Episode X - The Sussex Vampire

A letter arrives with a single electrifying word—vampires—and the trail leads us to a crumbling Sussex farmhouse where fear thrives in the gaps between what we see and what we think we see. We step through heavy oak doors, past Tudor chimneys and South American weapons, into a home split between legend and reason: a baby with a bright red wound, a mother shunned as monstrous, and a father unravelled by doubt.

We walk carefully with Holmes as he strips away the theatre of superstition and reads what the room itself is saying. A spaniel’s sudden paralysis months earlier becomes a clue, not a coincidence. A tiny quiver and bird bow whisper about poisons that act faster than grief. The “bite” on the child’s neck reshapes into a desperate, ingenious act to draw venom, while silence hardens into a shield built to protect a husband from a truth he is not ready to bear. The heart of the mystery lies in the reflection of a son’s gaze: a flash of envy and wounded love that turns devotion into harm. It’s a case study in how jealousy can hide in the gentlest pose, and how a mother can be both accused and heroic at once.

Across the hour, we explore how evidence beats folklore, why context matters more than spectacle, and how family dynamics can warp even the best intentions. You’ll hear the moment deduction snaps into place, the tender and painful confrontation that follows, and a humane resolution that chooses repair over ruin. If you’re here for sharp clues, emotional stakes, and a reminder that the scariest monsters are often misunderstood motives, you’re in the right story.

If this mystery moved you or made you rethink a classic, follow the show, share it with a friend, and leave a quick review—what clue clinched it for you?

Transcript

SPEAKER_01 0:10

Sherlock Holmes alone. Episode ten. The Sussex Vampire.

