Music Welcome to snoozecast. The podcast is designed to help you fall asleep. Find us at snoozecast.com and if you enjoy our show, please share us with a friend. This episode is dedicated to our Sherlock Loving listener Bill and brought to you by some trifling intrigue. Tonight, we'll read the first half to the adventure of the solitary cyclist written by by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle as part of 1903's, the return of Sherlock Holmes, the second half will air next week. In this adventure, Holmes and Watson are visited by a young lady named Violet Smith. She explains that her father's recent passing left her financially destitute, and that her only other relative, an uncle named Ralph Smith, lives in Africa. One day, she meets two men visiting from South Africa, who claim to be friends of her now deceased uncle.

They call. day, she meets two men visiting from South Africa, who claim to be friends of her now-deceased uncle. They claim that Ralph also passed on in poverty, like his brother, but asked them to take care of his relatives. This was not one of Doyle's favorites. He criticized himself for mentioning in this story that Violet Smith's visit to Holmes occurred on Saturday, April 23rd, 1895. In actual body into the softness of your bed.

Now, take a few deep breaths. From the years 1894 to 1901 inclusive, Mr. Sherlock Holmes was a very busy man. It is safe to say that there was no public case of any difficulty in which he was not consulted during those eight years. And there were hundreds of private cases, some of them of the most intricate and extraordinary character in which he played a prominent part. Many startling successes and a few unavoidable failures were the outcome of this long period of continuous work. As I have preserved very full notes of all these cases, and was myself personally engaged in many of them, it may be imagined that it is no easy task to know which I should select to lay before the public. I shall, however, preserve my former rule and give the preference to those cases which derive their interest as from the ingenuity and dramatic quality of the solution. For this reason, I will now lay before the reader the facts connected with Miss Violet Smith, the solitary cyclist of Charleston, and the curious sequel of our investigation. It is true that the circumstance did not admit of any striking illustration of those powers which which my friend was famous. But there was some points about the case which made it stand out in those long records of crime from which I gather the material for these little narratives. referring to my notebook for the year 1895, I find that it was upon Saturday the 23rd of April that we first heard of Miss Violet Smith. Her visit was, I remember, extremely unwelcome to Holmes, for he was immersed at the moment, in a very abstruse and complicated problem concerning the peculiar persecution to which John Vincent Hardin, the well-known tobacco millionaire, had been subjected. My friend, who loved above all things precision and concentration of thought, resented anything which distracted his attention from the matter in hand, and yet, without a harshness which was foreign to his nature, it was impossible to refuse to listen to the story of the young and beautiful woman, tall, graceful, and queenly, who presented herself at Baker Street late in the evening and implored his assistance and advice. It was vain to urge that his time was already fully occupied, for the young lady had come with the determination to tell her story, and it was evident that nothing short of force could get her out of the room until she had done so. With a resigned air and a somewhat wary smile, Holmes begged the beautiful intruder to take a seat and to inform us what it was that was troubling her. At least it cannot be your health," said he, as his keen eyes started over her. So ardent a bicyclist must be full of energy.

She glances down in surprise at her own feet, and I observed the slight ruffening of the side of the soul caused by the friction of the edge of the pedal. Yes, I bicycle a good deal, Mr. Holmes, and that has something to do with my visit to you today. My friend took the lady's un-gloved hand and examined it with as close an attention and as little sentiment as a scientist would show to a specimen. You will excuse me, I am sure. It is my business," said he, as he dropped it. I nearly fell into the error of supposing that you were typewriting. Of course it is obvious that it is music. You observe the spatula finger ends, Watson, which is common to both professions. There is a spirituality about the face, however. She gently turned it towards the light, which the typewriter does not generate. This lady is a musician. Yes, Mr. Holmes, I teach music. In the country I presume, from your complexion? Yes, sir. Near Farnham, on the borders of Surrey, ah, a beautiful neighborhood, and full of the most interesting associations, you remember Watson, that it was near there that we took Archie Stanford, the Forger? Now Miss Violet, what has happened to you? Near Pharnam, on the borders of Surrey. The young lady, with great clearness and composure, made the following curious statement. My father, who has passed, was James Smith, who conducted the orchestra at the Old Imperial Theatre. My mother and I were left without a relation in the world except one uncle, Ralph Smith, who went to Africa 25 years ago, and we have never had a word from him since. We were left very poor, but one day we were told that there was an advertisement in the times in quieting for our whereabouts. You can imagine how excited we were for we thought that someone had left us a fortune.

