The Beryl Coronet - Part Two

For just £6 a month, binge ad-free adventures in full and have access to so much more over at patreon.com forward slash Sherlock and Co. Previously on Sherlock and Co. Hey, can we pick up the pace? The only people not rushing around in this bookshop are you and Mariana, the same people that, oh yeah, have been asked to get to a crime scene as soon as possible. Mmm. Great. Is it a good'un? Is it, mate? Manley's work is the best. Well, you should probably buy it. The shop owner looks pretty stressed over there. Mr Holder, you are missing something. Yes. Sorry. You're right. We have a... We have a lost manuscript by Sir Edward Gorman, accredited and verified literally 46 hours ago by Anthems. And that man there is George Barnwell. And he is here to give us three million fucking pounds. For what? For the manuscript in that glass case. The lost manuscript. now found Huckton Bruce and the Escapade of the Beryl Coronet written in 1892 by Sir Edward Gorman in his own hand but never published. Ladies and gentlemen, you all, the absent Michael Holder included count yourselves in one way or another as the victims of this singular crime but I am here to tell you you are all in fact suspects suspects? I didn't call myself a victim I'm not going to stand here Now I shall embrace my fictitious forbear and we will embark on an escapade of our own or as Dr John Watson here would call them adventures So welcome ladies and gentlemen to the adventure of the Beryl Coronet End of part one No refunds on your Patreon membership for this adventure before you start asking. OK, this is the price you pay, literally, for supporting our little detective consultancy. You're along for the ride. You want the highs? Great. Have the highs. Enjoy the highs. Well, here's the lows. Yeah, Beryl Coronet, part two. A swearing warning for you and also a warning that sometimes crime just isn't that exciting. but is still technically crime. So, yeah, all right, I'll see you at the end, and you better listen to the end, OK? Because, you know, I work my arse off for this stupid podcast, and I don't... I'm going to cut this before I rant at you. I'll just cut into my narration when I was still outside the... Oh, still recording. Hello, all. Currently walking back to Holder's Books. was sent on a little errand to our irregular friends. Got some answers on the missing brother, Michael Holder. Still not shown his face, obviously. Not looking good. Bloke's been, well, frequenting his old buddies of the crime world, apparently. That's the word on the street. Literally. Some pawn shops here, some other... Unreputable? Disreputable. Disreputable establishments. So, yeah, we're here. Actually, pretty close by to Baker Street at Holders Books. We're doing whatever we're doing. Can't exactly call it an adventure, can I? Literally just sat in a bookshop. But yeah, Sherlock thinks it's worth it. So here we are, not at the dog poo bag murder, but here. Because a detective story has gone missing. Some would argue that two detective stories have gone missing this week, wouldn't they? one from 1890 something and one from your weekly supply of thrilling adventures by Dr John H Watson so yeah ow god's sake I forgot you locked the door Mariana Mariana Mariana can you let me in Mariana it's not funny I know you can see me Hey. Hey. Were the Irregulars helpful? In their own way. I lost two thumb wars, had to give them 50 quid. The second guy drew blood, look at that. Oh, did they find the Holder brother? They said they'd seen him, yeah. Doing what? With lenders? Criminal gangster types? Ah. That does not look good for him. That looks excellent for him. Sorry, what? Hey, where have you been? Outside. No, I've been outside. I didn't see you out there. I went out a different way. What way? The same one our thief did. The fire exit there painted like a bookshelf against fire regulations, but ever so pleasing, isn't it? Well, set that off, mate You'll get an almighty shush from these lot It won't set off, because it's been disabled As has the security camera All rather delicious, wouldn't you agree? Delicious? Oh, very much so And the latest ingredient you have delivered from our irregulars I'm rather damn near salivating, Watson Yeah, well, I'd rather you didn't We shall chop up that little bulb of information And drop it into the stew Great, great And when will the stew be ready? About 30 minutes. Oh, OK. So, pretty brisk stew. Is there any chance we could chuck that information into, you know, a stir fry? Or like a microwave meal? Then head on over to Muffin the murderer? Muffin is not your dog-lead murderer. Excuse me, Mr Prosper. Mr Prosper, just a moment, please. I