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Adventure VII.
The Crooked Man
One summer night, a few months after my
marriage, I was seated by my own hearth
smoking a last pipe and nodding over a
novel, for my day's work had been an
exhausting one.
My wife had already gone upstairs, and the
sound of the locking of the hall door some
time before told me that the servants had
also retired.
I had risen from my seat and was knocking
out the ashes of my pipe when I suddenly
heard the clang of the bell.
I looked at the clock.
It was a quarter to twelve.
This could not be a visitor at so late an
hour.
A patient, evidently, and possibly an all-
night sitting.
With a wry face I went out into the hall
and opened the door.
To my astonishment it was Sherlock Holmes
who stood upon my step.
"Ah, Watson," said he, "I hoped that I
might not be too late to catch you."
"My dear fellow, pray come in."
"You look surprised, and no wonder!
Relieved, too, I fancy! Hum! You still
smoke the Arcadia mixture of your bachelor
days then!
There's no mistaking that fluffy ash upon
your coat.
It's easy to tell that you have been
accustomed to wear a uniform, Watson.
You'll never pass as a pure-bred civilian
as long as you keep that habit of carrying
your handkerchief in your sleeve.
Could you put me up to-night?"
"With pleasure."
"You told me that you had bachelor quarters
for one, and I see that you have no
gentleman visitor at present.
Your hat-stand proclaims as much."
"I shall be delighted if you will stay."
"Thank you.
I'll fill the vacant peg then.
Sorry to see that you've had the British
workman in the house.
He's a token of evil.
Not the drains, I hope?"
"No, the gas."
"Ah! He has left two nail-marks from his
boot upon your linoleum just where the
light strikes it.
No, thank you, I had some supper at
Waterloo, but I'll smoke a pipe with you
with pleasure."
I handed him my pouch, and he seated
himself opposite to me and smoked for some
time in silence.
I was well aware that nothing but business
of importance would have brought him to me
at such an hour, so I waited patiently
until he should come round to it.
"I see that you are professionally rather
busy just now," said he, glancing very
keenly across at me.
"Yes, I've had a busy day," I answered.
"It may seem very foolish in your eyes," I
added, "but really I don't know how you
deduced it."
Holmes chuckled to himself.
"I have the advantage of knowing your
habits, my dear Watson," said he.
"When your round is a short one you walk,
and when it is a long one you use a hansom.
As I perceive that your boots, although
used, are by no means dirty, I cannot doubt
that you are at present busy enough to
justify the hansom."
"Excellent!"
I cried.
"Elementary," said he.
"It is one of those instances where the
reasoner can produce an effect which seems
remarkable to his neighbor, because the
latter has missed the one little point
which is the basis of the deduction.
The same may be said, my dear fellow, for
the effect of some of these little sketches
of yours, which is entirely meretricious,
depending as it does upon your retaining in
your own hands some factors in the problem
which are never imparted to the reader.
Now, at present I am in the position of
these same readers, for I hold in this hand
several threads of one of the strangest
cases which ever perplexed a man's brain,
and yet I lack the one or two which are
needful to complete my theory.
But I'll have them, Watson, I'll have
them!"
His eyes kindled and a slight flush sprang
into his thin cheeks.
For an instant only.
When I glanced again his face had resumed
that red-Indian composure which had made so
many regard him as a machine rather than a
man.
"The problem presents features of
interest," said he.
"I may even say exceptional features of
interest.
I have already looked into the matter, and
have come, as I think, within sight of my
solution.
If you could accompany me in that last step
you might be of considerable service to
me."
"I should be delighted."
"Could you go as far as Aldershot to-
morrow?"
"I have no doubt Jackson would take my
practice."
"Very good.
I want to start by the 11.10 from
Waterloo."
"That would give me time."
"Then, if you are not too sleepy, I will
give you a sketch of what has happened, and
of what remains to be done."
"I was sleepy before you came.
I am quite wakeful now."
"I will compress the story as far as may be
done without omitting anything vital to the
case.
It is conceivable that you may even have
read some account of the matter.
It is the supposed *** of Colonel
Barclay, of the Royal Munsters, at
Aldershot, which I am investigating."
