Sherlock Holmes -Rathbone & Bruce

Sherlock Holmes ,,,, The Notorious Canary Trainer(Rathbone-Bruce).

Samstag, 31. Oktober 2026 · 26 min

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This episode from the life of Sherlock Holmes will be transmitted to our men and women overseas by shortwave and through the worldwide facilities of the Armed Forces Radio Service. Petri Wine brings you. Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce in 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 about another exciting adventure he shared with his old friend, that master detective, Sherlock Holmes.

Say, and I've got a little something to tell you myself.

I want to tell you that if you haven't sent in for your free recipe calendar, I think we've still got enough on hand.

To take care of you if you hurry.

The requests have been pouring in like mad, literally by the thousandth.

No wonder.

It's really a terrific offer. It's a calendar for 1945 and 46. It's in full color, and it tells you all you have to know about cooking with Petri Wine. Write to Petri Wine, P-E-T-R-I, Petri Wine, San Francisco 26, California. San Francisco 26, California. But better hurry, so we can get your recipe calendar to you immediately. And now let's drop in on our good friend, Dr.

Watson. Good evening, Doctor. Good evening, Mr. Foreman. Where are the puppies tonight?

Well, I found them playing with a dead seagull, so they've been sent up to bed in disgrace.

You certainly look comfortable yourself, Doctor. What's that small blue book you're reading, the latest bestseller?

No, no, no, indeed not. This book was never a bestseller, my boy. It's entitled Practical Handbook of Bee Culture. With some observations on the segregation of the queen.

Quite a catchy title. Who's the author?

Well, by the name of Sherlock Holmes. He was engaged in writing it when the adventure I'm going to tell you about took place.

Well, you told us last week, Doctor, that a pair of canaries played an important part in the story.

That's quite right, Mr.

Foreman.

It was in the summer of 1908, I remember, and I had persuaded Holmes to leave his Sussex Bee farm for a few weeks and to join me in a holiday at the little fishing village of Kingsgate in Kent. We were staying at a charming little inn called the Fisherman's Arms, and for the first few days, our holiday was the delightful one. And then.

And then, I suppose, Doctor, strange things began to happen.

They did indeed, Mr. Foreman, they did indeed.

Very strange things. One afternoon, we'd just finished a late tea, I remember, and we're sitting outside on the lawn sunning ourselves and enjoying our pipe. Holmes lay back with his long, thin fingers cast behind his head, gazing thoughtfully at the multicolored fishing boat bobbing its anchor in the harbor. After a moment or two, he spoke to me.

Watson, you're really a splendid companion.

I can't think of anyone else who would let me smoke my pipe in silence for half an hour without asking me what I'm thinking about.

That's not very surprising, Holmes, after all the years that.

We've been together.

Well, nevertheless, the gift is a rare one, old chap, and I appreciate it.

Oh, thank you, Oliver. By the way, since the half hour's up, what have you been thinking about? A lack of enterprise of a modern criminal.

Audacity and romance seem to have passed forever from the criminal world. Read this note I received this morning.

Old fellow.

See for yourself how low I have sunk.

All right, so look.

Mr.

Holmes, I am staying in the same inn as yourself, and as I have had a very frightening experience, I thought perhaps you would help me please do.

It's signed Mary Victor.

An exciting document, isn't it? Written on lavender notepaper, reeking of perfume. And the handwriting is obviously that of an adolescent girl.

You haven't bothered to answer the course.

Oh, yes, I have. I sent a message back by our good landlord that I would be glad to see her.

Why, Holmes? You came down here to complete your handbook on bee farming?

Oh.

Can't found it.

Those two wretched canaries are getting their sunbath on the windowsill above us.

Oh, I think it's.

Rather jolly to hear little fellows chirping away up there.

Oh, I find the sound most distracting. Let's go inside.

You know, Holmes, those birds are owned by a charming couple, a Mr.

And Mrs.

Wainwright. I was chatting with them on the stairs this morning.