really do think it's time you stop this silly game, you know. No, I'd like to speak to you. Well, you'd like to embarrass me in front of my friends. No, no, not at all. Then what? Is this some sort of prank? You took the pages, didn't you? I've seen the way this man rolls his eyes when we speak of our fandom. I didn't roll my eyes. The Hucktonian Society is a noble... You just did it again. Oh, did I really? Must be a natural reflex. I might be more cynical than I thought. Francis Prosper, if I were you, I would give this quiet moment between us a little more consideration. And why would I do that? You have no evidence that this Rolex is fake, by the way, sir. You would do that because I am eliminating you first. It was purchased for... eliminating? As a suspect. Oh. First, I must acknowledge how you have been classified as such. In this instance, the fervent obsessions, the defender of an influential organisation within the community. In this instance, the Hucktonian Society, a leading voice among the stubborn custodians of the original works, than coupled with your rapacious appetite for these shiny, albeit bootleg items. Now, hold on. Nearly temperamental inference, Mr. Prosper. You needn't worry. In the race of absolution, you are in first place. Now, with your cooperation, I would like to nudge you over the finish line, wrap a victorious sash around your neck and present you with a medal. He means just sit down, play nice, and you'll be all right. Oh. Okay. Um, just here. Please. There is someone at the door of the shop. A homeless man. Ah, perfect. Oh, Mariana. Everything okay? Everything is wonderful. Could you do me a favour and take £2,000 from the till, please? What? What? Pretend you didn't hear that, Mr Prosper. Yes, £2,000, please. It's an old-style merchant till. Just put in 00, press subtotal, then cash total, and it will pop open. Sherlock. Then give it to the fellow at the door, please. Many thanks. Sherlock, listen to me. Yeah, this is not cool, mate. Oh, is it not? No, you can't just go and... You can't make me steal from the tale of an independent bookshop. Mr Holder, Alexander. Yes? What? Can we unlock the doors now? Nope. Just a quick question. When would you like the missing pages returned? What? When would you like... I heard you. Then answer the question. Today. Immediately. Excellent. Mariana, take the money. Give it to our irregular. Many thanks. Right, sorry. When was this arranged? Plenty has been done in the chilly alley outside. And right here, in the warmth on my phone, Hucktonian methods of Victorian London. But on a modern application. If I give the money to that guy, that's going to... Get the rest of the manuscript back in time, yes. Everything all right? Well, is everything all right? Mariana Omezzo's order? It better be, Sherlock Holmes. Well, good luck. Yeah, thanks. Now, to Mr Francis Prosper. You believe George Burnwell to be a dim-witted dildo, it says here. Oh, um... And a clueless, cocky... Well, I can't say the next word on my companion's podcast, but I admire your alliteration skills, Mr Prosper. Careful with your Reddit username, it's very clearly you. Now affirm this for me. this position against our wealthy friend? Is it shared by the Hucktonian society members? I don't know what you're talking about. You don't? Allow me then to put it in your alliterative terms. Are you singular, solitary and self-sustaining in your simmering scorn privately preserving a persistent personal prejudice towards George Burnwell or is this spite shared spread and silently sustained among a secretive sympathetic similarly soured set of souls of such a self sincere society Jesus Christ. You think that I, or others from the Hucktonian society, sabotage the works of Sir Edward Gorman because I don't like George Burnwell? Do you think that I'd rather sully that godsend of literature because I don't like the man buying it? That's the conclusion you've come to, is it? Well, let me tell you something about detective work, sir. That won't be necessary. We're in a hurry. No, no, no, no. Listen to me. Look me in the eyes. Shush. Bookshop. Mr Prosper, I'll ask again. Is this a popular opinion in the Hucktonian society? That Bermos shouldn't have it. Of course. Well, he doesn't know a damn thing about the works. He says it'll be on display, but has anything else he's bought up ever been on display? Not interested enough in that question to answer it. Sorry. The fundraising to outbid him, what did it reach? Well, not three million quid, obviously. Indeed. And lastly, your movements at the reading from the images I've seen, you were located closest to the glass case. Images? Modern applications, Mr Prosper. I'm chairman