Project Hail Mary is an extraordinary cinematic experience. You're a great scientist, Dr. Grace. The world is calmed down on you. Storm Ryan Goslake. So I met an alien. Two worlds. One impossible mission. We're going to save the stars. Project Hail Mary. Amazing, amazing, amazing. Seat first, March 14th and 15th, in cinemas everywhere March 19th. I'm Hugh Bonneville and welcome to Sherlock Holmes' short stories. The series where we delve into the files of Fiction's most brilliant detective, following his keen mind and unirring instincts from the first subtle clue to the final dramatic revelation. This time, Holmes confronts a puzzling rural mystery in the adventure of the Rigate Squire. When Watson takes Holmes to Surrey to recover from exhaustion, they expect a peaceful retreat, but troubles soon catches up with the mystery solving duo after a shocking murder occurs at a nearby estate. Behind the respectable facades of the county's great houses, dangerous secrets lurk. A single scrap of paper may hold the key to unraveling the truth, but can Holmes decipher its meaning before another victim is claimed. From the Noiser Podcast Network, this is The Adventure of the Rigate Squire, Part 1. It was some time before the health of my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes recovered from the strain caused by his immense exertions in the spring of 87. The whole question of the Netherlands Sumatra Company and of the colossal schemes of Baron Mopertois, a two recent in the minds of the public, and a two intimately concerned with politics and finance to be fitting subjects for this series of sketches. They led, however, in an indirect fashion to a singular and complex problem which gave my friend an opportunity of demonstrating the value of a fresh weapon, among the many with which he waged his lifelong battle against crime. On referring to my notes, I see that it was upon the 14th of April that I received a telegram from Leon which informed me that Holmes was lying ill in the hotel du long. Within 24 hours, I was in his sick room and was relieved to find that there was nothing formidable in his symptoms. Even his iron constitution, however, had broken down under the strain of an investigation which had extended over two months, during which period he had never worked less than 15 hours a day, and had more than once, as he assured me, kept to his task for five days at a stretch. Even the triumphant issue of his labours could not save him from reaction after so terrible and exertion, and at a time when Europe was ringing with his name and when his room was literally ankle deep with congratulatory telegrams, I found him at prey to the blackest depression. Even the knowledge that he had succeeded where the police of three countries had failed, and that he had outmaneuvered at every point the most accomplished swindler in Europe, was insufficient to rouse him from his nervous frustration. Three days later, we were back in Baker Street together, but it was evident that my friend would be much the better for a change, and the thought of a week of springtime in the country was full of attractions to me also. My old friend, Colonel Hater, who had come under my professional care in Afghanistan, had now taken a house near Rigat in Surrey, and had frequently asked me to come down to him upon a visit. On the last occasion he had remarked that if my friend would only come with me, he would be glad to extend his hospitality to him also. A little diplomacy was needed, but when Holmes understood that the establishment was a bachelor one, and that he would be allowed the fullest freedom, he fell in with my plans, and a week after our return from Leon, we were under the Colonel's roof. Hater was a fine old soldier who had seen much of the world, and he soon found, as I had expected, that Holmes and he had much in common. On the evening of our arrival, we were sitting in the Colonel's gun room after dinner, Holmes stretched upon the sofa while Hater and I looked over his little armory of firearms. By the way, said he suddenly, I think I'll take one of these pistols upstairs with me in case we have an alarm. An alarm, said I. Yes, we've had a scare in this part lately. Old actin' who is one of our county magnets had his house broken into last Monday. No great damage done, but the fellows are still at large. No clue, asked Holmes, cocking his eye at the Colonel. Numb as yet, but the affair is a petty one, one of our little country crimes which must seem too small for your attention, Mr. Holmes, after this great international affair. Holmes waved away the compliment, though his smile showed that it had pleased him. Was there any feature of interest? I fancy not. The thieves ransacked the library and got very little for their pains. The whole place was turned upside down, drawers burst open and presses ransacked, with the result that an odd volume of pooped humour, two plated candlesticks and ivory lettoate, the small oak barometer and a ball of twine are all but have vanished. What an extraordinary assortment I exclaimed. Oh, the fellows evidently grabbed hold of everything they could get. Holmes grunted from the sofa. The county police ought to make something of that, by it is surely obvious that but I held up a warning finger. You are here for a rest, my dear fellow. For heaven's sake, don't get started on a new problem when your nerves are all in shreds. Holmes shrugged his shoulders with a glance of comic resignation towards the Colonel and the talk drifted away into less dangerous channels. I'm Ian Glenn and this is Real Vikings. A monastery on a remote Scottish island overrun with pagan warriors. The dragon shaped prowl for longboat cutting through Canada's icy waters. A North Strader in North Africa, exchanging furs for silver under a desert sun. The Vikings terrified the medieval world, yet they beguilers today. Who were they really? Real Vikings from the Noiser Podcast Network. Listen wherever you get your podcasts. It was destined, however, that all my professional caution should be wasted. For next morning the problem obtruded