"I have heard nothing of it."
"It has not excited much attention yet,
except locally.
The facts are only two days old.
Briefly they are these:
"The Royal Munsters is, as you know, one of
the most famous Irish regiments in the
British army.
It did wonders both in the Crimea and the
Mutiny, and has since that time
distinguished itself upon every possible
occasion.
It was commanded up to Monday night by
James Barclay, a gallant veteran, who
started as a full private, was raised to
commissioned rank for his bravery at the
time of the Mutiny, and so lived to command
the regiment in which he had once carried a
musket.
"Colonel Barclay had married at the time
when he was a sergeant, and his wife, whose
maiden name was Miss Nancy Devoy, was the
daughter of a former color-sergeant in the
same corps.
There was, therefore, as can be imagined,
some little social friction when the young
couple (for they were still young) found
themselves in their new surroundings.
They appear, however, to have quickly
adapted themselves, and Mrs. Barclay has
always, I understand, been as popular with
the ladies of the regiment as her husband
was with his brother officers.
I may add that she was a woman of great
beauty, and that even now, when she has
been married for upwards of thirty years,
she is still of a striking and queenly
appearance.
"Colonel Barclay's family life appears to
have been a uniformly happy one.
Major Murphy, to whom I owe most of my
facts, assures me that he has never heard
of any misunderstanding between the pair.
On the whole, he thinks that Barclay's
devotion to his wife was greater than his
wife's to Barclay.
He was acutely uneasy if he were absent
from her for a day.
She, on the other hand, though devoted and
faithful, was less obtrusively
affectionate.
But they were regarded in the regiment as
the very model of a middle-aged couple.
There was absolutely nothing in their
mutual relations to prepare people for the
tragedy which was to follow.
"Colonel Barclay himself seems to have had
some singular traits in his character.
He was a dashing, jovial old soldier in his
usual mood, but there were occasions on
which he seemed to show himself capable of
considerable violence and vindictiveness.
This side of his nature, however, appears
never to have been turned towards his wife.
Another fact, which had struck Major Murphy
and three out of five of the other officers
with whom I conversed, was the singular
sort of depression which came upon him at
times.
As the major expressed it, the smile had
often been struck from his mouth, as if by
some invisible hand, when he has been
joining the gayeties and chaff of the mess-
table.
For days on end, when the mood was on him,
he has been sunk in the deepest gloom.
This and a certain tinge of superstition
were the only unusual traits in his
character which his brother officers had
observed.
The latter peculiarity took the form of a
dislike to being left alone, especially
after dark.
This puerile feature in a nature which was
conspicuously manly had often given rise to
comment and conjecture.
"The first battalion of the Royal Munsters
(which is the old 117th) has been stationed
at Aldershot for some years.
The married officers live out of barracks,
and the Colonel has during all this time
occupied a villa called Lachine, about half
a mile from the north camp.
The house stands in its own grounds, but
the west side of it is not more than thirty
yards from the high-road.
A coachman and two maids form the staff of
servants.
These with their master and mistress were
the sole occupants of Lachine, for the
Barclays had no children, nor was it usual
for them to have resident visitors.
"Now for the events at Lachine between nine
and ten on the evening of last Monday."
"Mrs. Barclay was, it appears, a member of
the Roman Catholic Church, and had
interested herself very much in the
establishment of the Guild of St. George,
which was formed in connection with the
Watt Street Chapel for the purpose of
supplying the poor with cast-off clothing.
A meeting of the Guild had been held that
evening at eight, and Mrs. Barclay had
hurried over her dinner in order to be
present at it.
When leaving the house she was heard by the
coachman to make some commonplace remark to
her husband, and to assure him that she
would be back before very long.
She then called for Miss Morrison, a young
lady who lives in the next villa, and the
two went off together to their meeting.
It lasted forty minutes, and at a quarter-
past nine Mrs. Barclay returned home,
having left Miss Morrison at her door as
she passed.
"There is a room which is used as a
morning-room at Lachine.
This faces the road and opens by a large
glass folding-door on to the lawn.
