official Guardian of the plans, had died just hours before Holmes and Watson came to question him, apparently from the stress of the scandal. Finally, Cadogan West's bereaved fiancé revealed that in the days before his death, something about his work had been troubling him deeply. Now, armed with Mycroft's list of foreign spies, Holmes has made a crucial connection. One of them, Hugo Oberstein, lives in a house whose windows open directly above the

underground tracks. As a thick fog settles over London, Holmes and Watson prepare to break into Oberstein's home in Kensington, where they believe the answer to the mystery lies. Caulfield Gardens was one of those lines of flat-faced pillared and porticoed houses which are so prominent a product of the Middle Victorian epoch in the West End of London. Next door there appeared to be a children's party, for the merry buzz of young voices and the clatter of a piano resounded through the night. The fog still hung about and screened us with its friendly shade. Holmes had lit his lantern and flashed it upon the massive door. This is a serious proposition, said he.

It is certainly bolted as well as locked. We would do better in the area. There is an excellent archway down yonder in case a too zealous policeman should intrude. Give me a hand, Watson, and I'll do the same for you. A minute later we were both in the area. Hardly had we reached the dark shadows before the step of the policeman was heard in the fog above. As its soft rhythm died away, Holmes set to work upon the lower door. I saw him stoop and strain until, with a sharp crash, it flew open.

and strain until, with a sharp crash, it flew open. We sprang through into the dark passage, closing the area door behind us. Holmes led the way up the curving, uncarpeted stair. His little fan of yellow light shone upon a low window. Here we are, Watson. This must be the one. He threw it open, and as he did so, there was a low, harsh murmur, growing steadily into a loud roar as a train dashed past us in the darkness. Holmes swept his light along the windowsill. It was thickly coated with soot from the passing engines, but the black surface was blurred and rubbed in places. You can see where they rested the body.

Hello, Watson, what's this? There can be no doubt that it is a blood mark. He was pointing to faint discolorations along the woodwork of the window. He was pointing to faint discolorations along the woodwork of the window. Here it is on the stone of the stair also. The demonstration is complete. Let us stay here until a train stops. We had not long to wait. The very next train roared from the tunnel as before, but slowed in the open and then with a creaking of brakes, pulled up immediately beneath us. It was not four feet from the window ledge to the roof of the carriages.

Holmes softly closed the window. "'So far we are justified,' said he. "'What do you think of it, Watson?' "'A masterpiece. You have never risen to a greater height. I cannot agree with you there. From the moment that I conceived the idea of the body being upon the roof, which surely was not a very abstruse one, all the rest was inevitable.

If it were not for the grave interests involved, the affair up to this point would be insignificant. Our difficulties are still before us. But perhaps we may find something here which may help us. We had ascended the kitchen stair and entered the suite of rooms upon the first floor. One was a dining room severely furnished and containing nothing of interest. A second was a bedroom room severely furnished and containing nothing of interest. The second was a bedroom, which also drew blank. The remaining room appeared more promising, and my companion settled down to a systematic examination. It was littered with books and papers, and was evidently used as a study.

Swiftly and methodically, Holmes turned over the contents of draw after draw and cupboard after cupboard, but no gleam of success came to brighten his austere face. At the end of an hour, he was no further than when he started. The cunning dog has covered his tracks, said he. He has left nothing to incriminate him. His dangerous correspondence has been destroyed or removed. This is our last chance. It was a small tin cash box which stood upon the writing desk.

Holmes pried it open with his chisel. Several rolls of paper were within, covered with figures and calculations, without any note to show to what they referred. The recurring words, water pressure and pressure to the square inch, suggested some possible relation to a submarine. Holmes tossed them all impatiently aside. There only remained an envelope with some small newspaper slips inside it. He shook them out on the table, and at once I saw by his eager face that his hopes had

been raised. What's this, Watson? Heh? What's this? Record of a series of messages in the advertisements of a paper. Daily Telegraph Agony column by the print and paper. Right hand top corner of a page. No dates, but messages arranged themselves.

This must be the first. Hoped to hear sooner. Terms agreed to. Write fully to address given on card, Piero. Next comes, too complex for description, must have full report, stuff awaits you when goods delivered, Piero. Then comes, matter presses, must withdraw offer unless contract completed. Make appointment by letter will confirm by advertisement. Piero.

Finally, Monday night after nine. Two taps. Only ourselves. Do not be so suspicious. Payment in hard cash when goods delivered. Piero. A fairly complete record Watson, if we could only get at the man at the other end. He sat lost in thought, tapping his fingers on the table. Finally he sprang to his feet. Well, perhaps it won't be so difficult after all.

