Speaker 1: 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 relief. Two. I fancy hm, 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've 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 lnnoleum, 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 handsome excellent, I cried Elementary,
said he. It is one of those instants is 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 the
last step, you might be of considerable service to me.
I should be delighted. Could you go as far as
Aldershot tomorrow. I've no doubt Jackson would take my practice
very good. I want to start by the eleven ten
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 merge of Colonel Barclay
of the Royal Munsters at Aldershot, which I am investigating.
I've 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 Monsters 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 that 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 commission 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, or they were
still young, found themselves in their new surroundings. They appear, however,
to have quickly adapted themselves, and missus Berkley, as 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 as even now, when she has been married for
upwards of thirty years, she is still of a striking
and queenly appearance. Colonel Barklay'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 Berkeley's devotion to his wife was greater
than his wife's. To Berkeley, 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
a fad 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 Barkley 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
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 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 Lachene,
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 formed the staff of servants. These,
with their master and mistress, were the sole occupants of Lachine,
for the Berclays had no children, nor was it usual
for them to have resident visitors. Now for the events
at Lachen between nine and ten on the evening of
last Monday, Missus Berkeley was, it appears, a member of
the Roman Catholic Church, and had interested herself very much
in the establishment of the Guild of Saint 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 Missus Berkeley 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
missus 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, Missus
Berkeley returned home, having left miss Morrison at her door
as she passed. There's a room which is used as
a morning room at Lachine. This faces the road and
opens by a large glass folding door onto 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 Missus Berkley
went upon her return. The blinds were not down, for
the room was seldom used in the evening, but Missus
Barkley 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 tries 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
Berkeley and of his wife. Berkeley's remarks were subdued and abrupt,
so that none of them were audible to the listeners.
The ladies, 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?
What can be done? Now? Give me back my life.
I will never so much as breathe the same air
with you again. You cowared, 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 Missus 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 Missus 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 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 four 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 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? A 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 seemed 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've gone rather too far to stop. It
is quite certain that when missus Barclay left the house
at half past seven, she was on good terms with
her husband. She was never, as I think I've 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 Missus
Barclay to hatred of her husband, I took the obvious
course therefore, of calling upon Missus 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,
missus 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 blonde 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'll condense for your benefit.
I promise 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. Missus Berkeley 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 am, 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 missus Barclay. I won't
have a word with this man. There's 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 you were mad with rage. She never said a
word until we were at the door again, 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's 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've 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 missus 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 experience when I associated myself with him in his investigations.
This is a street, said he, as we turned into
a short thoroughfare lined with plain two storied brick houses.
Ah here is Simpson to report, is in all right?
Mister Owns, 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 swathy, 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.
Mister 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, missus 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 us is done. You can take my word
that she is innocent. Then you are guilty. No, I'm
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 may 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 Bertie. Berkeley, who
died the other day, was sergeant in the same company
as myself, and the bell 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 who loved her, and
one that she loved. And you'll smile when you look
at this poor thing huddle 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 Berkley. I was a
harem scareum, 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 Bertie, 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
around us, and they were as keen as a set
of terriers round a rack 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 Neil of our danger. My
offer was accepted, and I talked it over with Sergeant Berkley,
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 water course, 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 Berkeley was capable of.
Bertie was relieved by Niil 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 our jealing. 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 in 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 Missus 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 ick newman said the man snake catcher is what
I call them, and Teddy is amazing quick on Cobra's
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 missus Berkley 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. Goodbye, 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've heard that all this fuss
has come to nothing. What then the inquest is just over.
The medical evidence shows 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 fair 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,
End of the Crooked Man.