Sherlock Holmes - Murder Beyond Mountains

Petri Wine brings you as a last bone and Nigel Bruce and the new adventures of Sherlock Holmes.

The Petri family, the family that took time to bring you good wine invite you to listen to Dr. Watson

tell us another exciting adventure he shared with his old friend that master detective Sherlock Holmes.

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It begins with a good wine.

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Get a bottle of Petri so turned.

When it's a Petri wine, it's a good wine.

And now I'm sure Dr. Watson's expecting it so let's go in and join it.

Oh there you are, Mr. Bartel.

Good evening.

Good evening.

Drop your chair for the fire.

That's it.

The tobacco's in the jar beside you over there.

Thanks.

Well, Dr. already for tonight's new Sherlock Holmes adventure?

Yes, Mr. Bartel.

Although on this occasion I'm going to tell the story a little differently.

You see, I didn't take part in it myself.

So I saw actors in a return, a comfy adventure as it was told me some years after it actually took place.

Told you by Sherlock Holmes I suppose.

Yes.

The time story happened the whole world including myself.

I believe my old friend had been dead for three years.

What have he done with himself during those three years?

I wondered about the world, Persia, Egypt, South of France.

Two years of his time was spent in Tibet.

Where he disguised himself as an Norwegian explorer by the name of Circus.

His object being to visit the business city of Laza.

The story began as Holmes stood on the outskirts of a penny encampment.

High in the Tibetan snows disguised on a Norwegian circus.

Surrounding him was an exciting group of native guides.

There were cat faces and shaggy sheepskin coats making them appear like strange wild animals.

Because they took their gesticulating wilds there.

The freezing wind were a great charge of snow away from the mountain top that loomed above them.

And Holmes told me that he felt a humanition of impending disaster.

South, my men will go further.

They say the guts of the mountain is angry.

If we try further, she will swallow us up.

She will bury us.

But we cannot go back now.

We have come so far, thousand feet, eight hundred feet higher, we shall reach far.

We shall be saved.

I will not go. We can stay back there in the tent.

Until the goddess of the mountain turns us, we may go further.

He is right. We can go.

We don't want to go anymore.

Two fours.

If you stay here in the middle of this, in the village, and the outskirts.

You are the ferris.

You have to expect to be the only approach I have upward.

We will not go.

I will not go again.

We will not go again.

We will not go again.

Holmes was the only one who survived.

He struggled up the path of led to safety.

The icy gale would be running in a frenzy.

A few moments after he reached the top.

The avalanche occurred.

The tents, the guides.

All the equipment were buried beneath hundreds of feet.

The factory was hundering snow.

The way behind him was closed.

He could only forge ahead.

Alone.

Unaded, he descended the path of led to the plateau beyond.

But the goddess of the mountain was still angry.

Through the sniping wind and snow he battled on.

Without food and without as he told me later, much hope.

Even Holmes was helpless in that battle of men.

Against the elements.

What happened in that 36 hours?

He never really knew except for the wind howled.

And the driving snow slashed at him without mercy.

Finally, his mind began to wander.

He became delirious.

What's in there, boy?

And then my valine, will you?

I won't introduce you to the goddess of the mountain.

I think you'll have a lot of in common.

To anyone be big, she'll be clabby at the heavens.

They'll get there as fast as you can.

I think I've got a chill.

His mind was wondering which strength combined with instinctive urge for self-preservation

as to get on his feet.

Finally, he returned to normal consciousness.

To find himself jogging along a rough road.

The primitive cart gone by two oxen.

The sun shining on him.

And a white girl feeding warm broth from a cup.

For a moment, the girl looked at him with a comforting smile.

You wonder, you look puzzled, poor man.

You can't make a mind whether you're in this world or the next.

Why are you?

And how did I get you?

My name is Irene Farley.

I'm a medical missionary.

I've found you wandering out of your mind two days ago.

And I've taken you under my wing.

We're going to the monastery of Puncha Pushpa.

I know it's good to hear you, Miss Farley.

You have saved my life.

To make me introduce myself.

My name is Tegas and oil off Tegas and I'm not even an explorer.

Oh, no.

No, your name is Sherlock Holmes and you're a famous English detective.

Yes, I don't understand.

Mr. Holmes, you've been delirious for the last two days.

In your ravings, I was delighted to learn that the great Sherlock Holmes did not die

two years ago at the right and back fall.