Holmes Versus Superstition

Ferguson’s Despair And Facts Emerge

Arrival At Cheesman’s Lamberley

The Ailing Wife And Silent Room

Baby’s Wound, Dog’s Clue

SPEAKER_02 0:27

I have just been rereading carefully a note which the last post had brought me in January of 1924, and which I have just dug out of a box in my great garret. Now for a mixture of the modern and the medieval, of the practical and of the wildly fanciful, this note is surely the limit. It reads as follows forty six Old Jury, November nineteenth, re Vampires. Sir, our client, Mr Robert Ferguson of Ferguson and Muirhead Teabrokers of Mincing Lane, has made some inquiry from us in a recent communication of Even Date concerning vampires. As our firm specializes entirely upon the assessment of machinery, the matter seemed hardly to come within our purview, and we have therefore recommended Mr Ferguson to call upon you and lay the matter before you. We have not forgotten your successful action in the case of Matilda Briggs. We are, sir, faithfully yours, Morrison Morrison and Dodd, per EJC. Matilda Briggs was not the name of a young woman. It was a ship which is associated with the giant rat of Sumatra, a story for which the world is not yet prepared. But what did I know about vampires? Did it come within my purview? Well, sometimes any problem is better than stagnation, but really, I seem to have been switched on to a grimm's fairy tale. I made a long arm to see what the volume marked V in my great collection of index books would have to say. I leaned back and took down the great index volume. I balanced it on my knee, and my eyes moved slowly, and I must admit, rather lovingly, over the records of my old cases, mixed with the accumulated information of a lifetime, including Voyage of the Gloria Scott, oh that was a bad business, Victor Lynch, the forger, Venomous Lizard or Geela, remarkable case that Vittoria the Circus Bell, Vanderbilt and the Yegman, Vipers, Vigor, the Hammersmith Wonder. Hello, hello, good old index. You know you can't beat it. I also found Vampirism in Hungary, and again Vampires in Transylvania. I turned over the pages with eagerness, but after a short, intent perusal, I threw down the great book with a snarl of disappointment. Look, it was all rubbish, rubbish. What did I have to do with walking corpses who can only be held in their grave by stakes driven through their hearts? It's pure lunacy. But, on the other hand, the vampire was not necessarily a dead man. A living person might have the habit. I have read, for example, of the old sucking the blood of the young in order to retain their youth. But was I to give serious attention to such things? My work stands flat footed upon the ground, and there it must remain. The world is big enough for me, no ghosts need apply. I feared that I could not take Mr Robert Ferguson very seriously. Now, I do hold in my hand the second letter which arrived packaged with the first. Even now as I read it a smile of amusement creeps upon my face which I hope does not hide the deeper expression of intense interest and concentration. The letter reads as follows Dear Mr Holmes, I have been recommended to you by me lawyers, but indeed the matter is so extraordinarily delicate that it is most difficult to discuss. It concerns a friend of mine, for whom I'm acting. This gentleman married some five years ago a Peruvian lady, the daughter of a Peruvian merchant, whom he had met in connection with the importation of nitrates. The lady was very beautiful, but the fact of her foreign birth and of her alien religion always caused a separation of interests and of feelings between the husband and wife, so that after a time his love may have cooled towards her, and he may have come to regard their union as a mistake. He felt there were sides of her character which he could never explore or understand. This was the more painful, as she was loving a wife as a man could ever have, to all appearances absolutely devoted. Now for the point which I will make more plain when we meet. Indeed, this note is merely to give you a general idea of the situation and to ascertain whether you would care to interest yourself in the matter. The lady began to show some curious traits quite alien to her ordinarily sweet and gentle disposition. The gentleman had been married twice, and he had one son by the first wife. This boy was now fifteen, a very charming and affectionate youth, though unhappily injured through an accident in childhood. Twice the wife was caught in the act of assaulting this poor lad in the most unprovoked way. Once she struck him with a stick and left a great wheel on his arm. This was a small matter, however, compared with her conduct toward her own child, a dear boy just under one year of age. In one occasion, about a month ago, this child had been left by its nurse for a few minutes. A loud cry came from the baby, as of pain. As she ran into the room, she saw her employer, the lady, leaning over the baby and apparently biting his neck. There was a small wound in the neck from which a stream of blood had escaped. The nurse was so horrified that she wished to call the husband, but the lady implored her not to do so. Not only did she implore her, she gave her five