itself upon us in such a way that it was impossible to ignore it. And our country visit took a turn which neither of us could have anticipated. We were at breakfast when the Colonel's butler rushed in with all his propriety shaken out of him. Have you heard the news sir? He gasped at the cunning him sir. Berglory cried the Colonel with his coffee cup in midair. Murder! Colonel whistled. By Joe said he who's killed then the JP or his son. No there sir it was William the coachman shot through the hearts and never spoke again. Cool shot him then. The burglar sir he was off like a shot and got clean away. He'd just broken at the pantry window when William came on him and met his end in saving his master's property. What time? It was last night sir somewhere about 12. Now then well step over afterwards said the Colonel, coolly settling down to his breakfast again. It's a bad-ish business he added when the butler had gone. He's our leading man about here is old cunning him and a very decent fellow too. He'll be cut up over this for the man has been in his service for years and was a good servant. It's evidently the same villains who broke into actins. And still that very singular collection said Holmes thoughtfully. Press-sysly. Hmm it may prove the simplest matter in the world but all the same at first glance this is just a little curious is it not. A gang of burglar's acting in the country might be expected to vary the scene of their operations and not to crack two cribs in the same district within a few days. When you spoke last night of taking precautions I remember that it passed through my mind that this was probably the last parish in England to which the thief or thieves would be likely to turn their attention which shows that I have still much to learn. I fancied some local practitioner said the Colonel. In that case of course actins and cunning him are just the places he would go for since they are far the largest about here. And the richest? Well, they ought to be but they've had a lawsuit for some years which has sucked the blood out of both of them I fancy. Old actin has some claim on half cunning him's estate and the lawyers have been at it with both hands. If it's a local villain there should not be much difficulty in running him down said Holmes with the yawn. All right Watson I don't need to metal. Inspector Forrester sir said the butler throwing open the door. The official a smart keen-faced young fellow stepped into the room. Good morning Colonel said he. I hope I don't intrude but we hear that Mr Holmes of Baker Street is here. The Colonel waved his hand towards my friend and the inspector about. We thought that perhaps you would care to step across Mr Holmes. The fates are against you Watson said he laughing. We were chatting about the matter when you came in Inspector. Perhaps you can let us have a few details. As he leaned back in his chair and the familiar attitude I knew that the case was hopeless. We had no clue in the actin affair but here we have plenty to go on and there's no doubt it is the same party in each case the man was seen. Ah yes sir but he was off like a deer after the shot that killed Paul William Kerwin was fired. Mr Cunningham saw him from the bedroom window and Mr Alec Cunningham saw him from the back passage. It was quarter to 12 when the alarm broke out. Mr Cunningham had just got into bed and Mr Alec was smoking a pipe in his dressing gown. They both heard William the coachman calling for help and Mr Alec ran down to see what was the matter. The back door was open and as he came to the foot of the stairs he saw two men wrestling together outside. One of them fired a shot. The other dropped and the murderer rushed across the garden and over the hedge. Mr Cunningham looking out of his bedroom saw the fellow as he gained the road but lost sight of him at once. Mr Alec stopped to see if he could help the dying man and so the villain got clean away beyond the fact that he was a middle sized man and dressed in some dark stuff we have no personal clue that we are making energetic inquiries and if he is a stranger we shall soon find him out. What was this William doing there? Did he say anything before he died? Not a word. He lives at the lodge with his mother and as he was a very faithful fellow we imagine that he walked up to the house with the intention of seeing that all was right there. Of course this act in business has put everyone on their guard. The robber must have just burst open the door. The lock has been forced when William came upon him. Did William say anything to his mother before going out? She is very old and deaf and we can get no information from her. The shock has made her half-witted but I understand that she was never very bright. There is one very important circumstance however. Look at this. He took a small piece of torn paper from a notebook and spread it out upon his knee. This was found between the finger and thumb of the dead man. It appears to be a fragment torn from a larger sheet. You will observe that the hour mentioned upon it is the very time at which the poor fellow met his fate. You see that his murderer might have torn the rest of the sheet from him or he might have taken this fragment from the murderer. It reads almost as though it were an appointment. Holmes took up the scrap of paper. Pursuming that it is an appointment continued the inspector it is of course a conceivable theory that this William Kerwin though he had the reputation of being an honest man may have been in league with the thief. He may have met him there may even have helped him to break in the door and then they may have fallen out between themselves. This writing is of extraordinary interest said Holmes who had been examining it with intense concentration. These are much deeper waters than I had thought. He sank his head upon his hands while the inspector smiled at the effect which his case had had upon the famous London specialist. Your last remark said Holmes presently as to the possibility of their being an understanding between the burglar and the servant and this being a note of