of the Hucktonian Society. So you get a comfy front row seat, is that what you're saying? I was sat next to the case because I was charged with opening it and handing the manuscript over to Geoffrey Moore to read. He's 91 for crying out loud. I was then requested to be on hand for assistance as the manuscript is handwritten and I am quite adept at reading Gorman's scroll. I have read his many letters to his mother. I've read his diary many times. Good for you. The reading ends, but you don't put the manuscript back. No. I was due to speak, and I did a bit later than planned. Alexander, Mr Holder, did... Well, there was a photo opportunity, if I recall correctly, and Alexander took it off me. I see. You think he stole it? Mr Holmes, if it hasn't already been made clear, his brother is an actual thief, and he was here in this very bookshop for the reading, looking down on us from up there on the mezzanine and we weren't even made aware. Yes, I know all this. You do realise you're spending all this time questioning me and, well, he is most likely the one with those three missing pages. You do realise that? It is not most likely that he has those missing pages, Mr Prosper. You do not have the sharpness of a real detective. It is a certainty. What? What? Then why on earth am I being held against my will? Your daydream, Francis, in your speech. My daydream? Of... of the manuscript? You said for a moment you saw that it was missing. I did, I did. But I felt... but so... my mind was swimming and... You carried on and then what? I... well, towards the end of my speech, I could see it was there. It didn't vanish. It was just... a trick. A trick of the... the occasion. Well, the moment. It wasn't. Thank you for your time. Wait, wait, wait. Oh, and the fundraising amount from the society. You said it wasn't three million pounds. What was it? It, uh... It was 2.2. 2.2. Well, best of luck, Mr Prosper. Best of luck with what? With your purchase. This way, Watson. Wait. Purchase? Are we leaving? Not quite. This way, Mr. Crossburne. Mariana. This man is free to go. Everybody wave bye-bye. Sorry, sorry. Why exactly? Wave, everybody. Come on. Night-night, Francis. Bye. Bye. Bye. See you. Yes. Oh, no. I was just... If you wanted any more information on Huckton... I think he's saying he forgot his scarf. He doesn't need it, and it's fake Burberry anyway. Right. Hmm, who next, Watson? Alexander Holder? Michael Holder? Michelle Holder? Or George Burnwell? Well, Michael Holder isn't here, mate. He is not. Let's hope the irregulars work fast. So, we have Michelle and George. They could be interesting to question together, if they can keep their hands out of each other's pants. Jesus Christ! I'm going to call the police. And George is going to be busy calling the police, apparently. So. Why are you looking at me? Alexander Holder of Holder's Books. Come to the chair. Right, so this is the picture of the corpse. Oh, no, wait, that's Swindon Highlighter. It's probably an even harder watch than the crime photo. Where are they? There we go. Corpse. See the one-inch sort of strangulation mark around his neck? It's sort of blue. Yeah, blue staining. Could be some oxygen flow issues from the strangulation. Could be fibres from the dog lead. John, you can't just share crime scene photos. His name is Charles Ryan, churchwarden in Lambeth. Dog poo bag on his head in this pic. Look. Well, the dog lead isn't blue. How would the staining be blue on his neck? Please put your phone away, John. I told you I'm working on it. Sure. Sure, we'll be there to crack that case anyway, so... Yep. But you're here. Yep. Why? To see which one of you lot stole those pages. Ha! Me? Really? Yep. I wouldn't do it, would I? I don't know, would you? The key part of your statement there, Dr. Watson, is the first half. You don't know. So why, exactly, should I entertain the second half? Why didn't you tell anybody you invited your brother here? Because he's... That's obvious. Is it? Yes. Obvious indeed. Yes. They... You know, they just... They hate him. They judge him. They judge me. They don't understand half the things he's been through. Like prison? Yes, like prison. And did you know he was sectioned under the Mental Health Act? Did you know that as well? Do you have any idea what that did to his... to his prospects? To his... to... to everything about his life? Alexander Holder, you know enough about crime stories, okay? you know that our job is to locate the missing pages of the Beryl Coronet. And right now, my boss, this guy right here, says your brother has those three pages. That is bollocks. What? Exactly. Thank you, Doctor. He's not your boss. Yeah, he is. Oh, goodness sake. No, he's