The Veiled Lodger - Part One
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Welcome to, firstly, 2025, and secondly, welcome to the adventure of the Veiled Lodger. My name is Dr John Watson, for those that have forgotten or have, I don't know, clicked on this podcast by accident, please hang around if you have. Well, maybe don't, because this adventure is complex at times, and if you'd prefer people just...

chatting about stuff, then yeah, actually, do you know what? Just leave. Just go. Okay, they've probably left back to us lot. This is the adventure of the Veiled Lodger. It is a two-parter. It's obviously got swearing in it, but anything else serious will be in the episode description. It's good to be back in your ears, so thanks for inviting me. Now, get comfortable, if you can, and join us as we take on a case very close to home.

Enjoy.

Right, well, that's that. Was sort of hoping for a lock-in, given the weather. Do you feel satisfied even though all your sporting fixtures were cancelled? Hey, I came to the pub to hang out with you. Football is just a bonus. Noted. Time to face the cold. Wow. Six inches. Really? In London? God, this is wild, this.

No cars on the street at all. This country, honestly, too hot or too cold, everyone just gives up. I think it's rather nice. I mean, yeah. Yeah, I suppose it is. Serene. Yep. Yep, could be the four pints of Guinness, obviously, but yeah, very nice. Very nice. Shall we? So, what are we thinking then?

What are we thinking? Well, I'm going to go for cheese on toast with a cup of tea and some sort of YouTube video. I'm thinking probably people jumping off of things or stuff blowing up in slow motion. Yes, that does sound rather good. Did you hear that? Yes, I did. Weird.

Wait, what are you doing? Waiting to hear it again. We're in the middle of a snowstorm, Sherlock. Snowstorm is a little over the top, don't you think? Fine, but I'm freezing, OK? Can we walk the extra 30 seconds and get in the flat, please? Fine. It sounds distressed, though, Watson. The voice? Yeah, it's probably from someone's TV or something. It wasn't. All right, fine. Something else... Oh, my God. Oh, my God.

My name is Dr John Watson, once of the British Army Northumberland Fusilier Regiment, now a true crime podcaster based in central London. I don't have much experience in criminology, so this is mostly a record of how I met possibly the most brilliant and bizarre person I have ever and will ever know. Join me as I document the adventures of Sherlock Holmes.

He stole my cheese. He's a dog, Sherlock. He's not. He's a thief. He's a dog. Being a dog. And you are being a guy who leaves cheese in places he can reach it. Go to your room, Archie. He doesn't have a room.

I'm restless, Watson. I know, I know. I have an update. What's the latest? I need to know. Was it murder, Watson? Was it murder? Yeah, all right. Hold on to your ear defenders. I'm not wearing my ear defenders. Yeah, I was just tweaking a well-known expression. What's the expression? Hold on to your hat. I don't wear a hat. Yeah, that's why I didn't say it.

I mean, you could get a hat. One that covers your ears, double whammy. Like a deerstalker. Bingo. Anyway, update on the screaming voices in the night. It's a bit awkward, actually. Awkward? Yeah, so, Gregson says the following. We visited the house in question at 208 Baker Street. The shouting was from a resident that was having a bad dream. The family did ask who reported the incident and I mentioned you guys earlier.

The Merrillows will pop by and apologise. Cheers, Tom. How is that remotely awkward? Because I'm a Londoner now. I don't want to meet my neighbours. Why not? Because. You are aware that word is either to be used as a conjunction or informally as a preposition? So? Another conjunction? Look, I already feel that we've embarrassed this family with the accusations of the police. The woman was screaming the word murder, Watson.

Our actions are reasonable. In fact, they're a little insufficient for my liking. Yes, so you told me all of last night. We should have invaded the property and surveyed the scene ourselves. And of course, accosted the perpetrator. This is not inception, mate. The perp was in someone's dream. Yeah, and you did try to invade the property. And what happened? The alarm was triggered. The alarm was triggered, exactly.

Maybe they're a weird couple. I don't know. Maybe they were playing a game. We could have scaled the walls, rescued the victim and used the deep snow to catch our fall as we descended at speed. There is no victim. She was asleep. You know, sleeping. The thing that you are apparently allergic to. Are dreams all that disconnected from reality, Watson? Er, yeah.

Yeah, they are, yeah. A question you might ask yourself each morning. Well, let's see. Last night, I dreamt that Archie did a shit outside Buckingham Palace, and then I got arrested and all my hair fell out. Is that connected to reality? Is it? You remember it because it is an exception. What are you talking about? An exception to the recent focus of your mind, both conscious and unconscious. You dream of Mary, much like you think of Mary. What?

