The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes
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 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-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
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 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
Morrison, 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 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 will