not. Yes, I am. You're not. We're equal partners. Directors in this company. Yes, but under the operations arm of the company, I am the boss. This is an operation. The company doesn't have arms. We're three millennials in a flat. Oh, I'm Gen Z, actually. If anything, I'm more senior than Sherlock. In the media arm of the company, yes. Stop with the arms. I'm right. You're not right. Get off. Get off of me. No, you... Get... Stop. Ow. You're pinching. Yeah, pinching you right in the operations arm. How do you like that? Ow. You honestly see yourselves as the modern equivalent to the great Huckton Bruce. Unbelievable. He's fictional. Look at you, bickering, floundering, but lo and behold, what do you see dangling in front of you, eh? The low-hanging fruit. My brother. You know, the key to the Huckton stories was the unexpected. There was always a hidden motive. A suspect pulled out of the hat in just a moment of magic. But you. No. First thing you hear, first thing you see, oh, he's a criminal, that'll do. You're so far off at every turn. You haven't examined the crime scene, even remotely. You haven't even thought... I assure you I have, and most of the relevant things within a quarter mile radius. And what exactly did you infer from the crime scene then? Once the reading concluded last night, the refreshments were served immediately after. various members of the society had their photos taken next to the manuscript. Members such as at HucktonBruce66, at Charlotte888, at EscapadeGuy9. I could go on for dozens more. I've examined every single one of them. All of them show the glass case in its correct placement. But for the final photo, not on social media, but posted on your website, Mr Holder, here. Just you, your daughter Michelle, and the buyer, George Burnwell OBE. So? So the manuscript disappeared between the final photo I can see here posted on Instagram by a member of the Society at 9.03pm and then this photo taken by you at 10.48pm, according to the metadata once downloaded. Yet you made it seem that the three pages were taken overnight while the shop was locked and closed. Why? It, it, it, it's, it's... Mr. Holder, have you noticed how you talk with your hands? Yes, yes, I know. I do that a lot. Indeed you do, but not when you lie. We call these lively hands illustrators. When speaking truthfully, you illustrate your points when taken from memory. But then observe this sudden stillness when faced with an improvised truth. Let's put it that way. Now I would like you and your hands to tell me exactly what happened between 9 and 10 last night Alex everything will be easier after this point okay mate I know it feels like things will get harder but I seen this so many times Just push through this barrier, and I promise you the weight is going to lift. Okay. Whenever you're ready. It's okay. Okay. Yes. Um, Francis made a speech. 9.45pm. I know that was the time because I asked him to push it back 15 minutes after his allocated Hucktonian address time of 9.30 that we arranged. Things overran it. Yes. Anyway. Um, while he was speaking, I wanted to take the opportunity to sneak my brother out of there. Like I say, we were raised on Huckton escapades, you know? some of the only happy memories we share together, to be honest. And I wanted to have him witness that evening in our parents' bookshop. It doesn't matter to you or to them, but it does. It did to me. I went up to the mezzanine that overlooks the shop floor and he was gone. At first I assumed that he had let himself out, but he... this was left behind. His phone? Yes. And I... that was a little odd, so I just assumed he was in the toilet, but from his spot where I had placed him to keep him out of sight, I could see right down to the glass display case by the back wall. The speech was taking place at the other side of the shop entirely. Everyone was facing Francis and not the case. it it was being held open by my brother he had his hand on the manuscript I nearly screamed out but we locked eyes he fumbled it back into place and he ran out the fire exit on the back wall he must Jesus Christ I just I don't know what he was thinking. I've never understood most of his actions, to be honest, but he... I mean, I didn't know then. I thought I'd caught him in the act and he'd ran away, and I suppose I sort of said goodbye to my brother right there and then. I didn't know. But there were now pages missing. Yes. I wasn't lying as such. I thought it was all there. The, um, the security camera was off so i had to put that back on that could have been him i don't know i i have my brand new alarm system for overnight the case is borrowed very expensive has got these pressure things lasers