Music Welcome to Snuescast, a podcast 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 brought to you by Slate Graze of London. Tonight, we'll read the second half to the adventure of the solitary cyclist, written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle as part of 1903's The Return of Sherlock Holmes, the first half aired last week. In the first episode, Holmes is contacted by a beautiful young music teacher named Violet Smith. She's worried about a stranger who follows her when she bicycles to and from the train station each weekend. Violet Smith and her mother were living in poverty until a few months ago when two supposed friends of her uncle from South Africa came to announce that he asked them to take care of his closest relatives. One of the two men, Careathers, is affable. He offers violet an excellent wage to live in his house and teach music to his daughter, and he seems to grow fond of the young woman. The other one, Woodley, is rough and overly forward.

Watson, asked by Holmes to visit and collect information, figures out that the mystery

cyclist disappears by hiding in a hedge along the property of Mr. Williamson, a defraud

clergyman. Let's get cozy. Loose your eyes. Relax your body into the softness of your bed. Now take a few deep breaths. This is 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. a general air 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 active exercise that it is always a treat. Zaddi, you are aware that I have some proficiency in the good old British sport of boxing? Occasionally it is of service. 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 discrete inquiries. I was in the bar, and a garrulous landlord was giving me all that I wanted. Williamson 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 unacleesiastical. I have already made some inquiries at a clerical agency, and they tell me that there was a man of that name in orders. The land, Lord, further informed me that there are usually weak end visitors. A warm lot, sir, at the hall, and especially one gentleman with a red mustache. Mr. Woodley by name, who was always there. We had gone as far as this, when who should walk in, but the gentleman himself, who had been drinking his beer in the tap room, and had heard the whole conversation, who was I? What did I want? What did I mean by asking questions? He had a fine flow of language, and his additives were very vigorous. He ended a string of abuse by a vicious backhander, which I failed to entirely avoid. The next few minutes were delicious. It was a straight left against a slogging ruffian. I merged as you see me, Mr. Woodley went home in a cart. So, in did my country trip, and it must be confessed that, however enjoyable, my day on the Surrey border had not been much more provident than your own. The Thursday brought us another letter from our client. You will not be surprised, Mr. Holmes, said she, to hear that I am leaving Mr. Carruther's employment. Even the high pay cannot reconcile me to the discomforts of my situation. On Saturday, I came up to town, and I did not to return. Mr. Carruthers has got a trap and so the dangers of the lonely road, if there ever were any dangers, are now over. As to the special cause of my leaving, it is not merely the strained situation with Mr. Carothers, but it is the reappearance of that odious man, Mr. Woodley. He appears to have had an accident and is hard to recognize. I saw him out of the window, but I am glad to say that I did not meet him. He had a long talk with Mr. Carothers,

