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 color-sergeant. There were
two men that loved her, and one that she loved, and you'll smile when
you look at this poor thing huddled before the fire, and hear me say
that it was for my good looks that she loved me.

"Well, though I had her heart, her father was set upon her marrying
Barclay. I was a harum-scarum, reckless lad, and he had had an
education, and was already marked for the sword-belt. But the girl held
true to me, and it seemed that I w