maybe i i don't know i locked it all up enabled all the fort knock stuff on the thing got an app for it and everything i i came back in this morning it was there fine and I was required to take photos of all the pages for the sale documentation and that's when I realised it took an hour just to stop my brain from spinning and swirling around I couldn't breathe I couldn't think I knew George Burnwell was coming in this afternoon there was supposed to be this BBC thing one show thing I quickly called and cancelled that. The producer was furious. He... I wanted to call George. But I think I've... I've always been a fighter, you see. I'm... I'm stubborn. Yes, I've noted that, Mr Holder. And I was convinced I could pull something off. Last minute. Some magic out of the hat. Yes, quite. I couldn't call my brother, obviously, because I had his phone. But maybe he would bottle it and bring them back. Or maybe he was on something or drunk when he did it. And the sober light of day would... Yes. Well, apparently not. Apparently not. Fucker. So is it. Low-hanging fruit, or do you think he did it, Alex? He confessed with his eyes. You know, you talk about my hands. You could always tell by my brother's eyes that he'd, you know, fucked up and been gambling again or using again or drinking again. You could always tell. It was in his eyes that he was hiding something. In baby photos, you'd see him, poof, these big headlights beaming out of his face, you know? All his life they were there, telling the truth. And the moment I clocked him from up there looking down, I knew. His eyes told me. He confessed. He confessed. Thank you, Alex, for taking this moment. Oh, that reminds me. I must confess, I have stolen also. What? I stole £2,000 from your till. Well, this lady did. Sherlock? Sorry, sorry, what? But don't worry, it is a sound investment. Just on time, Mr Holder. Why, why are you shouting at me? I'm not shouting at you. Watson, open the shop door, please. Oh my God, we're closed. Michael! What is he doing here? Sorry, I'm letting him in, am I? Oh, certainly. Don't even think about letting him in. Yes, yes, he's a criminal. He's the boss. He told me to. I have to let him in. See, I told you he was the boss. Hello, you must be Michael. That's right. Thank you. For your help. For coming, please. We're in a hurry. I've got murders to solve, you know. How? How could you fucking do this, you bastard of... Dad! Whoa, whoa, whoa. Alex, you've ruined... Alex, you've ruined... I want him out of here. He's not going anywhere. I refuse to share, let alone a room, oxygen with this twat. Yep, I'm done, Dad. He's a lowlife. Careful, Michelle. Careful now. Careful, honestly. He doesn't deserve it. Oh, but you know that he does. I have them. Here. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. The pages. They're intact. Everyone back. Nobody touched them. Nobody touched them but me. I'm so, so sorry everyone. And I understand if... Yeah. I understand. I've been in prison before. Maybe that's the best place for me. Why did you do it? Just... The usual. Michael Holder. Shit. Desperate, I suppose. Do you owe something to somebody? Because if you do, you honestly think I'd sit on three million pounds and not help you out? What are you thinking? Dunno. Well, I do. You're lying. You are lying again, Mike. Alexander, I'm going to have to reconsider purchasing this. I hope you understand. George, please. God's sake, Michael. Is there anything you can't fuck up? Sherlock, I feel like we should... Alex, I... Maybe go. Yeah, this... This is personal. But what about the ending? Forgive me, everyone. I'll go now. The ending? The magic from the hat. Dad. Not now. Not now, Michelle. This needs to be heard now. I'm so sorry to interrupt. We're just going to skip forward a few pages to the end. What? Michael, any change from your purchase? Um, I thought we weren't going to discuss... Come on, chop chop. 800 pounds. Change. Oh, bargain. Well done, Michael. Here. Ah, thank you. But it's not mine. It's your brother's. Oh. This cash is from the till? It is, yes. Well, it's from a pawn shop, I'd say. Interesting, judging by the smell. That nitric tang. Yes, it's the testing agents, used on pawned metals to judge their value. Very familiar smell from some of my earliest cases. Well, you must have purchased it off a pawn shop owner, perhaps a loan shark, money lender of some description. You couldn't have pawned the pages. Well, that's... No, I stole the pages, then I... I stole them, then I pawned them. Yeah. Well, now that doesn't make any sense, Michael. No, they screwed me over, so I needed the money from you guys. Are these the lying eyes you recognise, Alexander? No, look, look, look. I've