Season II - Episode VI -The Devil’s Foot - Part Two

Transcript

A Vicar Brings Terrible News

SPEAKER_02 0:07

Sherlock Holmes Alone, Season Two, Episode Five, The Devil's Foot, Part Two, The Conclusion.

SPEAKER_01 0:32

I was shaving at the window the next morning when I heard the rattle of hoofs, and looking up, saw a dog cart coming at a gallop down the road. It pulled up at our door, and our friend the vicar sprang from it and rushed up our garden path. Watson and I hastened down to meet him. Our visitor was so excited that he could hardly articulate, but at last, in gasps and bursts, his tragic story came out of him. It's the devil. It's devil ridden, Mr. Holmes. My poor parish is devil ridden. Satan himself is loose in it. We are given over to his hands. He danced about in his agitation, a ludicrous object if it were not for the ashy face and startled eyes. Finally, he shot out his terrible news. Mr Mortimer Truguinnis, he's died in the night, and with exactly the same symptoms as the rest of his family. I sprang to my feet. Can you fit us both in your dog cart, Vicar? Yes, yes, of course, Mr Holmes. Yes, I can. Then Watson, we will postpone our breakfast. Mr Rounday, we are entirely at your disposal. Hurry, hurry, before things get disarranged.

The Undisturbed Room Of Terror

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The lodger had occupied two rooms of the Vicarage, which were in an angle by themselves, the one above the other. Below was the large sitting room above his bedrooms. They looked out upon the croquet lawn which came up to the windows. He had arrived before the doctor or the police. We had arrived before the doctor or the police, so that everything was absolutely undisturbed. Let me describe exactly the scene as we saw it upon that misty March morning. It has left an impression which can never be effected from my mind. The atmosphere of the room was of a horrible and depressing stuffiness. The servant who had first entered had thrown up the window, or it would have been even more intolerable. This might be partly due to the fact that a lamp stood flaring and smoking on the center table. Beside it sat the dead man, leaning back in his chair, his thin beard projecting, his spectacles pushed up onto his forehead, and his lean dark face turned towards the window, and twisted into the same distortion of terror which had marked the features of his dead sister. His limbs were convulsed, and his fingers contorted as though he had died in the very proxims of fear. He was fully clothed, though there were signs that his dressing had been done in a hurry. We had already learned that his bed had been slept in, and that the tragic end had come to him in the early morning. Though the scene was truly horrible, I was in my element, and I was suddenly filled with red hot energy. In an instant I was tense and alert, my eyes shining, my face set, my limbs quivering with eager activity. I was out on the lawn, in through the window, round the room, and up into the bedroom, for all the world like a dashing foxhound drawing a cover. In the bedroom I made a rapid cast around and ended by throwing open the window, which gave me fresh cause for excitement. Then I rushed down the stair, out through the open window, threw myself upon my face on the lawn, sprang up and into the room once more, all with the energy of a hunter who was at the very heels of his quarry. The lamp, which was an ordinary standard, I examined with minute care, making certain measurements upon its bowl. I carefully scrutinized with my lens the talc shield which covered the top of the chimney, and scraped off some of the ashes which were adhered to its upper surface, putting some of them into an envelope, which I placed in my pocketbook. Finally, just as the doctor and the official police put in an appearance, I beckoned to the vicar, and we all three went out upon the lawn. I am glad to say, Vicar, that my investigation has not been entirely barren. I cannot remain to discuss the matter with the police, but I should be exceedingly obliged, Mr Roundhay, if you would give the inspector my compliments and direct his attention to the bedroom window and to the sitting room lamp. Each is suggestive, and together well, they are almost conclusive. If the police would desire further information, I shall be happy to see any of them at the cottage. And now, Watson, I think that perhaps we shall be better employed elsewhere. It may be that the police resented the intrusion of an amateur, or that they imagined themselves to be upon some hopeful line of investigation, but it is certain that we heard nothing from them for the next two days. During this time I spent some of my time smoking and dreaming in the cottage, but a greater portion in country walks, which I undertook alone, returning after many hours