I can see the birth simulation as useless, my dear young lady.

However, I must applaud you to keep my secret.

It's essential that for a while longer, the world continues to think we did.

You don't need to worry, Mr. Holmes.

I'm a great admirer of yours and I promise that no one will ever learn your secret from me.

But, try doing a little more brawl.

You're dead for the weak.

Thank you so much.

Please, please, to give me a hand.

Another white man travels the road to Pansha, Pushpa.

Stop the cart!

You need help?

Stop!

My own cart has broken the wheel.

We're going perhaps to the monastery of Pansha, Pushpa.

We are?

Ah, good.

If you don't need to go to the city, then I will travel with you.

Please, to make room.

Yes, possible.

Please.

Remember my secret.

Ah, the cart may proceed.

What do you wish?

Ah, your name, please young lady.

I think, Paulie, I'm an American medical missionary.

Well, I do not approve of missionaries, but...

You are very beautiful.

So, for a general, forgive you.

Who is this magic line on the floor? It looks half dead.

I am half dead close for the invoiting.

My name is Sikerson. I am Norwegian.

What is it Norwegian doing in Tibet?

I have been exploring the mountains.

And what may I ask is a Russian doing in Tibet, of course, for the invoiting?

What is a Russian doing?

You shall see my friend.

To all of Mother Russia shall belong to Tibet.

But, now let us be gay.

We have some hours ahead of us.

You are like what comes as violent?

I'm afraid I don't drink.

But a general will teach you to drink.

Then he will sing your songs of his native Russia.

Ah, we shall be happy.

Hey, chicky chicky chicky, go to Vashnimor.

That's yesterday.

Homes tell me that every note jar is aching wear ahead.

After a few hours, the stranger saw it clear,

arrived at the gates of the monastery.

He had a face as Homes told me,

of great antiquity and a breathtaking beauty,

and built in the shadow of a giant mountain.

He was fed and bathed, and shortly afterwards,

he found himself together with his two companions

in the presence of the head abit himself,

a man of great age, an infinite wisdom.

The faint chanting of religious music

could be heard coming from another part of the monastery.

As the old man...

My dear Miss Farley, my dear gentleman,

I have welcomed you to the monastery,

and yet each one of you has come to me separately

and asked that he be given permission

to go to the sacred city of Lausa.

I cannot give that permission, my children.

Borogina has traveled a long way.

Borogina will be most unhappy if he does not get the permission.

I am an explorer, sir.

Will not that fact entitle me to some consideration?

I too have traveled a great way, sir.

My children, I realize your claims,

but the permission is not in my power to grant.

Tibet is ruled by our Chinese open-laws.

In any case, I will ask you to turn your heads.

Gentleman approaching us has preceded you in residence here,

he also wishes to trace the world to Lausa.

You have you visited us, I say?

Yes, my son, for me to introduce you,

Sahavi Falister, and this is Miss Eileen Farley.

How do you know?

How do you do, Sahavi?

Got podium, Borogina, from Russia?

How do you know?

One cannot travel the world without meeting an Englishman.

Third way for sure, what's it?

And Miss Olas Yigasan, from Northeak, got Dark Sahavi.

How do you know?

Please, be seated.

My children, the Chinese ruler in this province has heard of your presence here.

He has announced his intention of visiting you.

Before he arrives, I should like to ask you each a question.

Four of you all from different countries have traveled here

to the mountains of Tibet.

That is my mystery.

I can offer you refreshment, the opportunity of acquiring wisdom and peace.

What more do you seek in Lausa?

I shall ask you each that question in turn.

You, Miss Farley, what do you seek?

I seek the opportunity to bring both God and health to your Tibetan people.

And you, Mr. Seagasar.

I seek to chart the true course of your mountains.

And so to bring knowledge to the world.

And you, God's podium, Baradhin.

I seek to bring about complete understanding between the great peoples of Tibet and Russia.

If I succeed, Farley and his family may consider turning to Buddhism.

Indeed.

And you, Sahavi, as representative of the British government, what do you seek?

I shall not join in this contest of wishful thinking.

I merely remind you, sir, that your government has cited treaty with mine.

And was not that treaty forced upon us by our Chinese overlords?

No, my children.

You have advanced brave reasons, but I cannot help remembering that the streams of Tibet

bear gold nuggets, the size of hazelnuts.