The lawn is thirty yards across, and is
only divided from the highway by a low wall
with an iron rail above it.
It was into this room that Mrs. Barclay
went upon her return.
The blinds were not down, for the room was
seldom used in the evening, but Mrs.
Barclay herself lit the lamp and then rang
the bell, asking Jane Stewart, the house-
maid, to bring her a cup of tea, which was
quite contrary to her usual habits.
The Colonel had been sitting in the dining-
room, but hearing that his wife had
returned he joined her in the morning-room.
The coachman saw him cross the hall and
enter it.
He was never seen again alive.
"The tea which had been ordered was brought
up at the end of ten minutes; but the maid,
as she approached the door, was surprised
to hear the voices of her master and
mistress in furious altercation.
She knocked without receiving any answer,
and even turned the handle, but only to
find that the door was locked upon the
inside.
Naturally enough she ran down to tell the
cook, and the two women with the coachman
came up into the hall and listened to the
dispute which was still raging.
They all agreed that only two voices were
to be heard, those of Barclay and of his
wife.
Barclay's remarks were subdued and abrupt,
so that none of them were audible to the
listeners.
The lady's, on the other hand, were most
bitter, and when she raised her voice could
be plainly heard.
'You coward!' she repeated over and over
again.
'What can be done now?
What can be done now?
Give me back my life.
I will never so much as breathe the same
air with you again!
You coward!
You coward!'
Those were scraps of her conversation,
ending in a sudden dreadful cry in the
man's voice, with a crash, and a piercing
scream from the woman.
Convinced that some tragedy had occurred,
the coachman rushed to the door and strove
to force it, while scream after scream
issued from within.
He was unable, however, to make his way in,
and the maids were too distracted with fear
to be of any assistance to him.
A sudden thought struck him, however, and
he ran through the hall door and round to
the lawn upon which the long French windows
open.
One side of the window was open, which I
understand was quite usual in the summer-
time, and he passed without difficulty into
the room.
His mistress had ceased to scream and was
stretched insensible upon a couch, while
with his feet tilted over the side of an
arm-chair, and his head upon the ground
near the corner of the fender, was lying
the unfortunate soldier stone dead in a
pool of his own blood.
"Naturally, the coachman's first thought,
on finding that he could do nothing for his
master, was to open the door.
But here an unexpected and singular
difficulty presented itself.
The key was not in the inner side of the
door, nor could he find it anywhere in the
room.
He went out again, therefore, through the
window, and having obtained the help of a
policeman and of a medical man, he
returned.
The lady, against whom naturally the
strongest suspicion rested, was removed to
her room, still in a state of
insensibility.
The Colonel's body was then placed upon the
sofa, and a careful examination made of the
scene of the tragedy.
"The injury from which the unfortunate
veteran was suffering was found to be a
jagged cut some two inches long at the back
part of his head, which had evidently been
caused by a violent blow from a blunt
weapon.
Nor was it difficult to guess what that
weapon may have been.
Upon the floor, close to the body, was
lying a singular club of hard carved wood
with a bone handle.
The Colonel possessed a varied collection
of weapons brought from the different
countries in which he had fought, and it is
conjectured by the police that his club was
among his trophies.
The servants deny having seen it before,
but among the numerous curiosities in the
house it is possible that it may have been
overlooked.
Nothing else of importance was discovered
in the room by the police, save the
inexplicable fact that neither upon Mrs.
Barclay's person nor upon that of the
victim nor in any part of the room was the
missing key to be found.
The door had eventually to be opened by a
locksmith from Aldershot.
"That was the state of things, Watson, when
upon the Tuesday morning I, at the request
of Major Murphy, went down to Aldershot to
supplement the efforts of the police.
I think that you will acknowledge that the
problem was already one of interest, but my
observations soon made me realize that it
was in truth much more extraordinary than
would at first sight appear.
"Before examining the room I cross-
questioned the servants, but only succeeded
in eliciting the facts which I have already
stated.
One other detail of interest was remembered
by Jane Stewart, the housemaid.
You will remember that on hearing the sound
of the quarrel she descended and returned
with the other servants.
