Sherlock Holmes - Silver Blaze

Chains of Sherlock Holmes, the original and immortal stories of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle,

dramatized the new, where Sir John Gilgurth and Sherlock Holmes and Sir Ralph Richardson,

as our storyteller, Dr. James Watson. Many of the cases of Sherlock Holmes were private affairs

that made no stir outside the family circles involved, but the disappearance of silver blaze

was a matter of which set the whole country by the ears. But not nearly at this horse,

the favorite for the basic cup, vanished for a week before the great race,

but his trainer had also been tragically murdered.

Don't say that, this is a small villa, about 200 yards from the stable. I think you

have some newspapers there, what's in it, see what they have to say about another.

Oh well, here's the morning post, it says, the horses have been exercised and watered as usual

on the tables locked up at 9 o'clock. Two of the legs walked up to the trainer's house,

where they had supper in the kitchen, as the third made Hunter remained on guard.

A few minutes after 9, the maid, Edith Baxter, carried his supper, dish of courage, mutton,

down to the stable. As the path ran over the open mower, she carried a lantern with her.

About 30 yards away from the stable, a man appeared out of the doctors and called to her to stop.

Excuse me, ma'am. Can you tell me where I am?

I'd almost made up my mind to skip on the mower when I saw your lantern.

Your coast to keen style in tiny stables, sir?

I am. What a stoke of light. I understand that the stable boy sleeps there

learning the night. Perhaps that's his supper you'll carry.

Yes sir, but you'll be getting cold.

Yes, but you wouldn't be too proud to earn the price of a new dress now, would you?

See the boy gets the sack. Note tonight, and you have the pictures dressed at money can buy.

Let me pass, sir. I'm not getting notes to anybody.

The girl was frightened by his mower, and she ran past into the stable window,

patch, to which she always used to hand the boy his needles. The hatch was already open,

and the boy was waiting inside. He just begun to tell him what had happened

when the stinger came up again.

I wanted to have a word with you, but what business have you read?

Business that made for something in your pocket.

Through two horses and through the west-six cups, through the bears and bear on,

let me have a straight tip and you won't be the loser.

It is a fact that it's a wait spay, or I could give the other a hand with your hands.

So, so you all wanted them jammed out?

Well, I'll show you how we serve them at King's Pireland.

Just wait while I sit the dog free.

Brother! Brother!

The boy ran to unleash the dog, and the maid hurried toward the house,

but looking back, she saw the stranger leaving him through the stable window.

I mean, it's later when a hunter rushed out with the dog, the stranger was gone.

Yeah, it's done.

That's as far as we can get for the morning post, I'm afraid.

This is Hudson Medicine, but they use the other half of the table to light the father's morning.

Wow, I'm sorry.

Oh, no matter my dear fellow.

The telegraph has also covered the callabilly fully.

How is he out?

A hunter on the return of his fellow grooms sent a message up to the trainer, Strayker,

to tell him what has happened.

Strayker seems to have been vaguely uneasy about the matter.

Although he'd been to bed, he got up again at one o'clock in the morning,

telling his wife that he was going down to the stable to see if all was well.

He put on a macintosh, where it was raining heavily, and left the house,

with quite a wealth of detail on my dear Watson.

And here I have the notes of Mrs. Strayker's statement.

After the husband had gone out, she went back to sleep again, and didn't wait until seven

o'clock in the morning.

Finding him still absent, she called the maid, and they set off together for the stables.

They found the door wide open.

Inside, huddled on a chair, was Hunter and a stator who could keep stupor.

The neds and the loft overhead had nothing all night.

The favorite store was empty, and there was no sign of the trainer.

Hunter had obviously been drunk.

And that's it there.

Mrs. Strayker and the maid left him and ran up to the moor to see whether Strayker had

nearly taken the horse-eye for exercise, and so the murder was discovered.

Still, you read me the rest of Mrs. Strayker's statement.

Oh, well, yes, that's it.

But some quarter of a mile from the stable, Mrs. Strayker and the maid found Strayker's coat

slapping from her first bush.

Immediately beyond, there was a bold-shaped depression on the moor,

and at the bottom of this, John Strayker's body was far.

His head shattered by a savage blow from some heavy weapon, wounded in the fire, long clean cut,

evidently inflicted by some sharp incense.

Strayker had obviously tried to defend himself, but in his left hand, he grasped a

reddened black suit to that, which was recognized by the maid as having been worn by the stranger

who'd spoken to her outside the stable.

Hunter the stable boy also identified it when she'd recovered from the effects of the drug.

This was apparently powdered opium, which had been put into his coloured mutton or that,

that explains what the stranger was doing, as he lends through the stable window

to the lads who had the same meal at the train house for quite all right, so only one plate had been

drugged. As it goes on to say, there were abundant proofs in the mud which lay at the bottom of the

fatal hollow, but the missing horse, Silver Blaze, had been there at the time of the struggle.

