The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes
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 grey, 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 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 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 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