We went at once to the lawyer whose name was given in the paper. There we met two gentlemen, Mr. Courothers and Mr. Woodley, who were home on a visit from South Africa. They said that my uncle was a friend of theirs, that he had also passed some months before in Great Poverty in Johannesburg, and that he had asked them, with his last breath, to hunt up his relations, and see that they were in no want. It seemed strange to us that Uncle Ralph, who took no notice of us when he was alive, should be so careful to look after us after he was gone. But Mr. Carruthers explained that the reason was that my uncle had just heard the news of his brother, and so felt responsible for our fate. Excuse me, said Holmes. When was this interview? Last December, four months ago. Pray, proceed. Mr. Woodley seemed to me to be a most odious person. He was forever making eyes at me. A coarse, puffy face. Red moustache-y old young man, with his hair plastered

down on each side of his forehead, I was sure that Cyril would not wish me to know such a person. Oh, Cyril is his name, said Holmes, smiling. The young lady blushed and laughed. Yes, Mr. Holmes, Cyril Morton, an electrical engineer, and we hope to be married at the end of the summer. Dear me, how did I get to talking about him? What I wish to say was that Mr. Woodley was perfectly odious, but that Mr. Carothers, who was a much older man, was more agreeable. He was a clean-shaven, silent person, but he had polite manners and a pleasant smile. He inquired how we were left, and on finding that we were very poor, he suggested that I should come and teach music to his only daughter, age 10. I said that I did not like to leave my mother, on which he suggested that I should go home to her every weekend, and he offered me a hundred a year, which was certainly splendid pay. So it ended by my accepting, and I went down to Chiltern Grange about six miles from Farnham. Mr. Carruthers was a widower, but he had engaged a lady housekeeper, a very respectable elderly person called Mrs. Dixon to look after his establishment.

The child was a deer, and everything promised well. Mr. Carothers was very kind and very musical, and we had most pleasant evenings together. Every weekend I went home to my mother in town. The first flaw in my happiness was the arrival of the red mustache, Mr. Woodley. He came for a visit of a week, and, ah, it seemed three months to me. He was a dreadful person, a bully to everyone else, but to me something worse. He boasted of his wealth, said that if I married him I could have the finest diamonds in London. And finally, when I would have nothing to do with him, he seized me in his arms one day after dinner. He was strong, and swore that he would not let me go until I had kissed him.

Mr. Carothers came in and torn from me on which he turned upon his own host, knocking him down. That was the end of his visit, as you can imagine. Mr. Carothers apologized to me next day and assured me that I should never be exposed

to such an insult again. I have not seen Mr. Woodley since.

And now, Mr. Holmes, I come at last to the special thing which has caused me to ask your advice

today. You must know that every Saturday, four noon, I ride on my bicycle to Farnham station in order to get to the 1222 to town. The road from Chiltern, Grange, is a lonely one, and at one spot it is particularly so, for it lies over a mile between Charleston Heath, upon one side, and the woods which lie round Charleston Hall, upon the other. You could not find a more lonely tract of road anywhere, and it is quite rare to meet so much as a cart or a peasant, until you reach the high road near Crook's Berry Hill. Two weeks ago I was passing this place when I chanced to look back over my shelter and about 200 yards behind me I saw a man also on a bicycle. He seemed to be a middle-aged man with a short dark beard. I looked back before I reached Farnham, but the man was gone, so I thought no more about it. But you can imagine how surprised I was, Mr. Holmes. When on my return on the Monday, I saw the same man on the same stretch of road. My astonishment was increased when the incident occurred again, exactly as before, on the following Saturday and Monday. He always kept his distance and did not bother me in any way, but still, it certainly was very odd. I mentioned it to Mr. Carothers, who seemed interested in what I said, and told me that he had ordered a horse and trap so that in future I should not pass over these lonely roads without some companion. The horse and trap were to have come this

week. But for some reason, they were not delivered. And again, I had to cycle to the station. That was this morning. You can think that I looked out when I came to the charlington Heath. And there, sure enough, was the man, exactly as he had been the two weeks before. He always capped so far from me that I could not clearly see his face, but it was certainly someone whom I did not know. He was dressed in a dark suit with a cloth cap. The only thing about his face that I could clearly see was his dark beard. Today, I was not alarmed, but I was filled with curiosity, and I determined to find out who he was and what he wanted. I slowed down my machine, but he slowed down his, and I stopped all together, but he stopped also. Then I later trapped for him. There was a sharp turning of the road, and I peddled very quickly round this, and then I stopped and waited. I expected him to shoot round, and pass me before he could stop, but he never appeared. Then I went back and looked round the corner. I could see a mile of road, but he was not on it. To make it the more extraordinary, there was no side road at this point down which he could have gone. Holmes chuckled and rubbed his hands. This case certainly presents some features of its own," said he.

