Mrs Hudson

On that Christmas Eve in 86, I was standing in our Baker Street rooms dressed in the costume of Santa Claus.

Holmes' long, thin fingers pressed together, lay back in an armchair and gazed at me quizzically, while our housekeeper, Mrs. Hudson, stood by the door and...

Mr. Watson,

you make a grand Santa Claus.

Doesn't he,

Mrs. Hudson? Try the beard on, Watson, old chap.

I'm

afraid this is going to be a little uncomfortable.

Why not meet her at the head of the stairs, old chap? I know Mrs.

Hudson's rheumatism is bothering her.

Yes, of course I

will.

This way, young lady.

It's all right.

Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.

I'm Dr. Watson.

Which suggests either the martyr at the stake or the inquisitor lighting the faggots.

Mrs. Hudson's letting him in now.

Well, I'll be interested to know what he's come to us about.

I hear footsteps on the stairs.

I'll go and have a look.

How do you do, sir? Come along in, won't you? That's all right, thank you, Mrs.

Hudson.

You're

Why not meet her at the head of the stairs, old chap? I know Mrs.

Hudson's rheumatism is bothering her.

Yes, of course I will.

This way, young lady.

It's all right.

Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.

I'm Dr. Watson.

Won't you come along in?

One cloudless June afternoon, I found myself in the neighborhood of Baker Street, and I couldn't resist paying a visit to Holmes.

Mrs. Hudson was out, but having retained my old latchkey, I let myself in and mounted the familiar stairs.

It gave me a strange feeling as I raised my hand to knock on what once had been my own living room door.

Come in.

I certainly did feel like that for a couple of hours.

But by the time we got back to Baker Street and sat down to one of Mrs. Hudson's good meals, well, I was ready for anything that Holmes had in mind.

You know, there's nothing like a good dinner to make you feel a new man.

You have been listening to An Adventure in Crime with

Sherlock Holmes, read by Peter Yearsley.

Mrs. Hudson, read by Phone.

Mr. Culverton Smith, read by TJ Burns.

Inspector Morton, read by Beth Thomas.

The bottler, read by Lian Yau.

Mrs. Hudson, the landlady of Sherlock Holmes, was a long-suffering woman.

Not only was her first-floor flat invaded at all hours by throngs of singular and often undesirable characters, but her remarkable lodger showed an eccentricity and irregularity in his life which must have sorely tried her patience.

His incredible untidiness, his addiction to music at strange hours, his occasional revolver practice within doors, his weird and often murderous scientific experiments, and the atmosphere of violence and danger which hung around him made him the very worst tenant in London.