THE COMPLETE SHERLOCK HOLMES MEMOIRS OF SHERLOCK HOLMES THE CROOKED MAN

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$Title{MEMOIRS OF SHERLOCK HOLMES; The Crooked Man}

$Author{Doyle, Sir Arthur Conan}

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$Journal{}

$Volume{}

$Date{}

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                         THE COMPLETE SHERLOCK HOLMES

                          MEMOIRS OF SHERLOCK HOLMES

                               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 neighbour, 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 the veil had lifted upon his keen, intense nature, but 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 murder 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

colour-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 upward 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 has often been struck from his mouth, as if by some

invisible hand, when he has been joining in the gaieties 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 One Hundred

and Seventeenth) 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 highroad.  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 housemaid, 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

summertime, 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 armchair, 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 this 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

hardly hear 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-humour 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 footmarks:  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 the tracings of the footmarks of some small

animal.  It had five well-marked footpads, 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 than 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 overheard.  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 indescribable 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 murder."

     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 One Hundred and Seventeenth 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 colour-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 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 Nepal 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 anyway 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

his wicked deed.  Ah, there goes Major Murphy on the other side of the street.

Good-bye, 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."