Music Welcome to Snewscast, the podcast designed to help you fall asleep. Find us at snewscast.com and if you enjoy our show, please share us with a friend. This episode is brought to you by Scotland Yard. Tonight, we'll read the second half of the adventure of the Greek interpreter, one of the 56 Sherlock Holmes short stories written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the first half aired on Monday. In this tale, we were introduced to Sherlock's elder brother, Minecraft, whose deductive gifts may surpass even Sherlock's, though he lacks the drive to apply them in the field. Minecraft brings homes into the confidence of his neighbor, Mr. Milos, a professional interpreter who recently endured a disturbing ordeal. Milos was hired under mysterious circumstances, blind folded, and taken by a cab to an unknown house where he was compelled to translate under threats from a ruffian named Latimer. We rejoin the story as Milos recounts to Holmes what he observed inside the house

despite the attempts to conceal its location. Let's get cozy. Close your eyes. Relax your body into the softness of your eyes.

Relax your body into the softness of your bed.

Now, take a few deep breaths. As the giggling villain spoke, he opened a door and showed the way into a room which appeared to be very richly furnished. But again, the only light was afforded by a single lamp half turned down. The chamber was certainly large, and the way in which my feet sank into the carpet as I stepped across it told me of its richness. I caught glimpses of velvet chairs, a high white marble mantelpiece, and what seemed to be a suit of Japanese armor at one side of it. There was a chair just under the lamp, and the elderly man motioned that I should sit in it. The younger had left us, but he suddenly returned through another door, leading with him a gentleman clad in some sort of loose dressing gown who moved slowly towards us. As he came into the circle of dim light which enables me to see him more clearly, I was thrilled at his appearance. He was pale, with the protruding brilliant eyes of a man whose spirit was greater than his strength. But what shocked me more than any signs of physical weakness was that his face was grotesquely crisscrossed with sticking plaster, and that one large pad of it was fastened over his mouth. Have you the slate herald? Cryed the older man as this strange being fell rather than sat down into a chair, are his hands loose. Now then, give him the pencil. You are to ask the questions, Mr. Melos, and he will write the answers. Ask him first of all whether he is prepared to sign the papers. The man's eyes flashed fire. Never he wrote in Greek upon the slate. On no condition, I asked at the bidding of our tyrant, only if I see her married in my presence by a Greek priest whom I know. The man giggled in his venomous way. You know what awaits you then? I care nothing for myself. These are samples of the questions and answers which made a bar strange half spoken half written conversation. Again and again, I had to ask him whether he would give in and sign the documents. Again and again, I had the same indignant reply. But soon a happy thought came to me. I took to adding on little sentences of my own to each question, innocent ones at first, to test whether either of our companions knew anything of the matter, and then, as I found that they showed no signs, I played a more dangerous game. Our conversation ran something like this. You can do no good by this obstinacy. Who are you?

I care not.

I am a stranger in London. Your fate will be upon your own head. How long have you been here? Let it be so. weeks. The property can never be yours. What ails you? It shall not go to villains. They are starving me. You shall go free if you sign. What house is this? I will never sign. I do not know. You are not doing her any service. What is your name? Let me hear her say so. Critides. You shall see her if you sign. Where are you from? Then I shall never see her. Athens. Another five minutes Mr. Holmes and I should have warmed out the whole story under their very noses. My very next question might have cleared the matter up, but at that incident the door opened and a woman stepped into the room. I could not see her clearly enough to know more than that she was tall and graceful with black hair and clad in some sort of loose white gown. Harold said she, speaking English with a broken accent. I could not stay away longer. It is so lonely up there with only. Oh my God, it's Paul. These last words were in Greek and at the same instant the man with a convulsive effort tore the plaster from his lips and screaming out, so fee, so fee rushed into the woman's arms. Their embrace was but for an instant, however, for the younger man seized the woman and pushed her out of the room while the elder easily overpowered his victim and dragged him away through the other door. For a moment, I was left alone in the room, and I sprang to my feet with some vague idea that I might, in some way, get a clue to what this house was in, which I found to myself. Fortunately, however, I took no steps. For looking up, I saw that the older man was standing in the doorway, with his eyes fixed upon me. That will do, Mr. Melos," said he, "...you perceive that we have taken you into our confidence over some very private business. We should not have troubled you. Only that our friend who speaks Greek and who began these negotiations has been forced to return to the east. It was quite necessary for us to find someone to take his place, and we were fortunate in hearing of your powers. I bowed. There are five sovereigns here," said he, walking up to me, which will, I hope, be a sufficient fee. But remember, he added, tapping me lightly on the chest and giggling, if you speak to a human soul about this, one human soul mind. Well, may God have mercy upon your soul. I cannot tell you the loathing with which this insignificant looking man inspired me. I could see him better now as the lamplight shone upon him. His features were peaky, and his little pointed beard was thready, and ill-nourished. He pushed his face forward, as he spoke, and his lips and eyelids were continually twitching, like a man with Saint Vetus's dance. I could not help thinking that his strange, catchy little laugh was also a symptom of some nervous malady. His face lay in his eyes, however, steel gray and glistening coldly. We shall know if you speak of this," said he, We have our own means of information.