Dreams don't mean anything. They don't. They are an apparition of our dormant brain functions. Exactly. But she is lodged in there, is she not? She is. Your conscious and subconscious have a codependency, Watson. Yeah, I'm sure they do. It's breathing for you, blinking for you. What do you think it does for you at night, as your mind powers down? Thinks for me? Exactly. Yeah, well...

Maybe I don't want it to. It is predisposed to process the unresolved. I think the sad thing about Mary is that it is very much resolved in the most painful way resolution can happen. In the fabric of our world, yes. But what about in there? In the world of John Watson where Archie is emptying his bowels at Buckingham Palace? Yeah. Yeah.

True. Lots to, um, work through, I suppose. Exactly. I apologise if I've made you uncomfortable, mate. You... don't worry. You didn't, mate. Well, mate, I think... Stop it. OK. What do you think? The unresolved. What of our cries of murder in the night, Watson? Even if called out in the depths of sleep, could also be born out of the same...

Duty from a troubled subconscious. Ay. Who is it? Is it Gregson? Nice. Mariana. Hola, amigo. Ay, hola. Todo es una mierda, John. I think you are vastly overestimating my Spanish. I said everything is shit. What? Why? When's your flight? Oh, my flight has taken off already. And landed. Oh, cool. Hey, could you grab me something from Heathrow M&S, actually?

I can't. Oh. I can't because I'm not at Heathrow. I'm at Bordeaux Airport. Bordeaux? Yes. So why are you at Bordeaux Airport? Because of your stupid snow. It's not my stupid snow. Well, it's your stupid country. Hey, this stupid country is home to your two favourite people and your favourite dog. Yeah, but I can't get there to see my favourite dog and favourite people, can I? So what are you going to do?

I'm looking at flights, but I basically can only head south, like some migrating bird or something. Because of the snow. Yeah, so I might go back to San Sebastian, go back to my parents and then see in the morning if I can get a different flight home. Cool. Yeah. OK, well, hey, good luck. Yeah, thank you. Bye bye. She is stuck in Bordeaux.

This snow is unreal. I love this. Look at them, serious faces and voices like war has been declared. It's snow, guys. I always feel sorry when they send reporters out. Look, that poor bloke is in Portsmouth.

I mean, even without the snow, that's a grim assignment, isn't it? Poor sod. You're recording. Ah, whoops. Fine. Well, I'll take it out. Remarkable thing. A snowflake.

That no two are the same? Well, that can't reasonably be measured with at least a septillion flakes falling every winter. I believe the last thing I read on it was that chances of a snowflake being identical to another is one in a million trillion. It's actually the same odds as Swindon winning League One. Really? Joke. Oh. Why are they all unique? Not all. One in a million trillion. Yes, alright, you know what I mean. Because, Watson...

They may embark from the same cloud in the same sky with that same six-fold symmetry, but as they fall they each take a different path. During that treacherous flight toward Earth they are nudged and persuaded by atmospheric conditions, warped by temperatures, swayed and torn at by winds. And it is that journey from their creation to their resting place that moulds their form.

If all our DNA was identical, Watson, the genetic material, like for like across humanity, would we, come the end of our journey, share identical smiles? Would we carry ourselves the same? Would our wrinkles match line for line? What of the glints in our eyes, the rattle and drone of our voices, the hairs on our head? Would our skin all be the same gentle silk of our newborn selves? Or would it be coarse, worn, scarred?

We, too, are nudged by our environment, persuaded and warped by our journey, swayed into form, torn at.

Can I just check before I answer the door to our neighbours? Are you sober? I am, yes. Good, because right now you don't sound it. I will be right back. Invite them up? No. Watson. Oh, don't give me that look. I'm giving you the look for a reason. Stop it. No. Stop. I refuse. Whatever, fine. You think that look actually has an effect on people? It doesn't, yeah? So stop it. Get over yourself, mate.

And yeah, this is Sherlock, my flatmate. Hi there. Sherlock, this is Mark Merillow, lives at 208. Hi Sherlock. Good to finally meet you. You too, mate.

I was just saying the same to John. It's funny, isn't it? You live a few doors down and if you don't go out your way and say hello... You never properly meet. Exactly, exactly. John here believes that is a symptom of our London lifestyles. Oh, bound to be, bound to be. Well, I mean, we're ships in the night, aren't we? I'm up with the kids out the door by eight for a school run and then it's work and before you know it, you're home. You're knackered.