pounds as a price for her silence. No explanation was ever given, and for the moment the matter was passed over. It left, however, a terrible impression upon the nurse's mind, and from that time she began to watch her mistress closely and to keep a closer guard upon the baby, whom she tenderly loved. It seemed to her that even as she watched the mother, so the mother watched her, and that every time she was compelled to leave the baby alone, the mother was waiting to get at it. Day and night the nurse covered the child, and day and night the silent, watchful mother seemed to be lying in wait, as a wolf waits for a lamb. It must read most incredible to you, and yet I beg you to take it seriously, for a child's life and a man's sanity may depend upon it. At last there came one dreadful day when the facts could no longer be concealed from the husband. The nurse's nerve had given way, and she could stand the strain no longer, and she made a clean breast of it all to the man. To him it seemed a wild tale as it may have seemed to you now. He knew his wife to be a loving wife, and save for the assaults upon her stepson, a loving mother, why then should she wound her own dear little baby? He told the nurse that she was dreaming, that her suspicions were those of a lunatic, and that such libels upon her mistress were not to be tolerated. Well, they were talking, and a sudden cry of pain was heard. Nurse and master rushed together into the nursery. Imagine his feelings, Mr Holmes, as he saw his wife rise up from the kneeling position beside the cot, and saw the blood upon the child's exposed neck and upon the sheet. With a cry of horror, he turned his wife's face to the light and saw blood all round her lips. It was she beyond all question, who had drunk the poor baby's blood. So the matter stands. She is now confined to her room. There has been no explanation. The husband is half demented. He knows and I know little of vampirism beyond the name, and he had thought it was some wild tale of foreign parts, and yet, here in the very heart of the English Sussex, well all this can be discussed with you in the morning. Will you see me? Will you use your great powers in aiding a distracted man? If so, kindly wire to Ferguson, Cheesman's and Lamberley, and I will be at your rooms by ten o'clock. Yours faithfully, Robert Ferguson. Cheesman's Lamberley is in Sussex, south of Horsham. I knew that country. It is full of old houses which are named after the men who built them centuries ago. You get Odleys and Harvey's and Carrotons, the folk are forgotten, but their names live on in their homes. I rather fancied that I would know a good deal more about Cheeseman's Lamberley before I was through. The letter was, as I had hoped, from Robert Ferguson. I sent a wire to Mr Ferguson. We'll examine your case with pleasure. Well, of course it was his case. I could not let him think that my work applied to the weak minded. Yes, indeed it was his case. I sent him that wire and let the matter rest till morning. Promptly at ten o'clock next morning, Ferguson strode into my room. There is surely nothing in life more painful than to meet a wreck of a man. Obviously Ferguson had once been a fine, strong man, no doubt, but now his great frame had fallen in, his flaxen hair was scanty, and his shoulders were bowed. I'm weary and tired, Mr Holmes. But it's this last day or two that has aged me ten years. I see by your telegram, Mr Holmes, that it is no use me pretending to be anyone's deputy. It is simpler to deal direct, Mr Ferguson. Of course, of course it is. But you can imagine how difficult it is when you're speaking of the one woman whom you are bound to protect and help. What can I do? How am I to go to the police with such a story? And yet the kiddies have got to be protected. It is madness, Mr Holmes. Is it is it something in the blood? Have you seen any similar case in your experience? For God's sake, give me some advice, for I'm at my wit's end. Very naturally, Mr Ferguson. It's understandable. Now sit here and pull yourself together, and give me a few clean answers. I can assure you that I am very far from being at my wit's end, and that I am confident we shall find some solution. First of all, tell me what steps you have taken. Is your wife still near the children? Oh we had a dreadful scene. She's the most loving woman, Mr Holmes. If ever a woman loved a man with all her heart and soul she loves me. She was cut to the heart that I should have discovered this horrible, this incredible secret. She would not even speak. She gave no answer to my reproaches, save to gaze at me with a sort of wild, despairing look in her eyes. Then she rushed to her room and locked herself in. Since then, she has refused to see me. She has a maid who was with her before our marriage, Dolores, by name, a friend rather than a servant. She takes her food to her. Then the child is in no immediate danger. Mrs. Mason, the nurse, has sworn that she will not leave it night or day, and I can absolutely trust her. I'm more uneasy about poor little Jack, for as I told you in my note, he has twice been assaulted by my wife. But never wounded No. But she did strike him savagely. It is the more terrible as he is a poor little