On that first occasion, when she was alone,
she says that the voices of her master and
mistress were sunk so low that she could
hear hardly anything, and judged by their
tones rather than their words that they had
fallen out.
On my pressing her, however, she remembered
that she heard the word David uttered twice
by the lady.
The point is of the utmost importance as
guiding us towards the reason of the sudden
quarrel.
The Colonel's name, you remember, was
James.
"There was one thing in the case which had
made the deepest impression both upon the
servants and the police.
This was the contortion of the Colonel's
face.
It had set, according to their account,
into the most dreadful expression of fear
and horror which a human countenance is
capable of assuming.
More than one person fainted at the mere
sight of him, so terrible was the effect.
It was quite certain that he had foreseen
his fate, and that it had caused him the
utmost horror.
This, of course, fitted in well enough with
the police theory, if the Colonel could
have seen his wife making a murderous
attack upon him.
Nor was the fact of the wound being on the
back of his head a fatal objection to this,
as he might have turned to avoid the blow.
No information could be got from the lady
herself, who was temporarily insane from an
acute attack of brain-fever.
"From the police I learned that Miss
Morrison, who you remember went out that
evening with Mrs. Barclay, denied having
any knowledge of what it was which had
caused the ill-humor in which her companion
had returned.
"Having gathered these facts, Watson, I
smoked several pipes over them, trying to
separate those which were crucial from
others which were merely incidental.
There could be no question that the most
distinctive and suggestive point in the
case was the singular disappearance of the
door-key.
A most careful search had failed to
discover it in the room.
Therefore it must have been taken from it.
But neither the Colonel nor the Colonel's
wife could have taken it.
That was perfectly clear.
Therefore a third person must have entered
the room.
And that third person could only have come
in through the window.
It seemed to me that a careful examination
of the room and the lawn might possibly
reveal some traces of this mysterious
individual.
You know my methods, Watson.
There was not one of them which I did not
apply to the inquiry.
And it ended by my discovering traces, but
very different ones from those which I had
expected.
There had been a man in the room, and he
had crossed the lawn coming from the road.
I was able to obtain five very clear
impressions of his foot-marks: one in the
roadway itself, at the point where he had
climbed the low wall, two on the lawn, and
two very faint ones upon the stained boards
near the window where he had entered.
He had apparently rushed across the lawn,
for his toe-marks were much deeper than his
heels.
But it was not the man who surprised me.
It was his companion."
"His companion!"
Holmes pulled a large sheet of tissue-paper
out of his pocket and carefully unfolded it
upon his knee.
"What do you make of that?" he asked.
The paper was covered with he tracings of
the foot-marks of some small animal.
It had five well-marked foot-pads, an
indication of long nails, and the whole
print might be nearly as large as a
dessert-spoon.
"It's a dog," said I.
"Did you ever hear of a dog running up a
curtain?
I found distinct traces that this creature
had done so."
"A monkey, then?"
"But it is not the print of a monkey."
"What can it be, then?"
"Neither dog nor cat nor monkey nor any
creature that we are familiar with.
I have tried to reconstruct it from the
measurements.
Here are four prints where the beast has
been standing motionless.
You see that it is no less than fifteen
inches from fore-foot to hind.
Add to that the length of neck and head,
and you get a creature not much less than
two feet long--probably more if there is
any tail.
But now observe this other measurement.
The animal has been moving, and we have the
length of its stride.
In each case it is only about three inches.
You have an indication, you see, of a long
body with very short legs attached to it.
It has not been considerate enough to leave
any of its hair behind it.
But its general shape must be what I have
indicated, and it can run up a curtain, and
it is carnivorous."
"How do you deduce that?"
"Because it ran up the curtain.
A canary's cage was hanging in the window,
and its aim seems to have been to get at
the bird."
"Then what was the beast?"
"Ah, if I could give it a name it might go
a long way towards solving the case.
On the whole, it was probably some creature
of the weasel and stoat tribe--and yet it
is larger than any of these that I have
seen."
"But what had it to do with the crime?"
"That, also, is still obscure.
But we have learned a good deal, you
perceive.
We know that a man stood in the road
looking at the quarrel between the
Barclays--the blinds were up and the room
lighted.