Now you will find the carriage waiting,

and my friend will see you on your way.

I was hurried through the hall and into the vehicle again

obtaining that momentary glimpse of trees and a garden.

Mr. Latimer followed closely at my heels and took his place opposite

to me without a word. In silence we again drove for an interminable distance with the windows raised until at last, just after midnight, the carriage pulled up. You will get down here, Mr. Melos, said my companion.

I am sorry to leave you so far from your house, but there is no alternative. Any attempt upon your part to follow the carriage can only end in injury to yourself. He opened the door as he spoke, and I had hardly time to spring out when the coachman lashed the horse and the carriage rattled away. I looked around me in astonishment. I was on some sort of he the calm and modeled over with dark clumps of furs, bushes. Far away stretched a line of houses with a light here and there in the upper windows. On the other side I saw the red signal lamps of a railway. The carriage which had brought me was already out of sight. I stood gazing round and wondering where on earth I might be when I saw someone coming towards me in the darkness. As he came up to me, I made out that he was a real way, Porter. Can you tell me what place this is? I asked. One's worth common, said he, can I get a train into town? If you walk on a mile or so to clap him junction," said he.

He'll just be in time for the last of Victoria. So, that was the end of my adventure, Mr. Holmes. I do not know where I was, nor whom I spoke with, nor anything safe what I have told you. But I know that there is foul play going God, and I want to help that unhappy man if I can.

I told the whole story to Mr. Mycroft Holmes next morning, and subsequently to the police. We all sat in silence for some little time after listening to this extraordinary narrative, then Sherlock looked across at his brother.

Any steps? He asked. Mycroft picked up the daily news which was lying on the side table. Anybody supplying any information to the whereabouts of a Greek gentleman named Paul, Cretetti's, from Athens, who is unable

to speak English will be rewarded. A similar reward paid to anyone giving information about a Greek lady whose first name is Sophie, X2473. That was all in the dailies. No answer. How about the Greek legation?

I haven't acquired.