How much time elapsed between your turning the corner and your discovery that the road was clear? Two or three minutes, then he could not ever treat it down the road, and you say that there are no side roads. None.

Then he certainly took a flip-ppath on one side or the other. It could not have been on the side of the heath, or I should have seen him. So, by the process of exclusion, we arrive at the fact that he made his way to a charlant in hall, which, as I understand, is situated on its own grounds on one side of the road. Anything else? Nothing, Mr. Holmes, saved that I was so perplexed that I felt I should not be happy until I had seen you and had your advice. Holmes sat in silence for some little time. Where is the gentleman to whom you are engaged?" he asked at last. He is in the Midland Electrical Company at Coventry. He would not pay you a surprise visit. Oh, Mr. Holmes, as if I should not know him. Have you had any other admirers? Several before I knew Cyril. And since there was this dreadful man, Woodley, if you can call him an admirer. No one else?

Our fair client seemed a little confused.

Who was he? Asked Holmes. Oh, it may be a mere fancy of mine, but it had seemed to me sometimes that my employer, Mr. Carothers, takes a great deal of interest in me. We are thrown rather together. I play his accompaniments in the evening. He has never said anything. He is a perfect gentleman, but a girl always knows. Holmes looked grave. What does he do for a living? He is a rich man. No carriages or horses?

Well... He is a rich man. No carriages or horses? Well, at least he is fairly well to do, but he goes into the city two or three times a week. He is deeply interested in South African gold shares. You will let me know any fresh development, Miss Smith. I am very busy just now, but I will find time to make some inquiries into your case. In the meantime, take no step without letting me know. Goodbye, and I trust that we shall have nothing but good news for you. It is part of the settled order of nature that such a girl should have followers, said Holmes. He pulled that as meditative pipe. But for choice not on bicycles in lonely country roads. Some secret of love are beyond all doubt. But there are curious and suggestive details about the case Watson that he should appear only at that point. Exactly. Our first effort must be to find who are the tenets of Charleston Hall. Then again, how about the connection between brothers and woodly, since they appear to be men of such a different type? How come they both, to be so keen upon looking up Ralph Smith's relations? One more point. What sort of... Minage is it which pays double the market price for a governess but does not keep a horse although six miles from the station? Odd Watson. Very odd. You will go down? No, my dear fellow. You will go down?

No, my dear fellow. You will go down. This may be some trifling intrigue, and I cannot break my other important research for the sake of it. On Monday, you will arrive early at Farnham. You will conceal yourself near Charleston heat, you will observe these facts for yourself,

and act as your own judgment advises. Then, having inquired as to the occupants of the hall,

you will come back to me and report. And now Watson, not another word of the matter until we have

a few solid stepping stones on which we may hope to get across to our solution. We had ascertained from the lady that she went down upon the Monday by the train, which leaves Waterloo at 9.50, so I started early and caught the 9.13. At Farnham station, I had no difficulty in being directed to Charleston Heath. It was impossible to mistake the scene of the young lady's adventure. For the road runs between the open Heath on one side, and an old U-Hedge upon the other, surrounding a park which is studded with magnificent trees. There was a main gateway of like-and-studded stone. Each side pillar surmounted by moldering heraldic emulams, but besides this central carriage-drive, I observed several points where there were gaps in the hedge and paths, meeting through them. The house was invisible from the road, but the surroundings all spoke of gloom and decay. The heath was covered with golden patches of flowering gorse, gleaming magnificently in the light of the bright spring sunshine. Behind one of these clumps, I took up my position, so as to command both the gateway of the hall and a long stretch of the road upon either side. It had been deserted when I left it, but now I saw a cyclist riding down it from the opposite direction, to that in which I had come. He was clad in a dark suit, and I saw that he had a black beard. On reaching the end of the Charleston grounds, he sprang from his machine and let it through a gap in the hedge, disappearing from my view. A quarter of an hour passed, and then a second cyclist appeared. This time it was the young lady coming from the station. I saw her look about her as she came to the Charleston Hedge. An instant later, the man emerged from his hiding place, spraying upon his cycle and followed her. In all the broad landscape, those were the only moving figures. The graceful girl sitting very straight upon her machine, and the man behind her, bending low over his handlebar, with a curiously furtive suggestion in every movement. She looked back at him and slowed her pace. He slowed also. She stopped. He had once stopped too, keeping two hundred yards behind her. Her next movement was as unexpected as it was spirited. She suddenly whisked her wheels around and dashed straight at him. He was as quick as she and darted off in desperate flight. Presently she came back up the road again. Her head hotly in the air, not dainning to take any further notice of her silent attendant. He had turned also, and still kept his distance, until the curve of the road hid them from my sight. I remained in my hiding place, and it was well that I did so, for presently the man reappeared, cycling slowly back. He turned in at the hall gates and dismounted from his machine. For some minutes I could see him standing among the trees. His hands were raised and he seemed to be settling his necktie. Then he mounted his cycle, and rode away from me down the drive towards the hall. I ran across the heath, and peered through the trees. Our way, I could catch glimpses of the old grey building with its bristling tutor chimneys, but the drive ran through a dense shrubbery, and I saw no more of my man. However, it seemed to me that I had done a fairly good morning's work, and I walked back in high spirits to