Holmes Builds A Poison Theory

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without remark as to where I had been. One experiment served to show Watson the line of my investigation. I had bought a lamp, which was the duplicate of the one which had burned in the room of Mortimer Truginus on the morning of the tragedy. This I filled with the same oil as was used at the Vicarage, and I carefully timed the period which it would take to be exhausted. Another experiment which I made was of a more unpleasant nature, and one which I am not likely to ever forget. Now you will remember, Watson, that there is a single common point of resemblance in the varying reports which have reached us. This concerns the effect of the atmosphere of the room in each case upon those who had first entered it. You will remember, and recollect that Mortimer Guinness, in describing the episode of his last visit to his brother's house, remarked that the doctor on entering the room fell into a chair. Well, I can answer it that it was so. Now, you will remember also that Mrs. Porter, the housekeeper, told us that she herself fainted upon entering the room, and had afterwards opened the window. In the second case, that of Mortimer Juguinnus himself, you cannot have forgotten the horrible stuffiness of the room when we entered. Though the servant had thrown open the window. That servant, I found upon inquiry, was also ill, and she had gone to her bed. You will admit, Watson, that these facts are very suggestive. In each case there is evidence of a poisonous atmosphere. In each case also there is a combustion going on in the room. In the one case a fire, in the other a lamp. The fire was needed, but the lamp was lit as a comparison of oil consumed will show long after it was broad daylight. Why? Surely because there is some connection between three things the burning, the stuffy atmosphere, and finally the madness or death of those unfortunate people. That is clear, is it not? Well yes, of course, Holmes, very clear indeed. Do you agree that we may accept it as a working hypothesis? Well yes, why not? We will suppose that something was burned in each case, which produced an atmosphere causing strange toxic effects. Very good. In the first instant, that of Treginus family, this substance was placed in the fire. Now the window was shut, but the fire would naturally carry fumes to some extent up the chimney. Hence one would expect the effects of the poison to be less than in the second case, where there was less escape for the vapor. The result seems to indicate that it was so, since in the first case only the woman who had presumably the more sensitive constitution was killed. The others exhibiting that temporary or permanent lunacy, which is evidently the first effect of the drug. In the second case the result was complete. The facts, therefore, seemed to bear out the theory of a poison which worked by combustion. With this train of reasoning in my head, I naturally looked about Mortimer Treginus' room to find some remains of this substance. The obvious place to look was the talc shelf or smoke guard of the lamp. There, sure enough, I perceived a number of flaky ashes, and round the edges a fringe of brownish powder which had not yet been consumed. Half of this I took, as you saw, and placed in an envelope. Yes, but why only half, Holmes? Well it is not for me, my dear Watson, to stand in the way of the official police force. I leave them all the evidence which I found. The poison still remained upon the telc, had they the wit to find

A Reckless Experiment With The Lamp

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it. Now, Watson, we will light our lamp. We will, however, take the precaution to open our window to avoid the premature decease of two deserving members of society. And you will seat yourself near the open window, in an armchair, unless, like a sensible man, you determine to have nothing to do with this affair. Well Holmes, I am very curious. I should like to see the results. Let us be very, very careful.

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Oh, I see. You will see it out then, will you? I thought I knew my Watson.

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This chair I will place opposite yours, so that we may be the same distance from the poison and face to face. The door will be left ajar. Each is now in a position to watch the other, and to bring the experiment to an end should the symptoms become alarming. Is that all clear? Very good, well then I take out our powder, or what remains of it, from the envelope, and I lay it above the burning lamp. So now, Watson, let us sit down and await developments. Developments were not long in coming. I had hardly settled in my chair before I was conscious of a thick, musky odor, subtle and nauseous. At the very first whiff of it, my brain and my imagination were beyond all control. A thick black cloud swirled before my eyes, and my mind told me that in this cloud unseen as yet, but about to spring out upon my appalled senses, lurked all that was vaguely horrible, all that was monstrous and inconceivably wicked in the entire universe. Vague shapes swirled and swam amid the dark cloud bank, each a menace, and a warning of something coming, the advent of some unspeakable dweller upon the threshold, whose very shadow would blast my soul. A freezing horror took possession of me. I felt that my hair was rising, that my eyes were protruding, that my mouth was open, and my tongue like leather. The turmoil within my brain was such that something must surely snap. I tried to scream, and was vaguely aware of some hoarse croak which was my own voice. But distant and detached from myself. At the same moment, in some effort of escape, I broke through that cloud of despair and had a glimpse of Watson's face, white, rigid, and drawn with horror, the very look which I had seen upon the features of the dead. Little did I realize that the same expression contorted my own features. It was that vision which gave Watson an instant of sanity and of strength. He dashed from his chair, threw his arms round me, and together we lurched through the door, and in an instant afterwards, had thrown ourselves down upon the grass, and were lying side by side, conscious only of the glorious sunshine which was bursting its way through the hellish cloud of terror. Slowly, it rose from our souls like the mists from a landscape until peace and reason had returned, and we were sitting upon the grass, wiping our clammy foreheads, and looking with apprehension at each other to mark the last traces of that terrific experience which we had undergone together. Upon my word, Watson, I owe you both my thanks and an apology. It was an unjustifiable experiment, even for myself, and doubly so for a friend.