We know, also, that he ran across the lawn,
entered the room, accompanied by a strange
animal, and that he either struck the
Colonel or, as is equally possible, that
the Colonel fell down from sheer fright at
the sight of him, and cut his head on the
corner of the fender.
Finally, we have the curious fact that the
intruder carried away the key with him when
he left."
"Your discoveries seem to have left the
business more obscure that it was before,"
said I.
"Quite so.
They undoubtedly showed that the affair was
much deeper than was at first conjectured.
I thought the matter over, and I came to
the conclusion that I must approach the
case from another aspect.
But really, Watson, I am keeping you up,
and I might just as well tell you all this
on our way to Aldershot to-morrow."
"Thank you, you have gone rather too far to
stop."
"It is quite certain that when Mrs. Barclay
left the house at half-past seven she was
on good terms with her husband.
She was never, as I think I have said,
ostentatiously affectionate, but she was
heard by the coachman chatting with the
Colonel in a friendly fashion.
Now, it was equally certain that,
immediately on her return, she had gone to
the room in which she was least likely to
see her husband, had flown to tea as an
agitated woman will, and finally, on his
coming in to her, had broken into violent
recriminations.
Therefore something had occurred between
seven-thirty and nine o'clock which had
completely altered her feelings towards
him.
But Miss Morrison had been with her during
the whole of that hour and a half.
It was absolutely certain, therefore, in
spite of her denial, that she must know
something of the matter.
"My first conjecture was, that possibly
there had been some passages between this
young lady and the old soldier, which the
former had now confessed to the wife.
That would account for the angry return,
and also for the girl's denial that
anything had occurred.
Nor would it be entirely incompatible with
most of the words overhead.
But there was the reference to David, and
there was the known affection of the
Colonel for his wife, to weigh against it,
to say nothing of the tragic intrusion of
this other man, which might, of course, be
entirely disconnected with what had gone
before.
It was not easy to pick one's steps, but,
on the whole, I was inclined to dismiss the
idea that there had been anything between
the Colonel and Miss Morrison, but more
than ever convinced that the young lady
held the clue as to what it was which had
turned Mrs. Barclay to hatred of her
husband.
I took the obvious course, therefore, of
calling upon Miss M., of explaining to her
that I was perfectly certain that she held
the facts in her possession, and of
assuring her that her friend, Mrs. Barclay,
might find herself in the dock upon a
capital charge unless the matter were
cleared up.
"Miss Morrison is a little ethereal slip of
a girl, with timid eyes and blond hair, but
I found her by no means wanting in
shrewdness and common-sense.
She sat thinking for some time after I had
spoken, and then, turning to me with a
brisk air of resolution, she broke into a
remarkable statement which I will condense
for your benefit.
"'I promised my friend that I would say
nothing of the matter, and a promise is a
promise,' said she; 'but if I can really
help her when so serious a charge is laid
against her, and when her own mouth, poor
darling, is closed by illness, then I think
I am absolved from my promise.
I will tell you exactly what happened upon
Monday evening.
"'We were returning from the Watt Street
Mission about a quarter to nine o'clock.
On our way we had to pass through Hudson
Street, which is a very quiet thoroughfare.
There is only one lamp in it, upon the
left-hand side, and as we approached this
lamp I saw a man coming towards us with his
back very bent, and something like a box
slung over one of his shoulders.
He appeared to be deformed, for he carried
his head low and walked with his knees
bent.
We were passing him when he raised his face
to look at us in the circle of light thrown
by the lamp, and as he did so he stopped
and screamed out in a dreadful voice, "My
God, it's Nancy!"
Mrs. Barclay turned as white as death, and
would have fallen down had the dreadful-
looking creature not caught hold of her.
I was going to call for the police, but
she, to my surprise, spoke quite civilly to
the fellow.
"'"I thought you had been dead this thirty
years, Henry," said she, in a shaking
voice.
"'"So I have," said he, and it was awful to
hear the tones that he said it in.
He had a very dark, fearsome face, and a
gleam in his eyes that comes back to me in
my dreams.