sent in a regular contractor of ours to provide you with cash. Do you know why? Because you were reported visiting your old creditors Your old chums in the murky gambling circles The lending sharks Why? Look, I took the fucking... The manuscript and I confessed Job done, case closed Let me tell you how pawn shops work Michael You take an item They give you a cash loan for it after appraising its value Why would you require cash from us Why Because. Because. There is no because. See that word above your head, Michael? Fiction. Total fiction. You tracked the pages, didn't you? In the shadows, you saw where they were taken, and you needed to buy them back after somebody else stole them. I knew that, and that is why I sent an irregular to assist. No, no. So I pawned them. Lies, lies, lies. He was buying them back. Because you... The guilt, right? It ate him up. Yes, well, I would have hoped that the guilt monster was feasting rather nicely on some others in this room. Not just Michael, for goodness sake. What does that mean, exactly? George Burnwell. Yes? You were at the reading, weren't you? George. Yes, yes, I was, yes. How was it? Yes, it was good. It was great to see. What did you think of the villainous Captain Thurlow in the story? Sorry? I'm testing your recollection of the story. Was Captain Thurlow very tall or very short? Do you remember? He had those iconic braces to keep his trousers up if that jogs your memory. Yeah, the braces. God, was he short or was he tall? Because I don't know the work that well. I find it hard to follow the... Do you remember what war Captain Thurlow had returned from? To face down Huckton after murdering Beryl? Murdering? Murdering Beryl... Beryl Coronet, of course. That was... That was the... Remember his son, Bern? Oh, the Beryl. The Beryl War. Well done, Mr George Burnwell OBE. Thank you. You've cracked the case for us. Have I? There is no Captain Thurlow, and the Beryl Coronet was a crown, not a woman named Beryl, you fool. Fuck this. Whoa, whoa, whoa, fire exit, fire exit. I have reactivated that door, Mr Burnwell, and I have switched the alleyway security cameras back on after your accomplice turned them off last night. Push the door, the alarms will sound, and you will be spotted leaving, treading in the same iced footsteps you left just 20 hours ago. You are trying to embarrass me in front of... The woman you love. You are just... I know what you're trying to do. My job, Mr. Burnwell. He confessed, didn't he? Michael Holder confessed, all right? Yes, but not to protect you. To protect his niece. What? Dad, I just want to say... She wants to say she's bonking your buyer and conspired with said buyer to steal your treasured manuscript so her high-flying heartthrob here would save himself three million quid. that'd get the morally questionable money lenders off his back and the best part is neither her nor him would ever be implicated he's apparently vastly wealthy and why would a buyer steal his own purchase no motive and a perfect suspect the criminal brother he would be rearrested and cut out the holder book's ownership for good uninherited from the family shop outmatched by his brilliant niece and i suppose giving you the benefit of the doubt not that you deserve it i would rather hope you had your fingers crossed for your father to receive an insurance payout for the manuscript theft. A win-win-win scenario. Michelle. Dad, please. George Burnwell was present for some of the reading, but he snuck out to the alleyway behind the shop in anticipation of the speech. The poor fellow had to wait out in the cold for some time due to proceedings overrunning. No one was aware, of course, as his accomplice here, the industrious shop manager Michelle Holder, had disabled the fire exit and security camera. Her next act was somewhat more damning and required a little footwear change. My colleague spotted some high heels hidden amongst the shelves when we first entered this evening. They were slipped off and hidden there as trainers were preferred for this task. The backs were turned, all facing the Hucktonian Society's speech. The glass case was lifted and the manuscript was walked right out of that very exit to the waiting Mr Burnwell at the end of the alley. Michael here spotted everything from his vantage point and sprinted after George. If you follow their footprints up St Martin's Street, they both then head down King's Meuse where Burnwell slipped over and they met in confrontation. Michael got that shiner there and Burnwell has the bruising on his knuckles. Michael wouldn't give up. They wrestled further before the manuscript was torn from George's hands, or at least most of