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I am really really very sorry. Well you know, Holmes, that it is always my greatest joy and privilege to help you.

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It would be superfluous to drive us mad, my dear Watson. A candid observer would certainly declare that we were so already before we embarked upon so wild an experiment. I confess that I never imagined that the effect could be so sudden and so severe. I dashed into the cottage, and, reappearing with the burning lamp, held it at full arm's length. I threw it among a bank of brambles. We must give the room a little time to clear. I take it, Watson, that you have no longer a shadow of a doubt as to how these tragedies were produced. No, Holmes. None whatsoever. But the cause remains as obscure as before. Come into the arbor here, and let us discuss it together. That villainous stuff

The Suspect Behind The Clues

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seems to still linger round my throat. I think we must admit that all the evidence points to this man, Mortimer Treginus, having been the criminal in the first tragedy, though he was the victim in the second one. We must remember, in the first place, that there is some story of a family quarrel, followed by a reconciliation, and how bitter that quarrel may have been or how hollow the reconciliation we cannot tell. When I think of Mortimer Treginus, with that foxy face, and small, shrewd, beady eyes behind the spectacles, he is not a man whom I should judge to be of a particularly forgiving disposition. Well, in the next place, you will remember that this idea of someone moving in the garden, which took our attention for a moment from the real cause of the tragedy, emanated from him. He had a motive in misleading us finally. If he did not know to throw the substance into the fire at the moment of leaving the room, who did so? The affair happened immediately after his departure. Had anyone else come in? The family would certainly have risen from the table. Besides, in peaceful Cornwall, visitors do not arrive after ten o'clock at night. We may take it then that all the evidence points to Mortimer Traginnus as the culprit. Then his own death must have been a suicide. Well, Watson, it is on the face of it not an impossible supposition. The man who had the guilt upon his soul of having brought such a fate upon his own family might well be driven by remorse to inflict the same one upon himself. There are, however, some cogent reasons against it. Fortunately, there is one man in England who knows all about it, and I have made arrangements by which we shall hear these facts this afternoon from his own lips.

