Sherlock Holmes Short Stories - The Adventure of the Crooked Man: Part One

Episode Date: February 19, 2026

Holmes and Watson are called up to Aldershot, where a senior officer has died in mysterious circumstances. His wife lies insensible, and is considered to be the prime suspect…  but Holmes thinks there may be more to the case than meets the eye.    A Noiser podcast production.    Narrated by Hugh Bonneville   Written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle  Produced by Duncan Barrett  Script Supervisor: Chris McDonald  Sound Design and Audio Editing by Mirianna Pitman Latham  Sound Supervisor: Tom Pink  Compositions: Dorry Macaulay and Oliver Baines  Mix & Mastering: Josh Latham Series Consultant: Dan Smith  Executive Producer: Katrina Hughes    For ad-free listening and early access to new episodes, join Noiser+. Just click the subscription banner at the top of the feed to get started. Or go to noiser.com/subscriptions  Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

I'm Hugh Bonneville and welcome to Sherlock Holmes' short stories, the series where we delve into the files of fiction's most brilliant detective, following his keen mind and unerring instincts from the first subtle clue to the final dramatic revelation. This time, Holmes and Watson are called up to Aldershot. A scandal has erupted in the famous military town. Colonel James Barclay, a decorated officer of the Royal Munsters has been found dead inside his own home. Just moments after engaging in a blazing row with his wife, Nancy. Now she lies insensible

as the police prepare to charge her with his murder. But as Sherlock Holmes begins his investigation, he discovers a curious clue, a small, oddly shaped pawprint outside the house. From the Noisor Podcast Network, This is The Adventure of the Crooked Man, part one. 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 sometime 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. You still smoke the Arcadia mixture of your bachelor days then. There's no mistaking that fluffy ash upon your coat. It's easier 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 tonight? 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 point. 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 handsome. "'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 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 you are retaining in your own hand 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 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 tomorrow?

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 far as. 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 core. 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 upwards of 30 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 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 117th, 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 La Chie.

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 30 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 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 Wat 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 40 minutes, and at a quarter-past nine Mrs. Barkley 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 onto the lawn. The lawn is 30 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. Barkley went upon her return. The blinds were not down, for the room was seldom used in the evening, But Mrs. 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 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 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 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 three, 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 veterans, 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 conjected by the police that this club was among his trophies. The servant 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 observation 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, he was a very strong. This, of course, he was a 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. Barkley, 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 the 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 stand. 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. Next time, on Sherlock Holmes short stories, Holmes shares with Watson the most puzzling clue he has discovered in his investigation. A strange pawprint belonging to some kind of exotic animal.

But what kind of creature left the mark? And what bearing does it have on the case? That's next time. Can't wait a week until the next episode. Well, listen to it right away by subscribing to Noiser Plus. Head to www.noisor.com slash subscriptions for more information, or click the link in the episode description.