They know nothing. A wire to the head of the Athens police, then? Sure, Locke has all the energy of the family, said my craft, turning to me. Well, you take the case up by all means and let me know if you do any good. Certainly. Answered my friend, rising from his chair. I'll let you know, and Mr. Melos also. In the meantime, Mr. Melos, I should certainly be on my guard. If I were you, for, of course, they must know through these advertisements that you have betrayed them. As we walked home together, home stopped at a telegraph office and sent off several wires. You see Watson, he remarked, our evening has been by no means wasted. Some of my most interesting cases have come to me in this way through my craft. The problem which we have just listened to, although it can admit of but one explanation, has still some distinguishing features. You have hopes of solving it? Well, knowing as much as we do, it will be singular indeed if we fail to discover the rest. You must yourself have formed some theory which will explain the facts to which we have listened. In a vague way, yes. What was your idea then? It seemed to me to be obvious that this Greek girl had been carried off by the young Englishman named Harold Latimer. Carried off from where? Athens, perhaps. Sherlock Holmes shook his head. This young man could not talk a word of Greek. The lady could talk English fairly well, inference that she had been in England some little time, but he had not been in Greece. Well then, we will presume that she had come on a visit to England and that this herald had persuaded her to fly with him. That is more probable. And the brother for that I fancy must be the relationship, comes over from Greece to interfere. He imprudently puts himself into the power of the young man and his older associate. They seize him in order to make him sign some papers to make over the girl's fortune, of which he may be trusty to them. This he refuses to do, in order to negotiate with him they have to get an interpreter, and they pitch upon this Mr. Melos, having used some other one before. The girl is not told of the arrival of her brother, and finds it out by the nearest accident. Excellent, Watson, cried Holmes, I really fancy that you are not far from the truth. You see that we hold all the cards. If they give us time, we must have them. But how can we find where this house lies? Well, if our conjecture is correct and the girl's name is or was Sophie Cretidis, we should have no difficulty in tracing her. That must be our main hope. For the brother is, of course, a complete stranger. It is clear that some time has elapsed, since this herald established these relations with the girl. Some weeks at any rate, since the brother in Greece has had time to hear of it and come across. If they have been living in the same place during this time, it is probable that we shall have some answer to my crops' advertisement. We had reached our house in Baker Street while we had been talking. Holmes ascended the stair first, and as he opened the door of our room, he gave a start of surprise. Looking over his shoulder, I was equally astonished. His brother, my craft, was sitting, smoking in the armchair. Come in, Sherlock, come in, sir," said he, blandly, smiling at our surprised faces. You don't expect such energy from me, do you sure, Locke? But somehow this case attracts me. How did you get here? I passed you in a handsome. There has been a new development. I had an answer to my advertisement. Ah, yes, it came within a few minutes of your leaving. And to what effect? My craft homes took out a sheet of paper. Here it is," said he. Written with a J-Pen on Royal Cream Paper by a middle-aged man with a weak constitution. Sir, he says. In answer to your ad of today's date, I beg to inform you that I know the young lady in question very well. If you should care to call upon me, I could give you some particulars as to her history. She is living at present at the Myrtles Beckenham, yours faithfully, J. Davenport. He writes from Lower Brixton, said Minecraft Homes, Do you not think that we might drive to him now, Sherlock, and learn these particulars? My dear Minecraft, the brother's life is more valuable than the sister's story. I think we should call at Scotland Yard for Inspector Gregson and go straight out to Beckenham. We know that a man is being done with, and every hour may be vital. Better pick up Mr. Mellaw's on our way, I suggested. We may need an interpreter." "'Excellent,' said Sherlock Holmes. Send the boy for a four-wheeler, and we shall be off at once.' He opened the table drawer as he spoke, and I noticed that he slipped his revolver into his pocket. Yes, said he, in answer to my glance, I should say from what we have heard that we are dealing with a particularly dangerous gang. It was almost dark before we found ourselves in Paul Mall at the rooms of Mr. Melos. A gentleman had just called for him and he was gone. Can you tell me where? Asked my craft homes. I don't know, sir. Answered the woman who had opened the door, I only know that he drove away with the gentleman in a carriage. Did the gentleman give a name? No, sir. He wasn't at all handsome young man. Oh, no, sir. He was a little gentleman, with glasses, thin in the face, but very pleasant in his ways, for he was laughing all the time that he was talking.