Sterndale Confronted In The Arbor

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Ah, look. He arrives, and he is a little before his time. Perhaps you would kindly step this way, doctor Leon Sterndale. We have been conducting a chemical experiment indoors which has left our little room hardly fit for such a distinguished visitor as yourself. The majestic figure of the great African explorer appeared upon the path. He turned in some surprise toward the rustic arbor in which we sat. You sent for me, Mr Holmes. I had your note about an hour ago, and I've come. Though I really do not know why I should obey your summons. Perhaps we can clear up the point before we separate. Meanwhile, I am much obliged to you for your courteous acquiescence. You will excuse this informal reception in the open air, but my friend Watson and I have nearly furnished an additional chapter to what the papers call the Cornish horror. And we prefer a clear atmosphere for the present. Perhaps, since the matter which we have to discuss will affect you personally in a very intimate fashion, it is as well that we should talk where there can be no eavesdropping. The explorer took his cigar from his lips and gazed at me rather sternly. I am at a loss to know what you can have to speak to me about which affects me personally and in a very intimate fashion. The killing of Mortimer Treginus For a moment I wished that I were armed. Stearnsdale's face turned fierce and dusky red, his eyes glared, and the knotted, passionate veins started out in his forehead while he sprang forward with clenched hands. Then he stopped, and with a violent effort he resumed a cold, rigid calmness which was, perhaps, more suggestive of danger than his hot headed outburst. I have lived so long among savages, and beyond the law, that I have got into the way of being being a law unto myself. You would do well, Mr Holmes, not to forget it. I have no desire to do you any injury. Nor have I any desire to do you an injury, doctor Sterndale. Surely the clearest proof of it is that knowing what I know, I have sent for you, and not for the police. Sterndale sat down with a gasp, overrawed for perhaps the first time in his adventurous life. Our visitor stammered for a moment, his great hands opening and shutting in his agitation. Well what what do you mean? If this is a bluff upon your part, Mr Holmes, you have chosen a bad man for your experiment. Let us have no more beating about the bush. What do you mean? I will tell you, and the reason why I tell you is that I hope frankness may beget frankness. What my next steps will be will depend entirely upon the nature of your own defence. My defence? Yes, sir. My defence against what? Against the charge of killing Mortimer Treginus. Sterndale mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. Upon my word, you are getting on. Do all your successes depend upon this prodigious power of bluff? The bluff is upon your side, Dr. Leon Sterndale, and not upon mine. As a proof I will tell you some of the facts upon which my conclusions are based. Of your return from Plymouth, allowing much of your property to go on to Africa, I will say nothing save that it first informed me that you were one of the factors which had to be taken into account in reconstructing this drama. I came back because I have heard your reasons, and regard them as unconvincing and inadequate. We will pass that. You came down here to ask me whom I suspected. I refused to answer you. You then went to the vicarage, waited outside it for some time, and finally returned to your cottage. Well how do you know that? I followed you. I saw no one. That is exactly what you may expect to see when I follow you. You spent a restless night at your cottage, and you formed certain plans, which in the early morning you proceeded to put into execution. Leaving your door just as day was breaking, you filled your pockets with some reddish gravel that was lying heaped beside your gate. Sterndale gave a violent start and looked at me in amazement. You then walked swiftly for the mile which separated you from the Vicarage. You were wearing, I may remark, the same pair of rib tennis shoes which you are at present wearing upon your feet. At the Vicarage you passed through the orchard and side hedge, coming out under the window of the lodger Tregnas. It was now daylight, but the household was not yet stirring. You drew some of the gravel from your pocket, and you threw it up at the window above you. Sterndale sprang to his feet. I believe that you are the devil himself, Holmes. It took two or possibly three handfuls before the lodger came to the window. You beckoned him to come down. He dressed hurriedly and descended to the Into his sitting room. You entered by the window. There was an interview a short one, during which you walked up and down the room. You then passed out and closed the window, standing on the lawn outside smoking a cigar and watching what occurred. Finally, after the death of Treginus, you withdrew as you had come. Now, doctor Sterndale, how do you justify such conduct? And what were the motives of your actions? If you prevaricate your trifle with me, I give you my assurance that the matter will pass out of my hands forever. Our visitor's face had turned ashen grey as he listened to the words of the accusations. Now he sat for some time in thought

Brenda’s Photo And The Root

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with his face sunk in his hands. Then, with a sudden impulsive gesture, he plucked a photograph from his breast pocket and threw it on the rustic table before us.

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That is why I've done it. It showed the bust and face of a very beautiful woman. I stooped over and had a look at it. Ah Brenda Treginus Yes Brenda Treginus.

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For years I have loved her. For years she has loved me. There is the secret of that cornish seclusion which people have marbled at. It has brought me close to the one thing on earth that was dear to me. I could not marry her, for I have a wife who has left me for years, and yet whom, by the deplorable laws of England, I cannot divorce. For years Brenda waited, for years I waited, and this is what we have waited for. A terrible sob shook his great frame, and he clutched his throat under his brindled beard. Then, with an effort he mastered himself and spoke on. The vicar knew. He was in our confidence. He would tell you that she was an angel upon earth. That was why he telegraphed me and I returned. What was my baggage or Africa to me when I learned that such a fate had come upon my darling? There. There you have the missing clue as to my action, Mr Holmes.

unknown 24:36

Dr.

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Sterndale drew from his pocket a paper packet and laid it upon the table. On the outside was written Radix Petis Diaboli, with a red poison label beneath it. He pushed it toward Watson. I understand that you are a doctor, sir. Have you ever heard of this preparation? Devil's foot root no, no. I've never heard of it. Well that is no reflection upon your professional knowledge, doctor Watson, for I believe that say for one sample in a laboratory in Buddha, there is no other specimen in Europe. It has not yet found its way either into the pharmacopoeia or into the literature of toxicology. The root is shaped like a foot, half human, half goat like, hence the fanciful name given by the botanical missionary. It is used as an ordeal poison by the medicine men in certain districts of West Africa. It is kept as a secret among them. This particular specimen I obtained under very extraordinary circumstances in the Ubangi country. He opened the paper as he spoke, and disclosed a heap of reddish brown snuff like powder. Well doctor Sterndale? I'm about to tell you, Mr Holmes, all that actually occurred, for you already know so much that it is clearly in