I'm afraid their charm will escape me as long as their pets continue to tweet in that irritating manner. You've spoken of a peace inquired at the country inn, Watson.

And yet I find that... Come in. Ah, Miss Mary Victor, I presume. Yes, Mr. Holmes. Please come in. Close the door, won't you? Thank you.

This is my old friend, Dr.

Watson. You may speak quite freely in front of him. How do you do, Miss Victor?

How do you do, Doctor?

Now, sit down, young lady, and tell me what's troubling you.

Mr.

Holmes, I came down here from London to get away from someone.

But I've been followed.

I've been afraid to leave the inn until last night I felt I couldn't stand being cooped up any longer.

So I went for a walk on the seashore.

Someone followed me, Mr.

Holmes. I ran back here as fast as I could. But now he knows where I live. And I'm frightened.

Please help me. My dear Miss Victor, I'm afraid you must be much more specific before I can help you.

Who has followed you down here, and why are you afraid of him?

I'll tell you the whole story.

It'll sound strange to you, but I swear it's... Oh, there he is again, down by the gate.

I'm going to my room.

Now, now, now, now.

Don't you be frightened, Miss Victor.

I'm sure we'll be.

Oh, my soul. It's not a thing.

I don't see anyone outside who might have frightened her. There are two or three fishermen loitering about.

Wait a minute. Here's a young fellow walking up the park. Come on, Watson.

Come on.

I'm through the French windows again.

Oh, good gracious me.

Here we go again.

I think we'll take the liberty of accosting him.

Excuse me, sir. Yes? Are you looking for Miss Mary Victor? Is she young and pretty? Yes, sir. She is. Extremely so.

Then I'm looking for her.

Where can I find her? I can see you're being facetious, sir.

Well, there's no harm in that, is there?

By the way, who are you gentlemen, may I ask? My name is Holmes, and this is my friend Dr. Watson.

I'm Basil Carter.

You're not Sherlock Holmes, are you? That is my name.

I thought you seemed familiar.

I know your brother, Mycroft. Oh, indeed.

Then I presume you're connected with the Foreign Office.

Yes, I'm in the consular service.

Are you staying at the inn, young man?

For a few days.

It's funny that I should run into the great Sherlock Holmes.

Why, may I ask?

I was planning a murder.

Oh, really?

But with the gentleman here.

I see that I shall have to be very discreet. Who is your intended victim, may I inquire? There are two of them. The two canaries in the room next to mine. Oh, canaries.

For a moment, I thought that you were really serious.

But I am serious. The wretched creatures have been driving me mad. I quite sympathize with you, sir.

I've been thinking of committing a.

Slight case of mayhem on them myself. We can take one apiece, Mr.

Holmes.

Well, I'm glad to have met you both.

I'll proudly see you again.

Goodbye. Goodbye, sir. Goodbye.

I don't like that fellow, Holmes. If you ask me, he's the man who's been fighting the poor girl that came to this. He had a peculiar look on his face when you asked me he was looking for Mary Victor.

There's only one person who can settle the question, and that's the young lady herself.

Come on, old fellow. Let's go back indoors.

Here comes Wainwright, the owner of the Canaries.

Good evening, Mr. Wainwright. Good evening, gentlemen.

This is my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

I am honored to meet you, sir. How do you do, Mr. Wainwright?

Beautiful evening, isn't it?

I just took a stroll down.

To the store to get some more bird seed. By the way, Mr. Holmes, I hope our canaries don't bother you. Little fellows are such a comfort to my wife and me.

Oh, no, no, not at all, sir.

I find their chirping very soothing. Oh, I'm so glad. Good night, gentlemen. Good night, sir.

Good night, Mr. Wilson.

Not Wilson, Mr.

Holmes. Wainwright. Oh, I beg your pardon. I'm so sorry.

I thought you said Wilson.

Good night.

Well, not like you to mix up.

Names, Holmes.

I didn't mix them up, old fellow. I never forget a face. Mr.