who seemed much excited afterwards. Woodley must be staying in the neighborhood for he did not sleep here, and yet I caught a glimpse of him again this morning, slinking about in the shrubbery, I would sooner have a wild animal loose about the place. How can Mr. Carruthers endure such a creature for a moment? However, all my troubles will be over on Saturday. So I trust Watson. So I trust," said Holmes, gravely. There is some deep entry going on around that woman. And it is our duty to see that no one bothers her upon that last journey. I think Watson that we must spare time to run down together on Saturday morning and make sure that this curious and inclusive investigation has no undoward ending. I confess that I had not up to now taken a very serious view of the case, which had seemed to me rather grotesque and bizarre than dangerous. That a man should lie and wait for her and follow a very handsome woman is no one heard of thing. And if he has so little audacity that he not only dared not address her but even fled from her approach, he was not a very formidable assailant. The Ruffian Woodley was a very different person, but except on one occasion, he had not bothered our client, and now he visited the house of curothers without intruding upon her presence. The man on the bicycle was doubtless a member of those weakened parties at the hall of which the public had spoken. But who he was, or what he wanted, was as obscure as ever. It was the severity of Holmes's manner and the fact that he slipped a revolver into his pocket before leaving our rooms, which impressed me with the feeling that tragedy might prove to lurk behind this curious train of events. A rainy night had been followed by a glorious morning and the heath-covered countryside with the glowing clumps of flowering gorse, seemed all the more beautiful to eyes which were weary of the duns and drabs and slake-grays of London. Holmes and I walked along the broad sandy road, inhaling the fresh morning air and rejoicing in the music of the birds, and the fresh breath of the spring. From a rise of the road on the shoulder of Crook's Berry Hill, we could see the grim hall bristling out from amidst the ancient oaks, which, old as they were, were still younger than the building which they surrounded. Homes pointed down the long tract of road, which wound a reddish-yellow band between the brown of the heath and the budding green of the woods. Far away, a black dog, we could see a vehicle moving in our direction. Holmes gave an exclamation of impatience. I have given a margin of half an hour," said he. If that is her trap, she must be making for the earlier train, I fear Watson, that she will be passed to Charleston before we can possibly meet her. From the instant that we passed the rise, we could no longer see the vehicle. We hastened onward at such a pace that my sedentary life began to tell upon me, and I was compelled to fall behind. Holmes, however, was always in training, for he had inexhaustible stores of nervous energy upon which to draw. His springy step never slowed until suddenly when he was a hundred yards in front of me. He haunted, and thy saw him throw up his hand with a gesture of grief and despair. At the same instant, an empty dog cart, the horse cantering, the rain's trailing, appeared round the curve of the road, and rattled swiftly towards us. Too late, too late Watson, cried Holmes, as he ran panting on his side. Fool that I was to allow for that earlier train, its abduction Watson, abduction. Heaven knows what, block the road, stop the horse, that's right, now jump in and let us see if I can repair the consequences of my own blunder. We had sprung into the donkart and homes, after turning the horse, we gave it a sharp cut with the whip and we flew back along the road. As we turn to the curve, the whole stretch of road between the hall and the heath was opened up. I grasped Holmes' arm. That's the man, I gasped. A solitary cyclist was coming towards us. His head was down and his shoulders rounded as he put every ounce of energy that he possessed onto the paddles. He was flying like a racer. Suddenly he raised his bearded face, saw as close to him and pulled up, springing from his machine. That cold black beard was in singular contrast to the pallor of his face and his eyes were as bright as if he had a fever. He stared at us and And at the dog car, then a look of amazement came over his face.

Hello, stop there, he shouted, holding his bicycle to block our road. Where did you get that dog cart? Pull up man. He yelled, drawing a pistol from his side pocket. Pull up, I say. Holmes threw the reins into my lap and spring down from the cart. You're the man we want to see. Where is Violet Smith?" he said, in his quick clear way. That's what I'm asking you. You're in her dog cart. You ought to know where she is. We met the dog cart on the road. There was no one in it. We drove back to help the young lady. Good Lord, what shall I do?" cried the stranger in an ecstasy of despair. They've got her. That hell hound wouldly in that black guard-parson. Come, man, come. If you really are her friend, stand by me and we'll save her." He ran distractedly towards the gap in the hedge. Holmes followed him and I, leaving the horse grazing beside the road followed Holmes. This is where they came through," said he, pointing to the marks of several feet upon the muddy path. Hello! Stop a minute! Who's this in the bush? It was a young fellow about seventeen, dressed like an ozler, with leather cords and gators. He lay upon his back, his knees drawn up. He was insensible, but alive. A glance at his wound told me that it had not penetrated the bone. That's Peter, the groom, cried the stranger. He drove her, the beasts have pulled him off and clubbed him.

Let him lie. We can't do him any good, but we may save her still. We ran down the path, which wound among the trees. We had reached the chubbery which surrounded the house when homes pulled up. They didn't go to the house.

Here are their marks on the left. Here, beside the Laura bushes,

ah, I said so. As he spoke, a woman's scream burst from the thick green clump of bushes in front of us.