inoffensive cripple. Ferguson's gaunt features softened as he spoke of the boy. You would think that the dear lad's condition would soften anyone's heart. A fall in childhood and a twisted spine, Mr Holmes. But the dearest, most loving heart within. What other inmates are there in your home, Mr Ferguson? Well two servants who have not been long with us, one stable hand, Michael, who sleeps in the house, my wife, myself, my boy Jack, baby, Dolores, and Mrs. Mason. That is all. I gather you did not know your wife well at the time of your marriage. I'd only known her a few weeks, Mr Holmes. And Mr Ferguson, how long had this maid Dolores been with her? Oh some years. Then your wife's character would really be better known by Dolores than by you. Yes, you may say so, Mr Holmes. Well, Mr Ferguson, I fancy that I may be of more use at Lamberley than here. It is obviously a case for personal investigation. If your wife remains in her room, our presence could not annoy or inconvenience her. Of course, I would stay at the inn. It is what I hope, Mr Holmes. There's an excellent train at two from Victoria if you could come. Of course I will come. There is a lull in my activities at present. I can give you my undivided energies. But there are one or two little points upon which I wish to be very, very sure before I start. This unhappy lady, as I understand it, has appeared to assault both the children, her own baby and your own little son. Ah that is so, Mr Holmes. But the assaults take different forms, do they not? She has beaten your son. Oh yes, once with a stick, and once very savagely with her hands. Did she give no explanation as to why she struck him? None save that she hated him. Again and again she said so. Well, that is not unknown among stepmothers. A posthumous jealousy, we will say. Is the lady jealous by nature? Oh yes, Mr Holmes, she is very jealous, jealous with all the strength of her fiery tropical love. But the boy, he is fifteen, I understand, and probably very developed in mind since his body has been circumscribed in action. Did he give you no explanation of these assaults? No. He declared there was no reason, Mr Holmes. Were they good friends at other times, your wife and your son? No, no, no. There was never any love between them. Yet you say he is affectionate? Never in the world could there be so devoted a son. My life is his life, Mr Holmes. He is absorbed in everything I say or do. No doubt you and the boy were great comrades before this second marriage. You were thrown very close together, were you not? Oh very much so, Mr Holmes. And the boy, having so affectionate a nature, was devoted, no doubt, to the memory of his mother. Oh most devote indeed. He would certainly seem to be a most interesting lad. There is one other point about these assaults. Were the strange attacks upon the baby and the assaults upon your son at the same period? Well now in the first case it was so. It was as if some frenzy had seized her, and she had vented a rage upon them both. In the second case it was only Jack who suffered. Mrs. Mason had no complaint to make about the baby. That certainly complicates matters. I don't quite follow you, Mr Holmes. Possibly not. One forms provisional theories and waits for time for fuller knowledge to explore them. A bad habit, Mr Ferguson, but human nature is weak. I fear that the newspapers have sometimes given an exaggerated view of my scientific methods. However, I will only say at the present stage that your problem does not appear to me to be insoluble, and that you may expect to find me at Victoria at two o'clock. It was the evening of a dull, foggy November day, when having left our bags at Chequers Lamberley, we drove through the Sussex clay of a long winding lane and finally reached the isolated and ancient farmhouse in which the Fergusons dwelt. It was a large, straggling building, very new at the wings, with towering tudor chimneys, and a lichen spotted high pitched roof of Horsham slabs. The doorsteps were worn into curves, and the ancient tiles which lined the porch were marked with the rebus of a cheese and a man after the original builder. Within the ceilings were corrugated with heavy oaken beams, and the uneven floors sagged into sharp curves. An odour of age and decay pervaded the whole crumbling building. There was one very large central room into which Ferguson led us. Here, in a huge old fashioned fireplace with an iron screen behind it, dated sixteen seventy, there blazed and sputtered a splendid log fire. The room, as I gazed around, was a most singular mixture of dates and of places. The half panelled walls may well have belonged to the original yeoman farmer of the seventeenth century. They were ornamented, however, on the lower part, by a line of well chosen modern water colours, while above, where yellow plaster took the place of oak, there was hung a fine collection of South American utensils and weapons, which had been brought, no doubt, by the Peruvian lady upstairs. I eagerly examined them with some care. A spaniel had lain in a basket in the corner. It came slowly forward towards its master, walking with difficulty. Its hind legs moved irregularly, and its tail was on the ground. It licked Ferguson's