Wainwright is in reality Wilson, the notorious canary trainer.

whom I.

Had the pleasure of sending to prison for a seven-year stretch in 95. Some years later, he made one of the most spectacular escapes from prison... in the history of crime.

and has since managed to evade all efforts to recapture him. It's got me.

He seems to be sweet over.

Possibly he's reformed, but I doubt it. Our stage is set for an intriguing problem, old chap... and our cast is an interesting one. A frightened young girl.

A diplomat of uncertain integrity and a noted criminal, Watson. I have a feeling that once again the game's afoot.

Holmes!

Why are we strolling along the pier instead of staying at the inn? I thought you said that you were expecting trouble.

I am, old chap. And I'm sure it will find us out.

You know, Holmes, I'm still completely mystified by the behavior of that girl Mary Victor. I knocked at her door last evening again this morning.

I couldn't get any answer. And the landlord told me that she was not seen at dinner last night nor at breakfast this morning.

And yet her room has not been vacated. Curious. Hello.

There's the village constable sunning himself at the end of the pier.

Yeah.

Good morning, Sergeant Blake.

Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson.

How are you, gentlemen?

Splendid, thank you, Sergeant. And very appreciative of the weather that you've provided for us.

Oh, think nothing of it, sir. We always arrange that for our really distinguished visitors.

By the way, Mr.

Holmes, I was reading one of your friend's stories about you last night. The one called The Adventure of Mysterious Lords.

That was wisteria, Lord, you foolish fellow.

Maybe it was. Anyway, I was reading it aloud to me, old woman. And if you don't mind my saying so, Mr. Holmes, we both thought you made a bad mistake.

Oh, really?

Though, of course, you come out all right in the end.

Hear me, Sergeant, I stand reproved.

Excuse me, Sergeant.

Holmes, Holmes, look.

Look at that figure standing by itself right at the end of the pier.

Our friend Wilson, the canary trainer.

He's got a revolver.

Here, here.

We don't want any of these goings-on in Kingsgate.

Come on.

Here, you.

What are you doing leaving that revolver about?

Keep back the three of you.

I'm the lawyer.

Don't you tell me what to do.

He's back, I say.

I'm not afraid to fire.

Better do as he says, Sergeant. You don't want to trifle with. Just exactly what are you up to, Wilson?

You've caught up with me once again, Sherlock Holmes. But this time you're not going to send me back to a prison again. And maybe the gallows.

If I can't escape you, then I'll take my own way out with this revolver.

Wilson, what in thunder are you talking about?

The murder at the inn last night.

I did it.

Murder?

I'm confessing in front of the three of you. Now you leave my wife alone. She didn't know anything about it. Now, I hope you're satisfied, Mr.

Sherlock Holmes.

He's pointing the revolver at the head.

You fool, stop it.

Strike me, Pink.

He done it.

Over the pier and into the sea.

Get help, Sergeant. It's possible he isn't dead. Right, sir.

Come on, Watson.

We're going back to the inn, I suppose. Of course we are.

We've just heard a murder confession, but we don't know who has been murdered.

Holmes, Holmes, what was the telegram that you sent off just now?

A message to my brother, Mycroft.

The innkeeper informed me that Basil Carter, the young diplomat we met yesterday, left in rather hurriedly in the early hours of this morning.

Come on, let's go upstairs.

Well, we'll have to break the news to Mrs. Wainwright, I suppose.

Before we do that, I think we'll see if Miss Victor's in her room.

Which one is it? Here, top of the stairs.

Hmm.

We'll take the liberty of looking in.

Victor hasn't been seen since last night. Uh-huh. Unlocked.

Lord, what a mess. Clothes strewn all over the place, open suitcases.

It looks as if the young lady had been planning an immediate departure.

Where could she be?

No one's seen her since last night. Mr.

Mary, I.

Oh.

Oh, I beg your pardon, gentlemen. I thought I heard Mary Victor come in.

I'm Mrs.

Wainwright. Mrs. Wainwright. I'm, uh.