His hair and whiskers were shot with gray,
and his face was all crinkled and puckered
like a withered apple.
"'"Just walk on a little way, dear," said
Mrs. Barclay; "I want to have a word with
this man.
There is nothing to be afraid of."
She tried to speak boldly, but she was
still deadly pale and could hardly get her
words out for the trembling of her lips.
"'I did as she asked me, and they talked
together for a few minutes.
Then she came down the street with her eyes
blazing, and I saw the crippled wretch
standing by the lamp-post and shaking his
clenched fists in the air as if he were mad
with rage.
She never said a word until we were at the
door here, when she took me by the hand and
begged me to tell no one what had happened.
"'"It's an old acquaintance of mine who has
come down in the world," said she.
When I promised her I would say nothing she
kissed me, and I have never seen her since.
I have told you now the whole truth, and if
I withheld it from the police it is because
I did not realize then the danger in which
my dear friend stood.
I know that it can only be to her advantage
that everything should be known.'
"There was her statement, Watson, and to
me, as you can imagine, it was like a light
on a dark night.
Everything which had been disconnected
before began at once to assume its true
place, and I had a shadowy presentiment of
the whole sequence of events.
My next step obviously was to find the man
who had produced such a remarkable
impression upon Mrs. Barclay.
If he were still in Aldershot it should not
be a very difficult matter.
There are not such a very great number of
civilians, and a deformed man was sure to
have attracted attention.
I spent a day in the search, and by
evening--this very evening, Watson--I had
run him down.
The man's name is Henry Wood, and he lives
in lodgings in this same street in which
the ladies met him.
He has only been five days in the place.
In the character of a registration-agent I
had a most interesting gossip with his
landlady.
The man is by trade a conjurer and
performer, going round the canteens after
nightfall, and giving a little
entertainment at each.
He carries some creature about with him in
that box; about which the landlady seemed
to be in considerable trepidation, for she
had never seen an animal like it.
He uses it in some of his tricks according
to her account.
So much the woman was able to tell me, and
also that it was a wonder the man lived,
seeing how twisted he was, and that he
spoke in a strange tongue sometimes, and
that for the last two nights she had heard
him groaning and weeping in his bedroom.
He was all right, as far as money went, but
in his deposit he had given her what looked
like a bad florin.
She showed it to me, Watson, and it was an
Indian rupee.
"So now, my dear fellow, you see exactly
how we stand and why it is I want you.
It is perfectly plain that after the ladies
parted from this man he followed them at a
distance, that he saw the quarrel between
husband and wife through the window, that
he rushed in, and that the creature which
he carried in his box got loose.
That is all very certain.
But he is the only person in this world who
can tell us exactly what happened in that
room."
"And you intend to ask him?"
"Most certainly--but in the presence of a
witness."
"And I am the witness?"
"If you will be so good.
If he can clear the matter up, well and
good.
If he refuses, we have no alternative but
to apply for a warrant."
"But how do you know he'll be there when we
return?"
"You may be sure that I took some
precautions.
I have one of my Baker Street boys mounting
guard over him who would stick to him like
a burr, go where he might.
We shall find him in Hudson Street to-
morrow, Watson, and meanwhile I should be
the criminal myself if I kept you out of
bed any longer."
It was midday when we found ourselves at
the scene of the tragedy, and, under my
companion's guidance, we made our way at
once to Hudson Street.
In spite of his capacity for concealing his
emotions, I could easily see that Holmes
was in a state of suppressed excitement,
while I was myself tingling with that half-
sporting, half-intellectual pleasure which
I invariably experienced when I associated
myself with him in his investigations.
"This is the street," said he, as we turned
into a short thoroughfare lined with plain
two-storied brick houses.
"Ah, here is Simpson to report."
"He's in all right, Mr. Holmes," cried a
small street Arab, running up to us.
"Good, Simpson!" said Holmes, patting him
on the head.
"Come along, Watson.
This is the house."
He sent in his card with a message that he
had come on important business, and a
moment later we were face to face with the
man whom we had come to see.
In spite of the warm weather he was
crouching over a fire, and the little room
was like an oven.