There is nothing more to be done here, Watson. I think we might drive round to the offices of the Daily Telegraph, and so bring a good day's work to a conclusion. Mycroft Holmes and Lestrade had come round by appointment after breakfast next day, and Sherlock Holmes had recounted to them our proceedings of the day before. The professional shook his head over our confessed burglary. "'No, we can't do these things in the force, Mr. Holmes,' said he. "'No wonder you get results that are beyond us.

But one of these days you'll go too far and you'll find yourself and your friend in trouble. For England, home and beauty, eh, Watson, martyrs on the altar of our country. But what do you think of it, Mycroft? Excellent, Sherlock, admirable. But what use will you make of it?" Holmes picked up the daily telegraph which lay upon the table. Have you seen Pierrot's advertisement today? What? Another one? Yes, here it is.

Tonight, same hour, same place. Two taps, most vitally important. Your own safety at stake. Pierrot." By George, cried Lestrade, if he answers that, we've got him. That was my idea when I put it in. I think if you could both make it convenient to come with us about eight o'clock to Caulfield Gardens, we might possibly get a little nearer to a solution.

One of the most remarkable characteristics of Sherlock Holmes was his power of throwing his brain out of action and switching all his thoughts onto lighter things whenever he had convinced himself that he could no longer work to advantage. I remember that during the whole of that memorable day he lost himself in a monograph which he had undertaken upon the polyphonic motets of Lassus. For my own part, I had none of this power of detachment, and the day in consequence appeared to be interminable. The great national importance of the issue, the suspense in high quarters,

the direct nature of the experiment which we were trying, all combined to work upon my nerve. It was a relief to me when, at last, after a light dinner, we set out upon our expedition. Lestrade and Mycroft met us by appointment at the outside of Gloucester Road station. The area door of Oberstein's house had been left open the night before, and it was necessary for me, as Mycroft Holmes absolutely and indignantly declined to climb the railings, to pass in and open the hall door. By nine o'clock we were all seated in the study, waiting patiently for our man. An hour passed, and yet another.

When eleven struck, the measured beat of the great church clock seemed to sound the dirge of our hopes. Lestrade and Mycroft were fidgeting in their seats and looking twice a minute at their watches. Holmes sat silent and composed, his eyelids half shut, but every sense on the alert. He raised his head with a sudden jerk. He raised his head with a sudden jerk. He is coming, said he. There had been a furtive step past the door. Now it returned.

We heard a shuffling sound outside, and then two sharp taps with the knocker. Homes rose, motioning us to remain seated. The gas in the hall was a mere point of light. He opened the outer door, and then as a dark figure slipped past him he closed and fastened it. This way, we heard him say, and a moment later our man stood before us. Holmes had followed him closely, and as the man turned with a cry of surprise and alarm, he caught him by the collar and threw him back into the room.

Before our prisoner had recovered his balance, the door was shut, and Holmes standing with his back against it. The man glared round him, staggered and fell senseless upon the floor. With the shock, his broad brimmed hat flew from his head, his cravat slipped down from his lips, and there were the long light beard and the soft, handsome, delicate features of Colonel Valentine Walter. Holmes gave a whistle of surprise. You can write me down an ass this time, Watson, said he. This was not the bird that I was looking for.

Who is he? asked Mycroft eagerly. The younger brother of the late Sir James Walter, the head of the submarine department. Yes, yes, I see the fall of the cards. He is coming too. I think that you had best leave his examination to me." We had carried the prostrate body to the sofa. Now our prisoner sat up, looked round him with a horror-stricken face, and passed his hand over his forehead, like one who cannot believe his own senses.

"'What is this?' he asked. "'I came here to visit Mr. Oberstein.' "'Everything is known, Colonel Walter,' said Holmes. "'How an English gentleman could behave in such a manner is beyond my comprehension. But your whole correspondence and relations with Oberstein are within our knowledge. So also are the circumstances connected with the death of young Cadogan West. Let me advise you to gain at least the small credit for repentance and confession, since there are still some details which we can only learn from your lips."

The man groaned and sank his face in his hands. We waited, but he was silent. "'I can assure you,' said Holmes, "'that every essential is already known. We know that you were pressed for money, that you took an impress of the keys which your brother held, and that you entered into a correspondence with Oberstein, who answered your letters through the advertisement columns of the Daily Telegraph. We are aware that you went down to the office in the fog on Monday night, but that you were seen and followed by young Cadogan West, who had probably some previous reason to suspect

you. He saw your theft, but could not give the alarm as it was just possible that you were taking the papers to your brother in London. Leaving all his private concerns, like the good citizen that he was, he followed you closely in the fog and kept at your heels until you reached this very house. There he intervened. And then it was, Colonel Walter, that to treason you added the more terrible crime of murder." I did not. I did not. Before God, I swear that I did not!" cried our wretched prisoner. "'Tell us then how Cadogan West met his end before you laid him upon the roof of a railway

carriage.' "'I will. I swear to you that I will. I did the rest. I confess it. It was just as you say. A stock exchange debt had to be paid. I needed the money badly.