pharnum. The local house agent could tell me nothing about Charlton Hall, and referred me to a well-known firm in Paul Mall. There, I halted on my way home, and met with courtesy from the representative? No. I could not have charling tin hull for the summer. I was just too late. It had been let about a month ago. Mr. Williamson was the name of the tenant. He was a respectable elderly gentleman. The polite agent was afraid he could say no more, as the affairs of his clients were not matters when she could discuss. Mr. Sherlock Holmes listened with attention to the long report which I was able to present to him that evening, but it did not elicit that word of Kurt Praise which I had hoped for and should have valued. On the contrary, his austere face was even more severe than usual as he commented upon the things that I had done and the things that I had not. Your hiding place, my dear Watson, was very faulty. You should have been behind the hedge. Then you would have had a close view of this interesting person. As it is, you are some hundreds of yards away and can tell me even less than Miss Smith. She thinks she does not know the man. I am convinced she does. Why otherwise should he be so desperate that she should not get so near him as to see his features? You describe him as bending over the handlebar, concealment again, you see. You really have done remarkably badly. He returns to the house and you want to find out who he is. You come to a London house agent. What should I have done? I cried with some heat. Gone to the nearest public house. That is the center of country gossip. They would have told you every name from the master to the scullery maid. Williamson conveys nothing to my mind. If he is an elderly man, he is not this active cyclist who sprints away from that young lady's athletic pursuit. What have we gained by your expedition? The knowledge that the girl's story is true? I never doubted it. That there is a connection between the cyclist and the hall. I never doubted that either. That the hall is tenoured by Williamson. Who's the better for that? Well, well, my dear sir, don't look so depressed. We can do little more until next Saturday, and in the meantime, I may make one or two inquiries myself. Next morning we had a note from Miss Smith recounting shortly and accurately the very incidents which I had seen, but the pith of the letter lay in the post script. I am sure that you will respect my confidence, Mr. Holmes, when I tell you that my place here has become difficult, owing to the fact that my employer has proposed marriage to me, I am convinced that his feelings are most deep and most honorable. At the same time, my promise is of course given. He took my refusal very seriously, but also very gently. You can understand, however, that the situation is a little strained. Our young friend seems to be getting into deep waters, said Holmes, thoughtfully as he finish the letter. The case certainly presents more features of interest and more possibility of development than I had originally thought. I should be none the worse for a quiet, peaceful day in the country than I am inclined to run down this afternoon and test one or two theories which I have formed. Holmes' quiet day in the country had a singular termination, for he arrived at Baker Street late in the evening with a cut lip and a discolored lump upon his forehead. Besides a general air of dissipation which would have made his own person the fitting object of a Scotland yard investigation, he was immensely tickled by his own adventures and laughed heartily as he recounted them. I get so little act of exercise that it is always a treat," said he, "'You are aware that I have some proficiency in the good old British sport of boxing. Occasionally, it is of surface. Today, for example, I should have come to grief without it. I begged him to tell me what had occurred. I found that country pub, which I had already recommended to your notice, and there I made my discreet inquiries. I was in the bar, and a garyllisland lord was giving me all that I wanted. William Sin is a white bearded man, and he lives alone with a small staff of servants at the hall. There is some rumor that he is or has been a clergyman, but one or two incidents of his short residence at the hall struck me as unecclesiastical. I have already made some inquiries at a clerical agency, and they They tell me that there was a man of that name in orders.

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