Confession And A Choice To Let Go

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my interest that you should know all. I have already explained the relationship in which I stood to the Tregidus family. For the sake of the sister, I was friendly with the brothers. There was a family quarrel about money, which estrained this man Mortimer. But it was, I suppose, to be made up, and afterwards I met him and as I did the others. But he was a sly, subtle, scheming man, and several things arose which gave me suspicion of him, but I had no cause for any positive quarrel. One day, only a couple of weeks ago, he came down to my cottage and I showed him some of my African curiosities. Among other things I exhibited this powder, and told him of its strange properties, how it stimulates those brain centers which control the emotion of fear, and how either madness or death is the fate of the unhappy native who was subjected to the ordeal by the priest of his tribe. I told him also how powerless European science would be to detect it. How he took it I cannot say, for I never left the room, but there is no doubt that it was then, while I was opening cabinets and stooping over boxes, that he managed to abstract some of the devil's foot route. I well remember how he plied me with questions as to the amount and the amount of time that was needed for its effects. But I little dreamed that he could have a personal reason for asking. I thought no more of the matter until the vicar's telegram reached me at Plymouth. This villain had thought that I would be at sea before the news could reach me, and that I should be lost for years in Africa. But I returned at once. Of course, I could not listen to the details without feeling assured that my poison had been used. I came round to see you on the chance that some other explanation had suggested itself to you. But there could be none. I was convinced that Mortimer Treginnus was the murderer, and that for the sake of money, and with the idea, perhaps, that if the other members of his family were all insane, he would be the sole guardian of their joint property. He had used the devil's foot powder upon them, driven two of them out of their minds, and killed his sister Brenda, the one human being, for whom I have ever loved or who has ever loved me.

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That was his crime. And so what was to be his punishment?

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Should I appeal to the law? Where were my proofs? I knew that the facts were true, but could I help to make a jury of my countrymen believe so fantastic a story? I might, or I might not. But I could not afford to fail. My soul cried out for vengeance. I have said it to you once before, Mr Holmes, that I have spent much of my life outside the law, and that I have come at last to be a law unto myself. So it was even now. I determined that the fate which he had given to others should be shared by himself. Either that or I would do justice upon him with my own hands. In all England there can be no man who sets less value upon his own life than I do upon mine at this present moment. Now I have told you all. You have yourself supplied the rest. I did, as you say, after a restless night, set off early from the cottage. I foresaw the difficulty of arousing him, so I gathered some gravel from the pile of which you have mentioned, and I used it to throw up at his window. He came down and admitted me through the window of the sitting room. I laid his offence before him. I told him that I had come both as judge and as executioner. The wretch sank into a chair, paralyzed at the sight of my revolver. I lit the lamp, put the powder above it, and stood outside the window, ready to carry out my threat to shoot him should he try to leave the room. In five minutes he died.

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My God, how he died But my heart was flint.

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For he endured nothing which my innocent darling had not felt before him. There is my story, Mr Holmes. Perhaps if you loved a woman, you would have done as much yourself. At any rate, I am in your hands. You can take what steps you like. As I have already said, there is no man living who can fear death less than I do now. I sat for some little time in silence.

Holmes Explains The Final Chain

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What were your plans, doctor? I had intended to bury myself in Central Africa. My work there is but half finished. Go and do the other half. I at least am not prepared to prevent you.

unknown 31:24

Dr.

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Sterndale raised his giant figure, bowed gravely, and walked from the arbor. I lit my pipe and handed Watson my pouch. Well, Watson, some fumes which are not poisonous would be a welcome change. I think you must agree that it is not a case in which we are called upon to interfere. Our investigation has been independent, and our action shall be also. You would not denounce the man? No, Holmes. Under these circumstances I certainly would not. I have never loved Watson, but if I did, and if the woman I loved had met such an end, I might act even as our lawless lion hunter has done. Who knows? Well, I will not offend your intelligence by explaining what is obvious. The gravel upon the window sill was, of course, the starting point of my research. It was unlike anything in the Vicarage Garden. Only when my attention had been drawn to Dr. Sterndale and his cottage did I find its counterpart. The lamp shining in broad daylight, and the remains of the powder upon the shield were successive links in a fairly obvious chain. And now, my dear Watson, I think we may dismiss the matter from our minds and go back with a clear conscience to the study of those Claudian roots, which are surely to be traced to the cornish branch of the great Celtic speech.