You, foreigners, in your pitiful ignorance, esteemed gold.

But I signals the arrival of Watson.

But in his emissary, your problems were specific with my children.

I will acquaint him with your request.

Are you smiling, Mr. Holm?

At the name of the Chinese overlords, Watson.

Mr. Void falling into old habits and saying,

Elementary might be a Watson.

He's going to speak.

Silence! Silence!

The abbot has told me, oh wishes.

I will hold confidence.

Elementary can lead me, and no thing will not be allowed.

Only great Britain and Russia have treaties with my country.

I insist that I have prior right over the Russian representative.

Don't force me.

I represent it, sir.

And for Russia is your neighbor.

I demand my diplomatic privilege.

Follow me.

I will decide it, things.

Not you.

I shall inform the British consulate,

and speak in it, proceed.

It's a matter of Russia.

Well, Mr. Holm.

It looks as if you and I as an array don't get to last.

No.

You look worried.

Does the journey to last means so much to you?

It isn't that I'm worried about the potential danger that hangs over this monastery.

A violent force is at work.

Do you mean, Mr. Holm?

As you know, Miss Pali, I have some specialised acquaintance with these matters.

And I tell you that I have rarely seen more clearly exemplified that emotional tension,

which leads to one thing.

Murder.

That is what I'm afraid of, young lady.

Murder.

That was what Holmes was afraid of.

The other day, as the sun was setting over the mountain top,

the old abbot walked slowly in the monastery gardens.

Did he talk to the man who he thought?

Did he see us?

Mr. Seekers, and what can I do to help you?

Our conversation has pleased me.

If you are a man of rare perception and knowledge,

I grant you one worthy to enter, as I've adapted up in no hope.

Mr. Wah has already rejected the applications of both the Englishman and the Russian.

He did that, he did my son.

He told me they were both very angry and threatened him.

If anything were to happen to the Chinese emissary,

would you have the right grand permission for John to last?

You know, some children, you end boy or right speaking.

But what are you suggesting, my son?

This monastery is a haven of peace,

a backwater far from the troubled stream of life.

Though violence has ever occurred, I hope it never will yet.

The Chinese envoy was frightened, you say, Reverend Seekers.

Yes, my son?

He has left the monastery, of course.

Now, those who come here, even for the short visit,

must break free with a sleep at least one night.

Mr. Wah is caught in the cell, you say?

If not, then will you mind if we call on him, Reverend Seekers?

No, it was not, my son.

Though you were at best your best in talking to him,

he would not give you permission to take the road to Lasse.

This sleeps my son.

Let us not disturb him.

If you don't mind, Reverend Seekers, I must awaken him.

If he can be awakened.

What can be wrong?

I think I know.

I'm going in.

Where is your answer, Reverend Seekers?

Yes.

David?

Yes, sir.

Strangled with his own cue.

The poor, misguided man has taken his own life mask.

No, sir.

Look at those marks on his shoulder.

There's been murder.

But what do we do?

As it happens, Reverend Seekers, I have certain amount of experience,

but he's not as in my own country.

If I were to produce the murderer for you,

with certain proof of his guilt,

would you all rise my going to Lasse?

Yes.

Since for a few days that mission is mine to give, I will grant it.

You fill me with a strange confidence.

But how will you find this taker of life?

I can't tell you now, sir, but I shall find him.

All that I require is a little assistance from you, sir.

Of course, what is it?

Let us both leave this cell, push the guard here

and give him strict orders that no one's to enter

and just come by me.

Very well, but my son, where are you going?

Before very long, sir, I hope to be on my way to Lasse.

Dr. Watson will tell us the rest of his story immediately,

so I'll just take a second to remind you that hamburgers,

yep, hamburgers, are practically in all American foods.

We all love a good hamburger, but when you taste a juicy hamburger

together with a glass of petri-California burgundy,

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It's just the best friend a hamburger or steak

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If you prefer a white wine, you want petri-so-turn.

If you can't make up your mind what you want, it's simple.

Don't buy one, buy two, but always buy petri.

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Well, Dr. Watson seems to me that Sherlock Holmes was in a tough spot.

There he was, thousands of miles from England,

a murderer was running loose, Holmes was in disguise,

and he hadn't got you to help him.

Oh, thank you, Mr. Batel.

I must say, I think that I was always useful to my old friend,

but I wasn't there.

So this time he enlisted the services of Eileen Papa,

the American girl.