Afraid we have some rather bad news for you.

Your husband shot himself a quarter of an hour ago at the end of a pier and his body fell into the sea.

Is he dead?

We must presume so, madam. I left the police sergeant there searching for him. Sergeant Blake should be back here at any moment now.

So he did it.

After all.

You don't seem very surprised, madam.

He threatened to do it.

Mrs.

Wainwright, before your husband shot himself... He confessed to committing a murder in this inn last night.

A murder? Whose murder? At the moment, we're not quite sure.

Oh, he must have been out of his mind.

Mrs.

Wainwright, I'm afraid I must ask you some rather painful questions. Are you aware that your husband was a criminal? That he served a prison sentence under the name of Wilson?

Yes, I knew that.

He told me when we were married two years ago. But he said that he'd gone straight ever since he'd come out of prison. That's why he changed his name. He was trying to make a fresh start.

You know of no reason for his planning to kill anyone at this inn?

None. And unless you find someone murdered, I wouldn't give too much thought to it.

Yes, if you'll forgive my saying so, madam, you seem remarkably unmoved by your husband's tragedy. Why should I pretend? We were very unhappy together.

This might be the best way out of it for both of us. My husband carried quite a large amount of life insurance. In the event of suicide, would that be payable?

It's on the policy, madam.

But I must say that from your attitude, I begin to.

Doubt whether your husband is dead.

What do you mean?

I mean that if Mr.

Wilson, or if you prefer it, Mr. Wainwright, wished to disappear in spectacular style, what could be simpler than to pretend to shoot himself, drop into the sea.

Mr.

Holmes!

Mr.

Holmes!

I'm up here, Sergeant. Ah, did you find him? Yes, Mr.

Holmes. We fished him out right away.

Dead as a doornail.

Shot himself to the head, he did.

Well, that disposes of your last theory, Holmes.

Did you find the revolver, Sergeant?

Yes, ma'am.

Got it right here with me.

One bullet missing. Have you found out if anyone here has been.

Murdered, Mr.

Holmes? I found out very little as yet.

Wait a moment. Listen.

I don't hear anything.

Exactly.

You hear nothing.

Yet we're within a few feet of the Wainwright's room.

What do you mean, Mr. Harris? I mean that there.

Is one sound we should be hearing very clearly at the moment.

Why, I think of it before.

The sound of your canaries chirping. You've heard little else for days.

Come on, Watson.

Where are you going?

Your room, madam.

I'm afraid I must dispense with asking your permission.

You're already in my room. It seems a little late even to mention the subject.

Here's the birdcage and the windowsill.

Oh, the birds are gone. No, old chap.

If you look more closely, you'll see them on the bottom.

Of the cage.

Let me open this door and get one of them out.

Joe Holmes, they're dead.

And yet when we entered the inn a few minutes ago, they were still chirping.

But who on earth would want to kill a couple of birds?

That, my dear fellow, is one of the things we have to find out. So far, I must admit, I'm puzzled. We have a self-confessed murderer, and the nearest thing we can find to a.

Corpse is a pair of dead canaries. We'll bring you the rest of Dr.

Watson's story in just a second. A second I'll take, if you don't mind, to ask you if you've ever had a glass of Petri California Sherry. Because if you haven't, boy, you want to remedy that situation pronto. Try that Petri Sherry before.

Dinner some evening. Look at its clear amber color.

Smell the fragrance of those luscious grapes.

And get a sample of.

That Petri flavor. That Petri Sherry can turn the usual before-dinner lull into a main event. And say, if you like your Sherry dry, as I do, wait till you taste Petri Pale Dry Sherry.

Is that ever good?

But after all, when it's a Petri wine, it's always a good wine. And now, back to tonight's new Sherlock Holmes adventure. Strange events are taking place in the Kentish fishing village of Kingsgate. A self-confessed murderer has committed suicide, but his victim cannot be found. As we rejoin our story, the great detective and his old friend, Dr. Watson, are once again examining the room of Mary Victor, one of the missing guests.