The man sat all twisted and huddled in his
chair in a way which gave an indescribably
impression of deformity; but the face which
he turned towards us, though worn and
swarthy, must at some time have been
remarkable for its beauty.
He looked suspiciously at us now out of
yellow-shot, bilious eyes, and, without
speaking or rising, he waved towards two
chairs.
"Mr. Henry Wood, late of India, I believe,"
said Holmes, affably.
"I've come over this little matter of
Colonel Barclay's death."
"What should I know about that?"
"That's what I want to ascertain.
You know, I suppose, that unless the matter
is cleared up, Mrs. Barclay, who is an old
friend of yours, will in all probability be
tried for ***."
The man gave a violent start.
"I don't know who you are," he cried, "nor
how you come to know what you do know, but
will you swear that this is true that you
tell me?"
"Why, they are only waiting for her to come
to her senses to arrest her."
"My God! Are you in the police yourself?"
"No."
"What business is it of yours, then?"
"It's every man's business to see justice
done."
"You can take my word that she is
innocent."
"Then you are guilty."
"No, I am not."
"Who killed Colonel James Barclay, then?"
"It was a just providence that killed him.
But, mind you this, that if I had knocked
his brains out, as it was in my heart to
do, he would have had no more than his due
from my hands.
If his own guilty conscience had not struck
him down it is likely enough that I might
have had his blood upon my soul.
You want me to tell the story.
Well, I don't know why I shouldn't, for
there's no cause for me to be ashamed of
it.
"It was in this way, sir.
You see me now with my back like a camel
and my ribs all awry, but there was a time
when Corporal Henry Wood was the smartest
man in the 117th foot.
We were in India then, in cantonments, at a
place we'll call Bhurtee.
Barclay, who died the other day, was
sergeant in the same company as myself, and
the belle of the regiment, ay, and the
finest girl that ever had the breath of
life between her lips, was Nancy Devoy, the
daughter of the color-sergeant.
There were two men that loved her, and one
that she loved, and you'll smile when you
look at this poor thing huddled before the
fire, and hear me say that it was for my
good looks that she loved me.
"Well, though I had her heart, her father
was set upon her marrying Barclay.
I was a harum-scarum, reckless lad, and he
had had an education, and was already
marked for the sword-belt.
But the girl held true to me, and it seemed
that I would have had her when the Mutiny
broke out, and all hell was loose in the
country.
"We were shut up in Bhurtee, the regiment
of us with half a battery of artillery, a
company of Sikhs, and a lot of civilians
and women-folk.
There were ten thousand rebels round us,
and they were as keen as a set of terriers
round a rat-cage.
About the second week of it our water gave
out, and it was a question whether we could
communicate with General Neill's column,
which was moving up country.
It was our only chance, for we could not
hope to fight our way out with all the
women and children, so I volunteered to go
out and to warn General Neill of our
danger.
My offer was accepted, and I talked it over
with Sergeant Barclay, who was supposed to
know the ground better than any other man,
and who drew up a route by which I might
get through the rebel lines.
At ten o'clock the same night I started off
upon my journey.
There were a thousand lives to save, but it
was of only one that I was thinking when I
dropped over the wall that night.
"My way ran down a dried-up watercourse,
which we hoped would screen me from the
enemy's sentries; but as I crept round the
corner of it I walked right into six of
them, who were crouching down in the dark
waiting for me.
In an instant I was stunned with a blow and
bound hand and foot.
But the real blow was to my heart and not
to my head, for as I came to and listened
to as much as I could understand of their
talk, I heard enough to tell me that my
comrade, the very man who had arranged the
way that I was to take, had betrayed me by
means of a native servant into the hands of
the enemy.
"Well, there's no need for me to dwell on
that part of it.
You know now what James Barclay was capable
of.
Bhurtee was relieved by Neill next day, but
the rebels took me away with them in their
retreat, and it was many a long year before
ever I saw a white face again.
I was tortured and tried to get away, and
was captured and tortured again.
You can see for yourselves the state in
which I was left.
Some of them that fled into Nepaul took me
with them, and then afterwards I was up
past Darjeeling.