It ended suddenly on its highest note with

a choke and a gurgle. This way, this way, they are in the bowling alley, cried the stranger, darting through the bushes. Ah, the cowardly dogs, follow me gentlemen, too late, too late, by the living jingo.

We had broken suddenly into a lovely glade of greenswords surrounded by ancient trees. On the farther side of it, under the shadow of a mighty yoke, there stood a singular group of three people. One was a woman, a client, drooping and faint, a hanker chief round her mouth. Opposite her stood a brutal, heavy-faced, red-must-assed young man. His gatored legs parted wide. One arm a Kimbo, the other waving a riding crop his whole attitude suggestive of a triumphant bravado. Between them an elderly great bearded man, wearing a light tweed suit, had evidently just completed the wedding service, very pocketed his prayer book as we appeared and slapped the bridegroom upon the back in jovial congratulation. They're married, I gasped. Come on, cried our guide. Come on." He rushed across the glade, homes and eye at his heels. As we approached, the lady staggered against the trunk of the tree for support. Williamson, the exclerjeman, bowed to us with mock politeness, and the bully, wouldly, advanced with a shout of brutal and exultant laughter. You can take take your beard off, Bob,' said he. "'I know you right enough. Well, you and your pals have just come in time for me to be able to introduce you to Mrs. Woodley.' Our guide's answer was a singular one. He snatched off the dark beard, which had disguised him, and threw it on the ground, disclosing a long, shallow, clean, shabin face below it. Then he raised his revolver and covered the young Reffian, who was advancing upon him with his dangerous riding-crop, swinging in his hand. Yes, said our ally, I am Bob Carruthers. And I'll see this woman write it if I have to swing for it. I told you what I do if you troubled her, and by the Lord, all be as good as my word. You're too late. She's my wife." "'Enough of this,' said my friend. Coldly. Thank you.' "'Who are you then?' My name is Sherlock Holmes. Good Lord! You have heard of me, I see. I will represent the official police until their arrival. Hear you." He shouted to a groom who had appeared at the edge of the glade. Come here. Take this note as hard as you can ride to Farnham. He scribbled a few words upon a leaf from his notebook. Give it to the superintendent at the police station, until he comes, I must attain you, under my personal custody. The strong masterful personality of homes dominated the tragic scene, and all were equally puppets in his hands. Williamson and Careathers found themselves carrying the wounded woodly into the house, and I gave my arm to the girl. The injured man was laid on his bed, and at Holmes's request, I examined him. I carried my report to where he sat in the old tapestry hung dining room with his two prisoners before him. He will live, said I. What cried, Carothers, springing out of his chair? I'll go upstairs and finish him first. Do you tell me that that angel is to be tied to roaring Jack Woodley for life? You need not concern yourself about that," said Holmes. There are two very good reasons why she should, under no circumstances, be his wife. In the first place, we are very safe in questioning Mr. Williamson's right to solve nice, a marriage. I have been ordained, cried the old rascal, and also unfrocked, but once a clergyman, always a clergyman, I think not. How about the license? We had a license for the marriage. I have it here in my pocket. Then you got it by trick. But in any case, a forced marriage is no marriage. But it is a very serious felony. As you will discover before you have finished, you'll have time to think the point out during the next ten years or so unless I am mistaken. As to you, Carruthers, you would have done better to keep your pistol in your pocket. I begin to think so, Mr. Holmes, but when I thought of all that precaution I had taken to shield this girl, for I loved her, Mr. Holmes, and it is the only time that ever I knew

what love was. It fairly drove me mad to think that she was in the power of the greatest brute and bully in South Africa. A man whose name is a holy terror from Kimberly to Johannesburg. Why, Mr. Holmes, you'll hardly believe it, but ever since that girl has been in my employment, I never once let her go past this house, where I knew the rascals were lurking without following her on my bicycle, just to see that she came to no harm. I kept my distance from her, and I wore a beard so that she would not recognize me, for she is a good and high spirited girl, and she wouldn't have stayed in my employment long if she had thought that I was following her about the country roads. Why didn't you tell her of the danger? Because then again she would have left me and I couldn't bear to face that? Even if she couldn't love me, it was a great deal to me just to see her dainty form about the house and to hear the sound of her voice.