And you've got the telly on. Or down the pub, in our case. I've got to join you down there one night. Oh, definitely, mate. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Go for it. Volunteer, yeah? Yeah, it's great. It's great. I mean, I will say, if you see two weird blokes drinking Guinness in the corner and arguing, come say hi. Oh, yeah, will do. Anyway, right. As I've said to John, I want to say to you too,

Big apologies for last night. I assure you, the old lady was in a very, very deep sleep. Yes, so we hear. She's, yeah, she's a funny one at night. Sorry as well for contacting the police. No, stop it, honestly. You're not the first and you won't be the last. It is a common occurrence. It's getting that way, yeah. Waking the kids up, scaring the neighbours, driving me flipping mad, honest to God. I'm trying to find a way.

To get rid of her, to be honest. Sorry? To get rid of her, you know. But it's hard these days, isn't it? To kick someone out, you have to jump through all these hoops and everyone thinks you're the bad guy. What kind of hoops, Mr Merrill-O? Telling you, mate. And I wish someone would have told me when I was a bit younger. It's not all it's cracked out to be. Living with that woman is bloody hard work, let me tell you. Lovely at the beginning, of course, but now I'm like, time to get out, love. Wow.

Okay. Might see if there's an app or something to just shift her onto someone else. Jesus. Yeah, probably more effort than it's worth. I'll just... I'll have to end it another way. Mr Merrillo, although it is none of my business, I find this rather concerning. Yeah, no, sorry. You don't need to hear all this. I'll get on with it.

I'll see her off quietly and efficiently and say nothing more of it. Righto, gents. Great to meet you. Yeah. I'll terminate her tonight, so there'll be no more noise, I promise. But if you hear some screaming, she's putting up a fight. Cheers, fellas. Now, hold it right there, sir.

You expect us to just stand by and do nothing? You want to come help? Absolutely not. You're insane. What? What the hell is wrong with you? Sorry, have I said something wrong? Yeah, you've said like, I don't know, eight or nine things wrong, Mark. Have I? Yes! Get out of here, you sick bastard, and leave that woman alone. Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. I'm afraid you'll be getting another visit from the police. This one a little more heavy-handed. Have I...

They'll shut you away in a dark, dank prison and then the screams you'll hear in the night will be your own. Nice to meet you, neighbour. Sleep tight. Hey! God, you told him, right? What a psycho. Disgraceful. Hey. Hey, so, yeah, confirmed. Going back to my parents. Then my flight is tomorrow morning. Yeah, cool. What's up? Nothing, just...

Just met Mark Merillot. Oh, yeah, from 208? Yeah, yeah, he's insane. Is he? Totally deranged, Mariana. Do you know him? I know Mark, yeah. Him and his wife are so great. His lodger, though. Oof, the old lady? She's super mean. Oh, that's the old woman I told you about. That wooden sign for our parcel? His lodger. His lodger. His lodger.

You okay? Yeah, just, um, I'll call you back. What? Oh, fuck. Just wait a sec, mate. Sugar? Honestly, you really don't have to, it's fine. Simple misunderstanding. Oh, come on, come on, have a cup of tea and we can put all the wife-murdering accusations behind us.

Course. Yeah, go on. Just milk, please, John. You don't have to shoot off or anything. Nah, don't worry. No one can even get in the office today with this snow. Oh, unbelievable, isn't it? Here you go, mate. Star. Thanks, John. Apologies again, Mr Merrillo. I'm usually much more adept at deducing a person's circumstances. It's fine, honestly. I may have got a little carried away. The scene of the snow flurry last night, coupled with the haunting cries of murder...

I feel it may have stirred up a somewhat emotive response. Hey, I don't blame you to be honest. It's a real, um... It's blood-curdling sometimes, innit? Indeed. I know I said all that stuff. I really do feel for her. She hasn't had it easy in her life. This is...? Eugenia, the lodger. Ah, course, yep. She hasn't had it easy in her life, you say? No. Poor cow. How so, exactly? You can tell...

Like what you said, you can look at someone and... Sorry, I can't remember how you put it. Deduce a person's circumstances. Yeah. I've got the same sort of gift you've got. I can just look at someone and go, yep, you're not right, you. Or I can sort of see into their life. Wow. And yeah, I did the same with Eugenia. Interesting.

What features of her appearance inferred a troubled life? Um, well, she's a bit guarded. Mm-hmm. Go on. She's kind of shy. Indeed. And she wears a veil over these massive scars on her face. She's got an eye missing and doesn't really have a nose. Cheekbones all caved in, half a mouth left. Whole face completely hollowed out from something nasty. Lovely cup of this. Ah, right.