The hill-folk up there murdered the rebels
who had me, and I became their slave for a
time until I escaped; but instead of going
south I had to go north, until I found
myself among the Afghans.
There I wandered about for many a year, and
at last came back to the Punjab, where I
lived mostly among the natives and picked
up a living by the conjuring tricks that I
had learned.
What use was it for me, a wretched cripple,
to go back to England or to make myself
known to my old comrades?
Even my wish for revenge would not make me
do that.
I had rather that Nancy and my old pals
should think of Harry Wood as having died
with a straight back, than see him living
and crawling with a stick like a
chimpanzee.
They never doubted that I was dead, and I
meant that they never should.
I heard that Barclay had married Nancy, and
that he was rising rapidly in the regiment,
but even that did not make me speak.
"But when one gets old one has a longing
for home.
For years I've been dreaming of the bright
green fields and the hedges of England.
At last I determined to see them before I
died.
I saved enough to bring me across, and then
I came here where the soldiers are, for I
know their ways and how to amuse them and
so earn enough to keep me."
"Your narrative is most interesting," said
Sherlock Holmes.
"I have already heard of your meeting with
Mrs. Barclay, and your mutual recognition.
You then, as I understand, followed her
home and saw through the window an
altercation between her husband and her, in
which she doubtless cast his conduct to you
in his teeth.
Your own feelings overcame you, and you ran
across the lawn and broke in upon them."
"I did, sir, and at the sight of me he
looked as I have never seen a man look
before, and over he went with his head on
the fender.
But he was dead before he fell.
I read death on his face as plain as I can
read that text over the fire.
The bare sight of me was like a bullet
through his guilty heart."
"And then?"
"Then Nancy fainted, and I caught up the
key of the door from her hand, intending to
unlock it and get help.
But as I was doing it it seemed to me
better to leave it alone and get away, for
the thing might look black against me, and
any way my secret would be out if I were
taken.
In my haste I thrust the key into my
pocket, and dropped my stick while I was
chasing Teddy, who had run up the curtain.
When I got him into his box, from which he
had slipped, I was off as fast as I could
run."
"Who's Teddy?" asked Holmes.
The man leaned over and pulled up the front
of a kind of hutch in the corner.
In an instant out there slipped a beautiful
reddish-brown creature, thin and lithe,
with the legs of a stoat, a long, thin
nose, and a pair of the finest red eyes
that ever I saw in an animal's head.
"It's a mongoose," I cried.
"Well, some call them that, and some call
them ichneumon," said the man.
"Snake-catcher is what I call them, and
Teddy is amazing quick on cobras.
I have one here without the fangs, and
Teddy catches it every night to please the
folk in the canteen.
"Any other point, sir?"
"Well, we may have to apply to you again if
Mrs. Barclay should prove to be in serious
trouble."
"In that case, of course, I'd come
forward."
"But if not, there is no object in raking
up this scandal against a dead man, foully
as he has acted.
You have at least the satisfaction of
knowing that for thirty years of his life
his conscience bitterly reproached him for
this wicked deed.
Ah, there goes Major Murphy on the other
side of the street.
Good-by, Wood.
I want to learn if anything has happened
since yesterday."
We were in time to overtake the major
before he reached the corner.
"Ah, Holmes," he said: "I suppose you have
heard that all this fuss has come to
nothing?"
"What then?"
"The inquest is just over.
The medical evidence showed conclusively
that death was due to apoplexy.
You see it was quite a simple case after
all."
"Oh, remarkably superficial," said Holmes,
smiling.
"Come, Watson, I don't think we shall be
wanted in Aldershot any more."
"There's one thing," said I, as we walked
down to the station.
"If the husband's name was James, and the
other was Henry, what was this talk about
David?"
"That one word, my dear Watson, should have
told me the whole story had I been the
ideal reasoner which you are so fond of
depicting.
It was evidently a term of reproach."
"Of reproach?"
"Yes; David strayed a little occasionally,
you know, and on one occasion in the same
direction as Sergeant James Barclay.
You remember the small affair of Uriah and
Bathsheba?
My biblical knowledge is a trifle rusty, I
fear, but you will find the story in the
first or second of Samuel."