Well, Watson, in that first hour, it will journey quite a grave day, and here we are, Tarriston.

Tarristok lies like the boss of a shield, in the middle of the huge circle of dark work.

Two gentlemen were waiting for us at the station, Silver Blaze's owner, the well-known sportsman

Colonel Ross, an infected Gregory of Scotland Yard.

I'm delighted that you've come down with the homes, but the inspector here has done all

that could possibly be suggested. A bad guy wish to leave no stone unturned in fine to avenge

horse picker and recover my horse. I trust that I may be able to assist you, sir.

Has there been any pressure to develop them? I'm sorry, the sir, we've made very little progress.

As you know, we have had no difficulty in tracing the stranger, he was well-known in the

neighborhood. His name is Fitzroy Simpson. The man who has come down in the world and

lives by a little quiet and gentle bookmaking in the London Club. His book showed he was carrying

bets up to five thousand pounds against the favour. When confronted with the cloverty,

turned very pale and was utterly unable to account for its presence in the hand of the murdered man.

Of course, Tracker himself was wounded, wasn't he? In the thigh. He may have wounded himself in the

convulsive struggles which follow any brain injury. Excellent, Maria Watson, it's more than possible,

it's probable. In which case, one of the main points in favour of the accused has appeared.

A minute later, we've all seated in our comfortable land, though, and we're rolling through the

Quinto Devonshot town. Tracker comes, who would dare your case to rag? Why should Simpson take the

horse out of the stable? If he wished to, we'd really could do it there. Has a duplicate key to

the stable door bent on in this possession? What chemist sold him the part of the opium?

Above all, where could he? He is stranger to the district, hide a horse. And such a horse

of this. Tell me, what did he do in explanation,

as to the note, which he wished to make to get to the stable boy? He says it was a 10 pound note,

that one was found in his purse. Also, he's not a stranger to the district.

He's twice larger to have a stock in the summer. The opium would be probable as well,

within from London. The key, having served its term, will be hurled away as for the horse,

may you well lie at the bottom of one of the pits, or old mines upon the moor? What does he say

about the cruvets? He admits that it's his and says that he lost it. But a new element has been

instituted into the case, which may account for his meeting the horse of the stable. We found

traces that show that the party of Gypsies in camped on Monday night within the mile of the spot

where the murder took place. On Tuesday, they were gone. Simpson may well have been leading the

horse to them when he was overtaken. It's certain, if possible. There's a moor has been scarred for them.

The enviolide examined Italy's stable and outhoused in Tabestok and for a radius of 10 miles.

There's another training stable, quite close, I believe. Yes, and that's a factor we must certainly

not neglect, as desperate as their horse was second in the betting they had an interest in the

disappearance of silver blaze. A sailor's brown, their tracer, he's known to have had large bets

upon the event, and he was no friend of the poor tracer. However, he'd examined his tables,

and there's nothing to connect him with the affair. I'm not into connected twice Simpson with

their interests. Nothing at all. Ah, well, here we are. Our driver pulled off at a little red brick

giller which stood by the road. Colonel Ross asked Holmes whether he would like to go on to the

scene of the crime. No, I think I prefer to stay here a little while and go into one of two questions

in detail. Strayker was brought back here, I suppose. Yes, he lies upstairs. The English is

loyal. He's been in your service some years, Colonel. I've always done him an excellent servant.

I presume that you made an inventory of what he had in his pockets at the time with his death

inspector. I have the things and servals here in the city room.

There they are. The box of matches, two inches of cello candle, pencil case, a few papers,

and the ivory handled knife. Very singular knife, Watson, surely in your line.

It's what they call a catholic knife, used for surgical purposes,

including very delicate operation. A strange thing for a man to carry with him on a rough

expedition. Why don't you even shut up to go into his pocket? The tip was guarded by a cork,

which was from beside his body. His wife tells us that he kept it for some days in the dressing

table and picked it up as he left the room. Poor weapon, but perhaps the best he could lay his hands

on at the moment. On the paper, hey, deal as accounts. This letter from Colonel Ross,

and this dressmaker's account for £37.15 made out by a madam,

legurer of Bond Street. Actually, that bill please. Certainly, it's made out to William

Derbyshire. William Derbyshire. Mrs. Traker tells us he was a friend of her husband,

and the occasionally letters for him were addressed here. Have you been staying here then?

Did Mrs. Traker know him? I gather not, but here he is, Mrs. Traker.

And Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Mrs. Traker. How do you do, sir? How do you do, Mrs. Traker?

Surely we've met before at the Garden Party in Pymeth, recently.

No, sir, you must be mistaken. Yeah, I could have sworn it. You were a costume of duck-culled

silk with ostrich feather trimmings. Never had such a dress, sir.