it was. Mr. Philanthropist here sprinted away with the meagre three pages of the various muse households woke startled. Burnwell no doubt reassured his benefactor, whoever that may be, that the rest would be on the way. Michael returned what was left, misplaced the glass case and was spotted by his brother. Jesus Christ. You then set about your work immediately, didn't you, Michael? Where would Burnwell go? Well, you know his tastes through a gamble or two as well, don't you? In your circles, the Burnwell name is well known. Well, I have operatives in those areas too, Michael. And together, we were able to track down the pages. Where he had quickly given them to his less than favourable associates, George had delivered them and sprinted, and I mean sprinted, back here, just in time to round off his alibi. He was here for the reading. Nobody saw him leave. Who would ever assume he had left, especially if he poses for a photo? Of course, a man that has been sprinting in the freezing cold does display such things. He finally did display a blush. Observe the pinking on his cheeks, the red prickling on the tip of his nose, beads of sweat sparkling under the display lights. There's the trainers there of Miss Holder. They don't quite go with the dress, but maybe that's just me. Burnwell came in today to complete his performance, to gawp in shock that his multi-million pound purchase was taken away from him and his cause. You are, if only a name, a man of charity, Mr Burnwell But the only charitable act in the last 24 hours Has been that of Michael Holder here Protecting his niece And defending his brother's reputation and beloved business Now, if you don't mind I would very much like to get back to my flat Our dog needs a wee My doctor needs some sleep And I rather fancy a spell on my violin For payment of our services I will be taking this Carth and L. Munleys, a practical compendium of cordage, rope-making and twine. Um, yes, yes, that's okay. Thank you very much. And this tote bag. Uh, yes. This is the one, right, John? Mm-hmm. Oh, I quite like the one with the bike and the flowers. This one as well. That's, that's fine. Good evening. Watson, call Hopkins. Ha ha ha, will do, mate. Yes, let's go crack another. So somebody's on a roll. He certainly is. Amazing work. Although you said go back to the flat and play violin, but you mean solve a murder. Hey, Hopkins. Hiya, mate. You on your way? Yeah, we finally are. Hey! We are not, Hopkins. Head to Holder's Books on Morton Street. Arrest George Burnwell and Michelle Holder. Mariana will explain in an email. Sherlock, just hold on us. Sorry? What the hell are you doing? Going home to play my violin. I just said that in there. Sherlock, the murder, man strangled by a dog lead. I told you, it was the preeminent work, Watson. Sorry, what is... The whole reason we were in that bloody shop, for goodness sake. Am I typing this email or not? Yes, you are. Carthen L. Munley's A Practical Compendium of Cordage, Rope Making and Twine. For God's sake. Page 215. Right there. The... The bell ringer's rope is of sound hemp, 10 to 12 lines. Just under an inch. Continue. In thickness, wrought of woolen yarn, tightly bound without slack or foul twist. The bell ringer's rope, the sally, to be precise. No dog leads are made of wool. That type of fibre was found on his skin. It'll be from North Lambeth Parish, hence the blue dye staining. St Frederick's on Wavertree Road is not mechanical. The bells are rung by hand. The church warden is Charles Ryan, known to you as... The Dog Poo Bag Murder Man. The Dog Poo Bag Murder Man. His dog, Muffin, was tied up outside. Charles was inside, where he was then strangled in the church by this man, Sammy Christopoulos, who threatened to do just that to him in a parish council meeting, fortunately recorded and posted four months ago. And you stupid fucking dog! I'll kill you! I'll kill you! Oh. Sammy took the body of Charles out the church, grabbed Muffin the dog by the lead, threw them both into the shrubbery of the neighbouring park. I would venture he tied it around his neck as a potential investigation lead, no plan intended, then the bag over the head, possibly to camouflage, but most likely for that same red herring. You look stumped, Watson. Have a read. It'll all become clear. Yeah, I... Um... I doubt that, mate. Well, have a read all the same. I'm sure you'll find it thoroughly entertaining. Yeah. I... I doubt that, mate. Thoughts? Was that OK? We did some other cases, but they weren't really right for the show, so that's all I had. Get in touch. Let me know if you liked it. and just don't let me know if you didn't like it. You can keep that thought to yourself. Bye.