Well, said I. You call that love, Mr. Carothers, but I should call it selfishness. Maybe the two things go together. Anyhow, I couldn't let her go. Besides, with this crowd about, it was well that she should have someone near to look after her. Then, when the cable came, I knew they were bound to make a move. What cable? Corothers took a telegram from his pocket. That's it. Said he. It was short and concise. The old man is done. Hmm. Said Holmes. I think I see how things worked, and I can understand how this message would, as you say, bring them to a head.

But while you wait, you might tell me what you can." The old reprobate burst into a volley of bad language. By heaven said he, if you squeal on us Bob Carruthers, I'll serve you as you serve Jack

Woodley.

You can bleed about the girl to your heart's content for that's your own affair, but if you round on your pals to this plain clothes, copper, it'll be the worst day's work that you ever did. The reverence need not be excited, said Holmes, lighting a cigarette. The case is clear enough against you. And all I ask is a few details for my private curiosity. However, if there's any difficulty in your telling me, I'll do the talking, and then

you'll see how far you have a chance of holding back your secrets. In the first place, three of you came from South Africa on this game. You, Williamson, you, Coruthers, and Woodley. Lie number one said the old man. I never saw either of them until two months ago, and I have never been in Africa in my life. So you can put that in your pipe and smoke it. Mr. Busybody Holmes. What he says is true," said Corothers. Well, well. Two of you came over. His reverences are own homemade article. You had known Ralph Smith in South Africa. You had reason to believe he would not live long. You found out that his niece would inherit his fortune.

How's that?

Huh?

Corothers nodded, and Williamson swore. She was next to Kim no doubt, and you were aware that the old fellow would make no will. Couldn't read her right, said her others.

So you came over the two of, and hunted up the girl. The idea was that one of you would marry her, and the other would have a share of the plunder. For some reason Woodley was chosen as the husband. Why was that? We played cards for her on the voyage. He won. I see. You got the young lady into your service, and there Woodley was to do the courting. She recognized the drunken brute that he was, and would have nothing to do with him. Meanwhile, your arrangement was rather upset by the fact that you had yourself fallen in love with the lady. You could no longer bear the idea of this ruffian owning her. No, by George I couldn't. There was a quarrel between you. He left you in a rage, and began to make his own plans independently of you. It strikes me, Williamson. There isn't very much that we can tell this gentleman. with a Corothers, with a bitter laugh. Yes, we quarreled, and he knocked me down. I am level with him on that anyhow. Then I lost sight of him. That was when he picked up with this outcast podre here. I found that they had set up housekeeping together at the place, on the line that she had to pass for the station. I kept my eye on her after that, for I knew there was some devlery in the wind. I saw them from time to time, for I was interested to know what they were after. Two days ago, Woodley came up to my house with this cable. He asked me if I would stand by the bargain. I said I would not. He asked me if I would marry the girl myself and give him a share. I said I would willingly do so, but that she would not have me. He said, let us get her married first and after a week or two she may see things a bit different. I said I would have nothing to do with it. So he went off cursing, like the foul mouthed black guard that he was, and swearing that he would have her yet. She was leaving me this weekend, and I had got a trap to take her to the station. But I was so uneasy in my mind that I followed her on my bicycle. She had got a start, however, and before I could catch her, the mischief was done. The first thing I knew about it was when I saw you two gentlemen driving back in her dog car. Holmes rose and tossed the end of his cigarette into the grate. I have been very up to Swatson," said he. When in your report you said that you had seen the cyclist as you thought, a range is necktie in the shubbery that alone should have told me all. However, we may congratulate ourselves upon a curious and in some respects a unique case. I perceive three of the county constabulary in the drive and I am glad to see that the little Osler is able to keep pace with them. So it is likely that neither he nor the interesting bridegroom will be permanently damaged

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