Well, that's settled, sir. Excuse me, sir. I'd like a word with a curl. Of course.

I'll be with you in a moment, Mr. Holmes. Oh, Inspector, Holmes, I believe you got your hand on a clue.

Or do you? As a matter of fact, I was just remembering a really excellent career. We once

have together in several.

Sherlock Holmes next asked to be shown the spot where the murder had been committed.

The short walk, costume, were brought us to the hollow in which the body had been found.

At the brink of it was the first bush upon which the matching cars, belonging to the murdered man,

had been hung. There was no wind that night, I understand. And none but did he had a rail?

Well, in that case, the coat was not blown against the first bushes. It must have been placed there.

Yes, it was laid across the bush. Very interesting, sir. In this bag, I have all the boots with

stricker walls, one of the thips Roy Simpson shoes, and the cursed horse shoe would seal the blame.

My dear, Inspector, you surpass yourself. Holmes took the bag, and the sending into the hollow,

he made a careful study of the trampled mud in front of it. Hello, what's this? The spent

matchery? Excellent. I can't think how I change the misses. It was invisible buried in the mud.

I only found it because I was looking for it. What? Do we expect it to find it? I thought it

was more than likely. You will have searched the founds around the rim of the hollow for any more tracks,

of course. I'm afraid that I'm numb. I'd examine the ground very carefully, but I hungry guards

in each direction. Good. Then I will take a little walk over the mud before it grows dark.

And I think I'll put this horseshoe in my pocket, just for luck. I suppose you know your own

death at best, Mr. Holmes. Perhaps you'll come back with the inspector. There are several

matters in which I need your advice, especially as to whether we owe it to the public to scratch

silver blades from the west's cup. Certainly not Colonel. I should let the name stand.

I am very glad to have your opinion so we shall see you later on when you finish your walk.

The crossing of the inspector went back to the villa, after Holmes and I walked through their

cross to Moor. He made me the question of who killed John the striker, the man, and confined

ourselves to finding out what had become of the horse. Now, supposing you broke away during

or after the tragedy, where could he have got to? Almost anywhere on dark moor I should have

met him. The horse of his begarious animal. If left to himself, his instincts would have

been either to return to King's Island or go on over the capers on the other. Why should he run

wild upon the moor? Because he's not at King's Island and he must be over there at Kiperson.

Come along. They're not far to go. And as we approach the gates of Caperson,

you're never grown, move coming out of them. We don't want any lawyers around the year.

I only wanted to ask you a question. Would I be too early to see your masters to silence Brown's

if I were to call here at five o'clock tomorrow morning? Oh, bless you, sir. If anyone's about

at the end, you're always a first-tiering. What if there's no other thing going on about

the business? I knew that. What the devil you want here? 10 minutes talk with you, my good sir.

Well, I've no time to talk to everybody about it. Everyone's stranger there. Be off you've

found a doctor to heal. One word in your ear, my friend, in your own interest.

It's a lie, an infernal lie. Very good. Shall we argue about it here in public or talk it over in

your parlour? Or do I go to the police? Just think a minute before he returns. It should be done

just as you wish. There must be no mistake. Oh, no, there should be done in the state. It should be

there. Should I change it first or not? No, no, no. I'll write to you about that. No tricks now.

Oh, no, you can trust me. You can trust me? Yes, I think I can. Well, you were here from

it tomorrow. Good day to you. Good day, sir. You see, what's neat? A more perfect compound,

the bullet, coward, and sneak, the master, sir, that's right. I've seldom met with him.

He has a horse, then? Oh, he tried to bluster it out. But I told him so exactly what his actions

had been, that things could've been fine as I was actually watching him. He said,

I would be the biggest pain for a woman. Oh, he went out to it. When he went out,

he was okay. So, I said, it turned into his pylons, which he had to do. But then he realized,

that if a horse learned that he's hidden, and after the words he's cut, he don't horse,

there's no one almost certain to win. So, he changed his mind and turned back halfway,

both to the base down to his own tables. But I thought his tables have been subtleties, too.

Oh, no, horse takeer like him. As many of dogs, not around to afraid to leave the horse

in his car now. He's in the empty interest in enjoying it. My dear fellow, you've got it like

the apple of his eye. He knows, and he's only hoping that he is to produce his take care

at the base track for the way it's cut. I made that perfect appearance. But I have a little

trick to play on eternal rocks. The mere reason that he's not at the media was just

traffic having there. So, neither of us pleased, but the person would say anything to him about

the horse, but that doesn't allow him to do this. And of course, this is all quite a minor matter,

compared with the question of who killed Dom's takeer and who the rich ourselves to

bear in the meantime on the contrary. Do you think you're back to London by the night trail?