Oberstein offered me five thousand. It was to save myself from ruin, but as to murder. I am as innocent as you." What happened then? He had his suspicions before, and he followed me, as you describe. his suspicions before and he followed me as you describe. I never knew it until I was at the very door. It was thick fog and one could not see three yards. I had given two taps and Oberstein had come to the door. The young man rushed up and demanded to know what we were about to do with the papers. Oberstein had a short heavy truncheon. He always carried it with him.

As West forced his way after us into the house, Oberstein struck him on the head. The blow was a fatal one. He was dead within five minutes. There he lay in the hall, and we were at our wits' end what to do. Then Oberstein had this idea about the trains which halted under his back window. But first he examined the papers which I had brought. He said that three of them were essential and that he must keep them. You cannot keep them, said I.

There will be a dreadful row at Woolwich if they are not returned. I must keep them, said he, for they are so technical that it is impossible in the time to make copies. Then they must all go back together tonight," said I. He thought for a little, and then he cried out that he had it. "'Three I will keep,' said he. The others we will stuff into the pocket of this young man. When he is found, the whole business will assuredly be put to his account. I could see no other way out of it, so we did as he suggested.

We waited half an hour at the window before a train stopped. It was so thick that nothing could be seen, and we had no difficulty in lowering West's body onto the train. That was the end of the matter so far as I was concerned. And your brother? He said nothing. But he had caught me once with his keys and I think that he suspected. I read in his eyes that he suspected. As you know, he never held up his head again.

There was silence in the room. It was broken by Mycroft Holmes. Can you not make reparation? It would ease your conscience and possibly your punishment. What reparation can I make? Where is Oberstein with the papers? I do not know. Did he give you no address?

He said that letters to the Hotel de Louvre, Paris, would eventually reach him. Then reparation is still within your power, said Sherlock Holmes. I will do anything I can. I owe this fellow no particular goodwill. He has been my ruin and my downfall. Here are paper and pen. Sit at this desk and write to my dictation. Direct the envelope to the address given. That is right. Now the letter. Dear sir, with regard to our transaction you will no doubt have

observed by now that one essential detail is missing. I have a tracing which will make it complete. This has involved me in extra trouble, however, and I must ask you for a further advance of five hundred pounds. I will not trust it to the post, nor will I take anything but gold or notes. I would come to you abroad, but it would excite remark if I left the country at present. Therefore, I shall expect to meet you in the smoking-room of the Charing Cross Hotel at noon on Saturday. Remember that only English notes or gold will be taken.

That will do very well. I shall be very much surprised if it does not fetch our man. And it did. It is a matter of history, that secret history of a nation which is often so much more intimate and interesting than its public chronicles, that Oberstein, eager to complete the coup of his lifetime, came to the Lure and was safely engulfed for fifteen years in a British prison. In his trunk were found the invaluable Bruce Partington plans, which he had put up for auction in

all the naval centres of Europe. Colonel Walter died in prison towards the end of the second year of his sentence. As to Holmes, he returned refreshed to his monograph upon the polyphonic motets of Lassus, which has since been printed for private circulation, and is said by experts to be the last word upon the subject. Some weeks afterwards I learned, incidentally, that my friend spent a day at Windsor, whence he returned with a remarkably fine emerald tie-pin. When I asked him if he had bought it, he answered that it was a present from a certain gracious

lady in whose interests he had once been fortunate enough to carry out a small commission. He said no more, but I fancy that I could guess that lady's august name, and I have little doubt that the emerald pin will forever recall to my friend's memory the adventure of the Bruce Partington plans. Next time on Sherlock Holmes Short Stories, Holmes and Watson journey to Dartmoor to investigate the shocking disappearance of Silver Blaze, England's most celebrated racehorse. With the Wessex Cup just days away and the horse's trainer found dead on the moor, Holmes must untangle a web of deception involving suspicious

sablehands, mysterious nighttime visitors, and a curious piece of mutton curry. As the great detective follows a trail of clues across the windswept moors, he'll uncover an unlikely killer hiding in plain sight. Join us next time for the adventure of Silver Blaze. Can't wait a week until the next episode? Well, listen to it right away by subscribing to Noiza Plus. Head to www.noiza.com slash subscriptions for more information or click the link in the episode description.