So you don't refer to subtle features in your art of deduction? Sorry, what? She's got scars on her face? Mutilated, John. Completely. It's... yeah, like I say, I feel for her. It's... she doesn't speak of it, obviously. One of my kids asked about her face and she just replied, I don't have one. Yeah, tough.

And right now, she is stick thin. Nothing on her. And she remains veiled at all times. Yeah, I've seen her face by accident when I thought she was out, but yeah, veiled. Always. Yeah, Mariana said the same when she's seen her about. Yeah, she goes to Regent's Park every day with her zoo membership. Walks round bang on 10am back at 2. Daily visits to London Zoo in Regent's. Oh yeah, like clockwork. Maybe I'll... I should probably give her a few more months and...

Yeah, I'll have a word with the wife and see if we can tolerate Eugenia's funny ways a bit longer. I mean, she's great with the kids, brings in good money for us, better than having to make the bed and clean the room every day for a new B&B guest kind of thing. She takes up no space, literally lives out of a suitcase. Well, duffel bag. Not ideal luggage for an older person. Humble beginnings, I think that one. She doesn't chuck much out, and that bag she's got looks older than me. A veiled woman.

With just a bag to her name. And she's always been on time with the rent. She has, yep. She's got a stick too. Walking stick. But she never uses it. You know what old people are like. They never want to admit to using those things, do they? Too ageing. Depreciating. Interesting. Interesting is one word. Not that interesting when she's screaming murder and you monster in the middle of the night. You monster. And what's the other one? You cruel beast. Cruel beast.

Where is she from? God, good question. I can't remember now. One of the Eastern Europe ones, I think. And how long has she lodged in your house? We're coming up to two years now, yeah. Think she moved from a village in Berkshire. She's always been lovely. Courteous, keeping to herself, but I'd say this past year, like I said, getting so thin. Her breathing is so weak, she's just wasting away. How thin? Thinnest I've seen.

Not eating all that regularly. She doesn't shop for much stuff. She's got a little Tupperware thing in the fridge with her bit. We offered her her own fridge. Didn't want it. Yeah. I don't know if maybe I should accompany her to the doctor's or hospital or something to get her checked up. Because it's not like she speaks to anyone else. It's turning into a very lonely existence for her. The way she's pulled away from us. The way her behaviour has gone. And these night terrors too. What can you do, eh? Yeah, what can you do? Yeah. So...

Very true, Watson.

I think our next case will have to be local. Mm-hmm. Yep. Very, very local. What are you getting at? I'm going for a stroll. You are? Yes. In the snow? Indeed. Okay, well... So, yeah, that's Sherlock. Okay. That's not just me. I love customers.

Ah, here he is. Yes. Hello. Well, you Shackleton Holmes, where the hell have you been? London Zoo. Well, it's open. Mm-hm. Right. And...

Wait. Did you go to see animals? Or did you go to see a certain veiled lady? I saw the veiled lodger, Dr Watson. God's sake, Sherlock! What? She's a troubled old woman. She doesn't need you following her around. I didn't need to follow. You didn't need to follow. What does that mean? Because she didn't move. Move from where? The lion enclosure. What are you talking about? She reached the lion enclosure shortly after 10am and she stayed there, watching them the entire time. I eventually left...

I suspect, as Mark Merillow says, she will depart at 2pm. Right. Did you have a chat with her? I did not. Oh, yeah. Turn the TV off, why don't you? Not like I was watching... What do we know of Eugenia, Dr Watson? Er, likes lions, apparently. Oh, it's not funny, Watson. It's a significant observation. OK. Erm...

Scarred face from Berkshire, I think he said. Get your phone. Okay. I'm going to show you just how simple this is. Please do. Google her. Sorry? Google her. The Veiled Lodger. Eugenia? I don't know her surname. Well, it's a unique forename. It'll do. And we have some unique statistics. Eugenia. Type it in. Eugenia Berkshire. Mm-hmm.

Very good. And then what? Just put disfigured... What do you see? I haven't searched, it's just... What do the suggestions say? Lion attack Eugenia Ronda. Press it. Holy... Eugenia Ronda, mauled by a lion in Abbas Parva, Berkshire. She was left severely injured and mutilated, as we know, and her husband...

Killed. A brutal attack was immediately followed by the Wild Animals and Circuses Bill passed by Parliament in December 2020. The last of Britain's lion tamers. One dead, one wasting away, screaming into the night in Baker Street, masquerading as an elderly woman.

Masquerading? Article says 38 years of age. It was written five years ago. Well, article could be wrong. So you think it was an elderly circus performer? A geriatric lion tamer? Yeah, all right. OK. Man, this is incredible. And after all that...