hands. Hello there, little friend. What is the trouble? Well, what is it, Mr Holmes? The dog. What's the matter with it? Oh that's what puzzled the vet. A sort of paralysis. Spinal meningitis, he thought. But it is passing. Ah you'll be all right soon, won't you, Carlo? A shiver of assent passed through the drooping tail. The dog's mournful eyes passed from one of us to the other. He knew that we were discussing his case. Mr Ferguson, did it come on suddenly? Oh in a single night. And how long ago? It may have been four months ago now. Very remarkable, very suggestive. What do you see in it, Mr Holmes? A confirmation of what I had already thought. For God's sake, Mr Holmes, what do you think? It may be a mere intellectual puzzle to you, but it is life and death to me. My wife a would be murderer, my child in constant danger. Don't play with me, Mr Holmes. It is too terribly serious. Ferguson was trembling all over. I put my hands soothingly upon his arm. I fear, Mr Ferguson, that there is pain for you. Whatever the solution may be, I would spare you all I can. I cannot say more for the instant, but before I leave this house, I hope I may have something definite. Please God may you have it. If you will excuse me, I'll go up to my wife's room and see if there's been any change. He was away some minutes, during which I resume my examination of the curiosities upon the wall. When my host returned it was clear from his downcast face that he had made no progress. He brought with him a tall, slim, brown faced girl. The tea is ready, Dolores. See that your mistress has everything she can wish. She a very ill. She no ask for food, sir. She very ill. She need a doctor. I frightened stay alone with her without a doctor. Oh she would only see me. She no see you, sir. She says she know to see you. Perhaps I could be of use. Would your mistress see me? Hugh Hugh no doctor. She only see doctor No, dear lady, I am no doctor, but I have been able to find cures for many an ailment. If I could see your mistress, I could study her symptoms even just for a moment. The potential evidence would go a long way towards solving this mystery. I take you. I know ask leave. She need to see someone. Then I'll come with you at once. I followed the girl who was quivering with strong emotion, up the staircase and down an ancient corridor. At the end was an iron clamped and massive door. It struck me as I looked at it, that if Ferguson tried to force his way to his wife, he would find it no easy matter. The girl drew a key from her pocket, and the heavy oaken planks creaked upon their old hinges. I passed in, and she swiftly followed, fastening the door behind her. Upon the bed lay a woman who was clearly in a high fever. She was only half conscious, but as I entered, she raised a pair of frightened but beautiful eyes and glared at me in apprehension. Seeing a stranger, she appeared to be relieved and sank back with a sigh upon the pillow. I stepped up to her and said a few reassuring words, as she lay still while I took her pulse and her temperature. Both were high, and yet my impression was that the condition was rather that of a mental and nervous excitement than out of any actual seizure. The woman turned her flushed and handsome face towards me. Where is my husband? He is below, and would wish to see you. I will not see him. I will not see him. Then she seemed to wander off into delirium. A fiend A fiend Oh what shall I do with this devil? Can I help you in any way, Mrs. Ferguson? No. No one, no one can help. It is finished. All is destroyed. Do what I will, all is destroyed. The woman must have had some strange delusion. I could not see honest Bob Ferguson in the character of a fiend or a devil. Madam, your husband loves you dearly. He is deeply grieved at this happening. Again she turned on me those glorious eyes. He loves me, yes. But do I not love him? Do I not love him even to sacrifice myself rather than break his dear heart? This is how I love him, and yet he could think of me, he could speak of me so he is full of grief, madam, but he cannot understand. No, he cannot understand. But he should trust. Well will you not see him? No, no, I cannot forget those terrible words, nor the look upon his face. I will not see him. Go now. You can do nothing for me. Tell him only one thing. I want my child. I have a right to my child. That is the only message I can send him. She turned her face to the wall, and would say no more. I returned to the room downstairs where Ferguson still sat by the fire. Ferguson listened moodily to my account of the interview. How can I send her the child, Mr Holmes? How do I know what strange impulse might come upon her? How can I ever forget how she rose from beside it with its blood upon her lips? The child is safe with Mrs. Mason, and there he must remain. A smart maid, the only modern thing which I'd seen in this house, had brought in some tea. As she was serving it the door opened, and a youth entered the room. He was a remarkable lad, pale face and fair haired, with excitable light blue eyes which blazed into a sudden flame of emotion and joy as they rested upon his father. He rushed forward and threw his arms around Ferguson's neck with the abandon of a loving girl.