appointment from one to the other is an ingenious and not entirely impossible supposition but this writing opens up. He sank his head into his hands again and remained for some minutes in the deepest thought. When he raised his face again I was surprised to see that his cheek was tinned with colour and his eyes as bright as before his illness. He sprang to his feet with all his old energy. I'll tell you what said he I should like to have a quiet little glance into the details of this case. There is something in it which fascinates me extremely. If you will permit me colonel I believe my friend Watson and you and I will step round with the inspector to test the truth of one or two little fancies of mine. I will be with you again in half an hour. An hour and half had elapsed before the inspector returned alone. Mr Holmes is walking up and down in the field outside said he. He wants us all four to go up to the house together. Two Mr Cunningham's? Yes sir. What four? The inspector shrunked his shoulders. I don't quite know sir between ourselves I think Mr Holmes had not quite got over his illness yet. He's been behaving very quickly and he is very much excited. I don't think you need alarm yourself said I. I have usually found that there was method in his madness. Some folks might say there was madness in his method, not at the inspector. But he's all on fire to start colonel so we had best go out if you are ready. We found Holmes pacing up and down in the field his chin sunk upon his breast and his hands thrust into his trouser pockets. The matter grows in interest said he Watson your country trip has been a distinct success. I have had a charming morning. But you have been up to the scene of the crime I understand said the colonel. Yes the inspector and I have made quite a little reconnaissance together. Any success? Well we have seen some very interesting things. I'll tell you what we did as we walk. First of all we saw the body of this unfortunate man. He certainly died from a revolver wound as reported. Mo, had you doubted it then? No it is as well to test everything. Our inspection was not wasted. We then had an interview with Mr. Cunningham and his son who were able to point out the exact spot where the murderer had broken through the garden hedge in his flight. That was of great interest. Naturally. Then we had a look at this poor fellow's mother. We could get no information from her however as she is very old and feeble. And what is the result of your investigations? The conviction that the crime is a very peculiar one. Perhaps our visit now may do something to make it less obscure. I think that we are both agreed in specter that the fragment of paper in the dead man's hand bearing as it does the very hour of his death written upon it is of extreme importance. It should give a clue Mr. Holmes. It does give a clue. Whoever wrote that note was the man who brought William Kerwin out of his bed at that hour. That where is the rest of that sheet of paper? Exemined the ground carefully in the hope of finding it, said the inspector. It was torn out of the dead man's hand. Why was someone so anxious to get position of it? Because it incriminated him. And what would he do with it? Thrusted into his pocket most likely. Never noticing that a corner of it had been left in the grip of the corpse. If we could get the rest of that sheet, it is obvious that we should have gone a long way towards solving the mystery. Yes, but how can we get at the criminal's pocket before we catch the criminal? Well, well, it was worth thinking over. Then there is another obvious point. The note was sent to William. The man who wrote it could not have taken it. Otherwise, of course, he might have delivered his own message by word of mouth. Who brought the note then? Or did it come through the post? I have made inquiries, said the inspector. William received a letter by the afternoon post yesterday. The envelope was destroyed by him. Excellent! cried Holmes, clapping the inspector on the back. You've seen the postman. It is a pleasure to work with you. Well, here is the lodge and if you will come up, Colonel, I will show you the scene of the crime. We passed the pretty cottage where the murdered man had lived and walked up an oak-lined avenue to the fine old Queen Anne House which bears the date of malplakit upon the lintel of the door. Holmes and the inspector let us round it until we came to the side gate, which is separated by a stretch of garden from the hedge which lines the road. A constable was standing at the kitchen door. Oh, throw the door open of his arms, said Holmes. Now it was on those stairs that young Mr. Cunningham stood and saw the two men struggling just where we are. Old Mr. Cunningham was at that window the second on the left and he saw the fellow get away just to the left of that bush. Then Mr. Alec ran out and knelt beside the wounded man. Ground is very hard, you see, and there are no marks to guide us. As he spoke, two men came down the garden path from round the angle of the house. The one was an elderly man with a strong, deep-lined, heavy-eyed face, the other dashing young fellow whose bright, smiling expression and showy dress were in strange contrast with the business which had brought us there. Still at it then, said he to Holmes. I thought you landeners were never at fault. You don't seem to be so very quick after all. Now you must give us a little time, said Holmes good humidly. You'll want it, said young Alec Cunningham. Why, I don't see that we have any clue at all. There's only one answer the inspector. We thought that if we could only find good heavens, Mr. Holmes, what is the matter? My poor friend's face had suddenly assumed the most dreadful expression. His eyes rolled upwards, his features rithed in agony and with a suppressed groan, he dropped on his face upon the ground. I'm sorry. Next time on Sherlock Holmes' short stories, Holmes' ill health causes him to slip up. An attempted murder leads to a revelation and a crumpled piece of paper covered in curious handwriting unravels a dustedly plan. That's next time.