Come along, cried Sherlock Holmes abruptly, this gross serious. He observed as we drove to Scotland Yard. These men have got a hold of mellows again. He is a man of no physical courage as they are well aware from their experience the other night. No doubt they want his professional services, but, having used him, they may be inclined to punish him for what they will regard as his treachery. Our hope was that by taking train, we might get to Beckenham as soon or sooner than the carriage. Unreaching Scotland Yard, however, it was more than an hour before we could get Inspector Gregson and comply with the legal formalities which would enable us to enter the house. It was a quarter to ten before we reached London Bridge, and half past before the four of us allighted on the Beckenham platform. A drive of half a mile brought us to the Mertles, a large dark house standing back from the road in its own grounds. Here we dismissed our cab and made our way up to the drive together. The windows are all dark, remarked the inspector, the house seems deserted. Our birds are flown and the nest is empty, said Holmes. Why do you say so? A carriage heavily loaded with luggage has passed out during the last hour. The inspector laughed. I saw the wheel tracks in the light of the gate lamp, but where does the luggage come in? You may have observed the same wheel tracks going the other way, but the outward bound ones were very much deeper, so much so that we can say for a certainty that there was a very considerable weight on the carriage. "'You get a trifle beyond me there,' said the inspector, shrugging his shoulder. It will not be an easy door to force, but we will try if we cannot make someone hear us.' He hammered loudly at the knocker and pulled at the bell, but without any success. Holmes had slipped away, but he came back in a few minutes. I have a window open," said he. It is a mercy that you are on the side of the force, and not against it, Mr. Holmes. Remarked the inspector, as he noted the clever way in which my friend had forced back the catch. Well, I think that under the circumstances we may enter without an invitation. One after the other, we made our way into a large apartment, which was evidently that in which Mr. Milos had found himself. The inspector had lit his lantern, and by its light we could see the two doors, the curtain, the lamp, and the suit of Japanese male, as he had described them. On the table lay two glasses and empty brandy bottle and the remains of a meal. What is that? Asked Holmes suddenly, we all stood still and listened. A low-moning sound was coming from somewhere over our heads. Holmes rushed to the door and out into the hall. The dismal noise came from upstairs. He dashed up, the inspector and I at his heels, while his brother, my craft, followed as quickly as his great bulk would permit. Three doors faced up upon the second floor, and it was from the central of these that the sounds were issuing, sinking sometimes into a dull mumble and rising again into a shrill wine. It was locked, but the key had been left on the outside. Holmes flung open the door and rushed in, but he was out again in an instant with his hand to his throat. It's charcoal. He cried. Give it time. It will clear. Peering in, we could see that the only light in the room came from a dull blue flame, which flickered from a small brass tripod in the center. It threw a livid unnatural circle upon the floor. While in the shadows beyond, we saw the vague loom of two figures which crouched against the wall. From the open door there reaked a poisonous exhalation which set us gasping and coughing. rushed to the top of the stairs to draw in the fresh air and then Dashing into the room he threw up the window and hurled the brazen tripod out into the garden We can enter in a minute he gasped darting darting out again. Where is a candle? I doubt if we could strike a match in that atmosphere. Hold the light at the door, and we shall get them out. My craft, now! With a rush, we got to the poisoned men, and dragged them out the well-lit hall. Both of them were blue-lipped and insensible, with swollen, congested faces and protruding eyes. Indeed, so distorted were their features that, safe for his black beard and stout figure, we might have failed to recognize in one of them the Greek interpreter who had parted from us only a few hours before at the club. His hands and feet were securely strapped together. The other, who was secured in a similar fashion, was a tall man, with several strips of sticking plaster arranged in a pattern over his face. He had ceased to moan as we laid him down, and a glance showed me that for him at least our aid had come too late. Mr. Melos, however, lived and in less than an hour with the aid of ammonia and brandy, I had the satisfaction of seeing him open his eyes and of knowing that my hand had drawn him back from that dark valley in which all paths meet. It was a simple story which we had to tell, and one which did but confirm our own deductions. His visitor, on entering his rooms, had drawn a life-preserver from his sleeve and had so impressed him that he had easily kidnapped him for the second time. Indeed, it was almost Mesmerich, the effect which this giggling ruffian had produced upon the unfortunate linguist, for he could not speak of him, save with trembling hands and a blanched cheek. He had been taken swiftly to beckon him, and had acted as interpreter in a second interview, even more dramatic than the first, in which the two Englishmen had minnest their prisoner if he did not comply with their demands. Finally, finding him proof against every threat,

they had hurled him back into his prison, and after reproaching Mel-Hoss with his treachery,

which appeared from the newspaper ad, they had stunned him with a blow from a stick,

...