SPEAKER_00 25:16

Oh, Daddy, I did not know that you were due yet. I should have been here to meet you. Oh, I am so glad to see you.

Deduction Crystallises

Confrontation And Resolution

SPEAKER_02 25:26

Ferguson gently disengaged himself from the embrace with some little show of embarrassment. Ah, dear old chap, I came early because my friend, Mr Holmes, has been persuaded to come down and spend an evening with us. Is that Mr Holmes, the detective? Yes, Jackie. The youth looked at us with very penetrating and, as it seemed to me, unfriendly eyes. What about your other child, Mr Ferguson? Might we make the acquaintance of the baby? Ah, yes, of course, Mr Holmes. Ask Mrs. Mason to bring the baby down. The boy went off with a curious, shambling gait, which seemed to suggest that he was suffering from a weak spine. Presently he returned, and behind him came a tall, gaunt woman bearing in her arms a very beautiful child, dark eyed, golden haired, a wonderful mixture of the Saxon and the Latin. Ferguson was evidently devoted to it, for he took it into his arms and fondled it most tenderly. Ah, Mr Holmes, fancy anyone having the heart to hurt him. He glanced down at the small, angry red pucker upon the cherub's throat. It was at this moment that I am sure that anyone who took the time to notice would have seen a most singular intensess in my expression. I felt my face set, as if it had been carved out of old ivory, and my eyes, which had glanced for a moment at the father and child, were now fixed with eager curiosity beyond something on the other side of the room, something outside the room. My gaze was looking out through the window at the melancholy dripping garden. It is true that a shutter had half closed outside and obstructed the view. But nonetheless, it was certainly at the window that I was fixing my concentrated attention. My eyes came back to the baby. On its chubby neck there was this small pocket mark. I examined the mark with care. Finally, I shook one of the dimpled fists which waved in front of me. Goodbye, little man. You have made a strange start in life. Nurse, I should wish to have a word with you in private. I took the nurse aside and spoke earnestly for a few moments. I reassured her as our conversation came to a close. Your anxiety will soon, I hope, be set at a rest. The woman, who gave the impression of being a sour, silent kind of creature, withdrew with the child. Mr Ferguson, what is Mrs. Mason like? Well, as you can see, not very prepossessing externally. But a heart of gold, Mr Holmes, and devoted to the child. Do you like her, Jack? Jack's expressive, noble face shadowed over, and he shook his head. Well, Mr Holmes, Jackie has very strong likes and dislikes. Ferguson put his arm around the boy. Luckily, I am one of his likes, isn't that right, Jackie? The boy cooed and nestled his head upon his father's breast. Ferguson gently disengaged him. Run away now, little Jackie, there's a good boy. Now, Mr Holmes, I really feel that I have brought you on a fool's errand. For what can you possibly do save give me your sympathy? It must be an exceedingly delicate and complex affair from your point of view. Well, Mr Ferguson, it is certainly delicate, but I have not been struck up to now with its complexity. It has been a case for intellectual deduction, but when this original intellectual deduction is confirmed point by point by quite a number of independent incidents, then the subjective becomes the objective, and we can say confidently that we have reached our goal. I had, in fact, reached it before I left Baker Street, and the rest has merely been observation and confirmation. Ferguson put his big hand to his forward brow. For heaven's sake, Mr Holmes, if you can see the truth in this matter, do not keep me in suspense. How do I stand? What shall I do? I care nothing as to how you have found your facts so long as you've really got them. Certainly, I I do owe you an explanation, and you shall have it. But you will permit me to handle the matter in my own way. Your wife is ill, but she is quite rational. It is only in her presence that we can clear the matter up. Let us go up to her now. But she will not see me, Mr Holmes. Oh yes, she will. I scribbled a few lines upon a sheet of paper. We ascended the stairs once again, and I gently knocked upon the door of Mrs. Ferguson's room. Dolores, who had cautiously opened the door, took the note. A minute later I heard a cry from within, a cry in which joy and surprise seemed to be blended. Dolores looked out. She will see you both. She will listen. As we entered the room, Ferguson took a step or two towards his wife, who had raised herself in the bed, but she held out her hand to repulse him. He sank into an armchair while I seated myself beside him. After bowing to the lady, who looked at me with that same wide eyed amazement, I think we can dispense with Dolores. Mrs. Ferguson's expression soured. Madam, if you would rather she stayed, then I can see no objection. Now, Mr Ferguson, I am a busy man with many calls, and my methods have to be short and direct. The swiftest surgery is the least painful. Let me first say what will ease your mind. Your wife is a very good and very loving, and a very ill used woman. Ferguson sat up with a cry of joy. Prove that, Mr Holmes, and I am in your debt forever. I will do so, Mr Ferguson, but in doing so, I must wound you deeply in another direction. I care nothing so long as you clear my wife. Everything on earth is insignificant compared to that. Let me tell you then, the train of reasoning which passed through my mind in Baker Street. The idea of a vampire was to me absurd. Such things do not happen in criminal practice in England, and yet your observations were precise. You had seen the lady rise from beside the child's cot, with blood upon her lips. I did, I swear to God I did. Did it not occur to you that a bleeding wound may be sucked for some other purpose than to draw the blood from it? Was there not a queen in English history who sucks such a wound to draw the poison from it? Poison A South American household. My instinct felt the presence of those weapons upon your wall before my eyes ever saw them. It might have been other poison, but the potential for a poisonous weapon is what occurred to me. When I saw that little empty quiver beside the small bird bow, it was just what I expected to see. If the child were pricked with one of those arrows dipped in carare or some other devilish drug, it would mean death if the venom were not sucked out. And the dog If one were to use such a poison, would one not try it first in order to see that it had not lost its power? I did not foresee the dog, but at least I understood him, and he fitted into my reconstruction. Now do you understand? Your wife feared such an attack. She saw the attack made, and saved the child's life, and yet she shrank from telling you telling you all the truth, for she knew how you loved the boy, and feared lest it break your heart. Jackie, my dear Jackie. I was watching him as you fondled the child just now downstairs. His face was clearly reflected in the glass of the window where the shutter formed the background. I saw such jealousy, such cruel hatred as I have seldom seen in a human face. But my Jackie? Exactly. So I imagined. You have to face it, Mr Ferguson. It is the more painful because it is a distorted love, a maniacal, exaggerated love for you, and possibly for his dead mother, which has prompted his action. His very soul is consumed with hatred for this splendid child, whose health and beauty are a contrast to his own weakness. Good God, Mr Holmes, it is incredible. Have I spoken the truth, madam? The lady was sobbing, with her face buried in the pillows. Now she turned to her husband. How could I tell you, Bob? I felt the blow it would be to you. It was better that I should wait, that it should come from other lips than mine. When this gentleman, who seems to have powers of magic, wrote that he knew all, I was glad. I think a year at sea may be my prescription for Master Jackie. Only one thing is still clouded, madam. We can quite understand your attacks upon Master Jackie. There is a limit to a mother's patience, but how did you dare to leave the child these last two days? I had told Mrs. Mason she knew. Ferguson was standing by the bed, choking, his hands outstretched and quivering. This, I fancy, is the time for my exit. I left them to settle the rest among themselves. I have only one further note of this case. It is the letter which I wrote in final answer to that which the narrative begins. It runs thusly. Sir, referring to your letter of the nineteenth, I beg to state that I have looked into the inquiry of your client, Mr. Robert Ferguson, of Ferguson and Muirhead, Teabrokers of Mincing Lane, and that the matter has been brought to a satisfactory conclusion. With thanks for your recommendation, I am, sir, faithfully yours, Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes Alone, adapted and performed by J. P. Winsleman, based on the original writings of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.