You know, Holmes, the murder that Wilson confessed to before he committed suicide might have been the killing of those two canaries.

I think not, old chap.

Wilson obviously loved the creatures and kept them in spite of the fact that they were dangerously apt to identify him with his criminal past.

Uh-huh. Interesting. Very interesting.

Huh?

What have you found?

This note lying on Miss Victor's dressing table.

Here.

So, look. You think you can hide from me, Mary, but you can't. Wherever I go, I shall follow you, so why not get wise to yourself first? And stop running away. Sounds as if the poor girl was in danger, all right.

Possibly, but the writer of that note was certainly obliging.

Though the letter is.

Unsigned, he at least gives us a clue to his identity.

Oh, what clue? The phrase, get wise to yourself, is very un-English. It's American. Come on, old chap.

Well, where are we going now?

The envelope to this letter has the Kingsgate postmark on it.

I should be surprised if that fount of all knowledge, the village postmistress, can't help us find an American visitor.

Yes, I know the young man you must be looking for, gentlemen. His name's Walter C.

Bunker.

He's been in here to send telegrams. And his accent's so strong you could cut it with a knife. Just like one of the very Indian fellows you read about, you know.

Can you tell me where he lives, madam?

Very well, sir.

He's been rooming at Mrs.

Bell's house.

15 Laburnum Grove, down behind the guest room.

15 Laburnum Grove, Mrs. Bell. Thank you. Thank you very much.

I'm very much obliged to you.

Mrs. Bell? Yes, sir.

What can I do for you, gentlemen? Well, we understand that Mr. Walter Bunker has been staying with.

You, madam.

That he has.

A nice young American gentleman.

Is he at home, may I ask? No, sir.

And I'm worried about him. This morning, when he goes out, he asks me where the nearest cemetery is.

Cemetery?

Who gives me? I tell him.

And then he gives a queer kind of laugh.

I'm not sure I'll see you.

Anymore, he says.

And then he walks off, and I haven't seen him since. I tell you, I'm worried about.

Him, gentlemen. And where is the nearest cemetery, Mrs.

Bell, the one you directed him to?

About three miles from here. Just this side of Branson Woods.

Thank you, madam. Come on, Watson.

The cemetery seems deserted.

Shh, shh, shh. This music comes from the church. Oh, Lord, it's a funeral. Or a wedding. Come on. By Joby, it is a wedding. Holmes. I'm afraid we're on the false trail. But we'd better make sure. Quiet, gentlemen, please.

The ceremony is just ending.

Just one question.

Can you tell me the names of the couple who've just been married?

Miss Mary Victor from the inn and a young American by the name of Bunker.

Thank you.

Yes, we have been following a false trail, confound it. The frightened young lady.

Was merely frightened by her persistent American fiancé.

Threatening letter that he sent her.

Ambiguously worded. When you come to think of it, Anyway, we can cease to worry about Miss Victor. She is now Mrs. Bunker. I think we can assume that she's out of all danger.

We've got to start all over again.

Oh, no, no, my dear fellow. The field is narrowing.

We'll head back for the inn now, and I have a feeling that we're on the last lap of our strange adventure.

Yes, here's another suspect eliminated.

This telegram is from my brother, Mycroft.

I telegraphed him earlier on today to check.

On the movements of Basil Carter, the young man who left the inn so mysteriously in the early hours of this morning. His answer informs me that the gentleman in question was recalled to the Foreign Office suddenly and arrived quite safely.

A few hours ago.

Well, now I'm completely puzzled.

And I, old fellow, at last see daylight.

Wish I did, Mr.

Owen.

Sergeant, go upstairs and get the dead man's widow and bring her to my room, please. Then I think I can give you the solution to this problem.

What do you want with me, Mr. Holmes? Sit down, madam.

You and Sergeant Blake make yourselves comfortable. Now, in the first place, the murder occurred this morning and.

Not last night.

I know what you're hinting at.