Immediately after he left the cell of the murdered man,

he'd gone to Miss Folly and told over the tragedy.

And then returned to the scene of the crime.

He found that his instructions had been carried out

and that a guard was barring the entrance.

The dead man's cell.

There's a guard in front of the cell.

Mind instructions.

The abbot gave you your orders.

Yes, you may go in.

Please close the door behind us.

I'll show you how it's done for Miss Folly.

It's not a pretty sight.

I've seen sudden death before Mr. Holmes.

In any case, I would interrupt your friend.

I'm so flattered that you asked me to help you.

You were the only one who knew my true identity.

And that's why I suggest to take my old friend's place.

I need to watch what I say.

I need to, uh, ascended in the sounding void

for my deductions when I'm here.

A lot of men.

There we are.

Now, his candle.

Oh!

I wonder if it wasn't a pretty sight

for the candle to please Miss Folly.

Thank you.

This isn't hard to reconstruct.

Kill us to it.

Behind his victim, held him by the left shoulder.

So, while his cue around his neck, he pulled back.

Yes.

Yes.

The marks are self-evident.

Hello.

What's this on the porch's feet?

A cigarette.

Drops as it was burning, I should think.

And now it's nothing but ash.

Shacky ash.

Now, put your visitors at the monastery.

Moxigrets.

Yourself?

The Russian and Sir Harvey.

The Englishman.

I think you may justifyably omit myself

from the list of suspects.

So that narrows us down to two.

Look, Miss Folly.

What is it?

There are clear faces here.

So, make it eye not only at tobacco ash and paper,

but a cardboard.

But what is that signify, Mr. George?

The case is nearly solved.

Come on, young lady.

We must pay a visit to Borod in Selut once.

Arduments.

Arduments.

Always, Sir Harvey, forester, you give me the Arduments.

But my dear Borodin.

I am not your dear Borodin.

I am Peter Dimitrovich Borodin,

a passenger of Holy Mother Russia.

I am not friend of yours.

Come in, come in, come in.

Ah, the missionary girl and the signal with you.

Come in.

We will drink vodka.

And I will sing Russian songs for you.

We haven't come here to listen to songs.

The Chinese envoy was murdered tonight.

So we have been told my dear.

Sir Harvey and I are very happy because of his thought we not.

Well, I won't pretend I am half-prosmoling Karodin.

What is it, Norwegian?

You were in the Selut tonight at the time of the murder.

That's a lie.

I can prove it.

And that Selut just found ashes,

totally burned cigarette ashes,

that included fragments of cardboard.

Only a Russian cigarette has a cardboard mouthpiece.

What you can or cannot prove is of no interest to me, sir.

He's very obsolete tonight, sir.

We've just been having a political argument.

Couldn't agree on a single fight,

except on the danger of the common man.

He was telling me of the most extraordinary revolution in his estate.

Do you know they shot off one of his hands?

Yes, sir.

Your handwriting.

Which one?

As God was merciful.

My left hand.

Twenty-one, beneath your glove.

He's made of wax.

My good, not a week.

He's made of wax.

Worthy for yourself.

Extraordinary.

It's more than that.

It is conclusive proof.

What do you mean?

I cannot tell you now.

I must leave you here.

Let me warn you.

It's three of you.

We'll be well advised to keep an eye on each other.

Meanwhile, I must see the abbot.

Fine, as you think.

Because now I know who murdered that son.

The pink fingers of dawn are stealing across the mountain top, my son.

Soon you will be on your way to Lutter.

Yes, Reverend Sir.

You have kept your promise.

You have kept yours, Mr. Sevisny.

The Chinese soldiers have arrived.

And the tale of life has been given into their custody.

Before you leave, my son, I want you to do something for me.

Anything, Reverend Sir, what is it?

The hood figure in the corner is that of the monastery's scribe.

He keeps our annals.

I want you to explain for our records how you knew which one of the three

was the takeer of life.

It was not difficult, sir.

Killer had gripped bathroom shoulder with the left hand.

What the right was used to strengthen him.

Therefore, the Russian boarding could not fit the killer since his left hand was off before.

Quite so.

It was, as you told, made of wax.

Then what the clue of the cigarette pointed directly to the Russian?

Therefore, it had obviously been planted there deliberately to encourage him.

Now, there is no praying police force in Tibet.

We need no police.