Every day she heads out and visits her attacker's offspring. No. Yes, the lion in the Abbas Parva attack, Sahara King, had been used for breeding too. Since the Parliament Bill was passed, they have been raised in captivity. His son, Mobo, stalks the enclosures of London Zoo. And she watches him every day?

Every day. Ah, that'll be Edmunds. Edmunds? Thames Valley Police. Why are Thames Valley Police calling me? Because they're responsible for policing the Thames Valley region, covering the counties of Buckinghamshire, Oxfordshire and... Berkshire. Exactly. Answer it, please. I... Fine, fine. Hello? Hi, John.

Is Sergeant Edmonds calling from Thames Valley Police? Yes, hi. Hi. OK. So, I've got the file here. Sorry, this will be brief as I'm just on my lunch. Chris, sorry. Right. I had Sherlock Holmes as well, of course, before I start. Yep. Okey-dokey. I was part of a lion mauling. So, yes, I attended the scene. The establishment of Rhondda Circus was in transit. Not at the time. It was on an open campsite as it was transiting in the midst of a tour.

He was heading to Wimbledon the next day, I believe. So, key details are... Lion, Sahara King, never been particularly vicious before, and he'd never breached his cage before. The cage wasn't broken open. He appeared to be unlocked. That's what my notes say. Can't read my own writing, Christ. Sorry. Chris. Sure, yeah. And, um... Yes. So, Mr Ronda, the deceased individual, was the only man to feed the lion.

And he would do so every night. The reason he did that was he did the stunt with the lion and knew that by being his source of food, he would ensure his own safety. The lion wouldn't go after him, essentially. Obviously didn't work out, did it? And what of the events, Sergeant Edmonds? Yes, yes, sorry. Witnesses arrived when the lady's face was being, well, eaten. Jesus. It was part of a meal deal. It was what? And the crisp too, for five quid. Oh.

Sorry, are you... Just talking to someone else. Apologies. Yes, so, as for the events, Sahara King breaches the cage during the feeding time, and this is... I've underlined this bit, actually, as...

I remember now. I had doubts about this. Doubts? Sahara King goes straight for Mr Ronda, the supposed master and source of food. Don't buy the hand that feeds you. Well, this is the thing. Sahara King didn't buy it. He clawed Mr Ronda on the back of the head and caved his skull in with one single blow. Yeesh. And then turned to maul and chew at the face of his wife, Eugenia Ronda...

As she was being pulled away, they said, that's the other employees, they said that she was screaming coward. Coward? We speculated that maybe she thinks her husband could have done more to protect her. Who's we? The employees. Noted here. Helen Gurrett, Carl Cortez, Griggs the Clown, didn't get his name, sorry, Leonardo Boris and Freddie Rouse.

They all charged in and somehow managed to get Sahara King back in the cage and get Eugenia out there. Do you have anything else underlined, Sergeant Edmonds? I feel your observation is a bright one. Oh, really? Indeed. Thanks. I do, actually. Yeah, here. So, witnesses said the lion roared, then Eugenia screamed, then the man began shouting in terror. In that order? Yes. Yes.

Curious. Why is that curious? Well, because... Sorry to be blunt. His skull was being caved in. He's gone. Instantly. Bosh. Down. How would he be shouting in terror? Exactly. Then they all arrive to figure the thing out. Right. I've got to go. But I hope that... Yeah. I hope that helps. I'll take a picture of my notes and send over. Sergeant Edmonds, you've been a great help. Yeah. No worries. And...

Am I right to get the... Ah, yes, of course. Watson, a shout-out to Edmunds, please. In Thatcham. Edmunds in Thatcham. Right, yeah, OK. Shout-out to Edmunds in Thatcham. Lovely staff. Cheers, gents. I'm a bit confused here. Really? I'm not. I... Well, I mean, you know, it's a fascinating little tale, I guess. Oh, very much so.

Which is why we simply must go and hear the ending. Ready? For what? You're going to chat to Mobo the lion about his dad? We're going to discover who murdered Eugenia's husband. It was a lion, Sherlock. Could be. Wait, wait, where the hell are you going? What do you mean, could be? This is so stupid. Earlier I accused Archie of being a thief. Yeah, you did. And what did you say? He's a dog. I said he's a dog. Yes.

And he's a lion. So it... Yet you honestly believe this woman cries into the night accusing a lion of murder. She might. I don't know. Yes, you do know. Chop chop. What do I know? You know that the game is afoot. The game is afoot of snow, mate. Snowball. Ow! Come, come. Oh, for God's sake.

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