I was somewhere by my friend's words. There have only been a few hours in Jeff's car,

but he should keep up an investigation, which he had forgotten so brilliantly. They were quite

incomprehensible to me. Not one word more could I have drawn from him into the back of the

trainers' house, but the Colonel and the inspector were waiting for us. My friend and I returned

the town by the midnight express. We've had a charming little breath of your doctor. So,

we were just tired of arresting the virus for us to take us to a certain degree of difficulty

in the way. I had never heard of her ever that your horse would be at the race that next Tuesday,

and I'd been with you, had your jocky and readiness. And now I take this photograph of Dom's

takeer with me back to town. The weather is better. I know the disappointment now in young

anything so good, and I don't see the good in his car. I don't know where he came. At least

you're ahead of the showroom for your horse for the run next week. Yes, I haven't a choice.

I should prepare to have my horse. You've been outside. Goodbye. Goodbye, Colonel. I have to

see you with the wetsick's cup and silver blade. Four days later, Holmes and I saw silver blades

win the wetsick's cup by a good six lengths. It was not a silver blade that even its owner could

recognize. It was no case to be seen as a famous white splash on its body that was the muffled

off-falling. The silver blade that won the wetsick's cup was a powerful bathe. It was only in the

way, and so it was after the bathe that Holmes began to explain to a Colonel who would have

completed the wilderness. He wanted to wash his face in his name, he's visible fine, and he was

like, he's just the same old silver blade as ever. He took my breath away as I found him in the

hands of a taker and took the liberty of running him just as he was sent over. My dear, say,

you don't wander. I owe you a thousand of policies. You don't need a big service by

becoming my horse. You would do your business still, if you could lay your hands on the murderer,

don't take her. I've done so. You've done so, you've got him, but where is he? He's in a hard

company, it doesn't matter. That desire of a very bad joke, Mr. Holmes, or is it he himself?

I'm not afraid to speak. The real murderer is standing immediately before you.

The horse? Yes, the horse. Silver blade himself.

It may let him be somewhat, if I say that the killing was done entirely in tough distance,

and the John Faker was a man who was quite unworthy of your confidence.

There goes the bell, and as I stand for women a little on the next race, I should

deter a linkedier explanation to the more fitting time.

There's nothing to be wrong our way back to London, but Holmes would get down to these

explanations despite the impatience of both the colonel and myself.

I must consider that I even suspected this by Simpson myself for a time.

Because only when I reached the point of time, to be immense significance of the

carried mutton of the carton. The carton of the mutton, when you mentioned our so-called

meals, exactly how the dopium has a visible and perceptible flavour, only something more strongly

flavoured, like a curry, could have disguised the taste. Now, fixed right pieces would never

have known that the man who decided to save the lab of the carton at night,

the only people who had known that were people in the house.

Supposed to have taken advantage of the fact, then there was the silence of the dog

when the horse was saved in the stable. It failed the dog, because he didn't even see him

in some other office. I was already quite convinced that the intruder must have been John

straighter himself. John's takeer himself? Why did he wish to take still the blaze out of him

for the more in the day of night and seriously? He answered with that, and John's takeer's pocket.

The dressmaker did? Just like that, just to William Darbyshire. That's what we're thinking.

Perhaps John's takeer was leading a double life. Outlaw, he's wise to confirm that the

expensive carton wasn't for her, and I recognise him a photo that I showed her.

Madam, there's area of the dressmaker, later confirmed that John's takeer hadn't been bought at that.

It gives to a woman a more expensive case. In fact, John's takeer was leading a double life,

and was, indeed, the mental state of John's takeer. I could especially believe it. The knife

came in the final place. It was a surgical knife, but it could be used in the name of the horse

without leaving any visible evidence of foul play. By leaning through the blaze and betting on

bedrock, John's takeer would have been able to receive his portrait of the horse.

Townsville, and then I crossed it. He led the horse out onto the moor so that when he cut his

temple, his plunging wouldn't wait for the groom to overhead. In order that he could see what

he was going to do, he needed a candle. So the candle should not be seen. He led the horse

to the hollow. In lighting the candle, he dropped that spent match in the mud. Unfortunately,

for him, the lights must have scared the horse, unless it was interesting,

whatever it was, the horse lashed out, and it still threw cocks to take a pull in the forest.

He'd already taken off his macintosh to the clear, and as he fell,

gashed his thigh on his own knife. So he might have been there.

Wonderful. And the caverns fit for a tinting. It was in the dead man's hand. Since he said

that he lost it, no doubt he did. Third time I've found it and picked it up,

so it had to be the idea of using it to secure the horse's leg. Well, that's just

a bit of a thing. It's quite simple. I haven't seen it in a while

away from the rest of this journey, my dear Watson, with a game of chess.

The adventurions of Sherlock Holmes, based on the original stories of throughout

the Conan Doyle, have been dramatized in you, with original music composed by Susie Clark.