There is no praying here, my son.

But continue.

Why should the cigarette be planted between the community of the Russian?

Unless there was someone capable of making the deduction from a handful of great ash.

Therefore, the murderer was a one person who knew my true identity.

This island finally.

A supposed mission of no missionary has it transpired when she can pass with no America?

No.

The secret service agents of a medical German arching seeking to reach last year before the Russians.

I am furious by Varsen's denial of passage.

Any secret service is better off without such employee.

She will pay for the mortal sins.

May she redeem herself with her next place on the wheel.

My son.

Yes, Reverend Sir.

You are about to leave me.

And I shall never see you again.

Though evil and death came to Pantropushpa and to my monastery in the caravan,

I brought you here.

Show me, Sue, my son.

I shall miss you greatly.

And I, you, Reverend Sir, would you consider staying here?

I can only offer you peace, a shelter from the outside world and quiet companionship.

Three great gifts, sir.

But I cannot take from you.

My work is not done. I must go on.

Of course, my son.

It was an old man's dream.

One last question.

What is it, sir?

You spoke of your true identity just now.

Who are you, my son?

Reverend Sir.

I cannot tell even you the answer to that question.

One day, perhaps, but not now.

Let us just say that I have wandered through world of trouble.

Just as you have remained tangled in the world of peace.

I hope, sir, that we should meet again.

I hope so too.

Goodbye, my son.

Goodbye, Reverend Sir.

Goodbye.

Doctor, that was really an unusual story.

You told it so well. I felt you were actually a part of it.

Oh, my boy, as I said, the story was told to be by Holmes.

I knew it would be just a bet.

It would be in India, of course.

I never really wanted to go to Tibet.

Horrible mountains, terrible willow,

lots of bandits on the roads.

So, stay in this way.

Doctor, you're not afraid of danger, are you?

Ten years ago, Mr. Bartel, a question like that had been insult.

Today, I realized that all of us, unless we're stupid,

have some fear of danger,

I would say that I'm definitely not a coward.

No, am I a thrill-seeker, but I've done with searching for something new.

They told the doctor, I'm through searching for something new also.

Now that I've found Patrick Wein, I'm going to stick to him.

Mr. Bartel, no matter what we talk about,

when you say it, it always sounds like Patrick Wein.

Oh, I'm not.

I can't think of a more delicious wine, and no wonder.

The Petri family has been making the fine petri wines for generations.

Ever since the 1800s, they've handed on down from father to son,

from father to son.

The fine art of turning luscious, sun-ripened grapes into fragrant, delicious wine.

And because the making of petri wine is a family affair,

you can rest assured that the Petri family takes pride in doing a good job.

They won't put that name, Petri, on any wine that isn't up to the high Petri standards.

Yes, if it's Petri Wein, you know it's good wine,

because Petri took time to bring you good wine.

Well, Dr. Wein, what do you share like home's adventure to your plan to tell us next week?

Well, now, next week, Mr. Bartel, I'm good at taking the store.

It started off in a very light-hearted way, and ended on the same note.

And yet, it involved Sherlock Holmes in myself in serious danger

and caused us intense humiliation.

I call it the adventure of the pigeon feathers.

That's well done.

Oh, thank you.

And before you go, I want to remind the families of our return veterans

that their sons are more than heroes.

And not only fought bravely, but in the armed forces, they acquired new skills.

They learned or bettered themselves in some trade or further education.

How many returned with a new maturity and a new wisdom?

They'll be more valuable to past or to future employers and more valuable to their country.

The greatest assets America has at this moment are her veterans.

Remember that.

Good night.

Tonight, Sherlock Holmes' adventure was written by Dennis Green, an Anthony Boucher,

and was suggested by incident in the Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's story,

The Adventure of the Empty House.

Music is by Dean Foster.

Mr. Rathbone appears through the courtesy of Metro Golden Mayor

and Mr. Bruce through the courtesy of Universal Pictures.

They are now starring in the Sherlock Holmes series.

The Petri wine company of San Francisco, California,

invites you to tune in again next week, same time, same station.

Sherlock Holmes comes to you from our Hollywood studio.

This is Harry Bartel saying good night for the Petri family.

We're a solid hour of exciting mystery dramas.

Listen every Monday night on most of these same stations at eight o'clock

to Michael Shane, followed immediately by Sherlock Holmes.

This is the mutual broadcasting system.