The canaries.

I admit I killed them.

But you can't do anything to me for that.

Why did you kill those birds?

I hated them as much as my husband loved them. When I knew he was dead, their singing drove me mad. So I killed them.

But they must have been already dead when we told you of your husband's suicide.

So, Watson, that the lady was fully aware that her husband was dead.

When we informed her of the fact, you see... She murdered him.

You're talking rubbish.

Yes, Mr.

Holmes.

How could she have murdered him? We saw him shoot himself before our eyes.

Because when Wilson raised that revolver to his head, he was convinced that it contained blank cartridges. Unfortunately for him, his wife had deliberately replaced the blanks with live cartridges.

Good great heavens. Why?

How? Let me reconstruct the case for you. Wilson, with the connivance of his wife here, had contrived a disappearance plot. He knew that I had spotted his real identity, and so he planned this rather dramatic exit... confessed to a non-existent murder, and then, well, had his plan materialized, he was to shoot himself with a blank.

All from the peer, an apparent suicide. What a fantastic scheme, but how did he plan to get away?

Well, he would have swum under the water, safe distance, and so made his escape.

Oh, his plan couldn't have worked possibly. Oh, probably not, probably not. But at least it was ingenious.

He would have destroyed his true identity. and had his revenge on me by making me search for a murder that had never been committed. Unfortunately for him, his wife was his accomplice, and saw in the scheme an excellent way of killing her husband.

You think yourself very clever, Mr. Holmes, but even if it were true, how could you prove it?

Observe this revolver, Mrs.

Wilson.

It's the one your husband shot himself with.

What can you prove from that? Ever hear of fingerprint tests? I've heard of them.

But that revolver's been underwater.

True, quite true.

But thanks to the researches of my excellent friend, Dr.

John Thorndike, an infallible.

Test has been discovered for recording fingerprints even after immersion in seawater.

I applied the test.

To the prints on the revolver and the bullets and compared them with some that we found.

On the water glass in your room. They are the same, Mrs. Wilson.

Now, does a man let his wife load his suicide weapon.

Sergeant Blake?

I think it's obvious that the time has come for you to take over the case.

All right.

All right, so I did change the bullets.

I hated him.

I'm glad he's dead.

And what's more, I'd do it again.

Mr. Holmes.

Yes, Sergeant Blake.

Now that I've taken Mrs. Wilson to the station and booked her on a murder charge, I wonder if you'd mind answering a question.

With pleasure.

This fingerprint test.

I'd like to know about that.

I've never heard of being able to take prints after a revolver has been handled two or three times and soaked in salt water.

Yes, Holmes, and I'd like to know when you performed the test and took the prints off the glass in her.

Room, I thought that I was with you all the time. You were, my dear fellow.

Well, then.

I can give you the answer in one word.

Bluff. What?

There is no such test, my dear Watson. It would be almost impossible to expect.

Core prints after so much handling.

And totally impossible after submersion.

Fortunately for us, though, Mrs.

Wilson was gullible enough to believe me and give me a confession.

And there's no such person as Dr.

John Fonda? Oh, yes, yes, indeed there is. He had great success last year in the case of the red thumb mark.

You didn't tell me about that case, Holmes.

No, no, I didn't.

It was deliberate, old chap. With your taste for writing sensational stories, I was afraid you might publish the affair. Oh?

Would it have mattered if I had?

Oh, yes, it would.

You would have given away, what shall I say, professional secrets. You would have provided the public, and in particular the criminal public, with a.

Complete education on fingerprints.

And when that happens, my dear Watson, we shall have no tricks left.

That will be a sad day for detectives.

Tonight's Sherlock Holmes adventure is written by Dennis Green and Anthony Boucher and is based on an incident in the Sir Arthur Conan Doyle story, The Adventure of Wisteria Lost.

Mr.

Rathbone appears to the courtesy of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer and Mr. Bruce to the courtesy of Universal Pictures, where 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. This is Bill Foreman saying good night for the Petri family.

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