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ÁÖ¿¬ : Á¦·¹¹Ì ºê·¿(ȨÁî), µ¥À̺ø ¹öÅ©(¿Ó½¼)

 

** ¼È·ÏȨÁîÀÇ ¸ðÇè **

 

¿øÀÛ : A.ÄÚ³­ µµÀÏ

 

¹ø¿ª,ÀÚ¸·: fithelestre@sanori.net

 

¹ÙŬ¸® ¸¶´Ô, Â÷ °¡Á®¿Ô½À´Ï´Ù.
/±× ¸¹Àº ¼¼¿ù µ¿¾È, ¾î¶»°Ô ±×·± ÁþÀ» Çß¾î?

¸¶´Ô, Â÷ µå¼¼¿ä. / ´ç½ÅÀÌ ¹Ì¿ö, ¹Ó´Ù±¸!

µ¥À̺ø! µ¥À̺ø! ´ç½ÅÀÌ ±×¸¦ ¹è½ÅÇß¾î.
/ Â÷ ¿Ô½À´Ï´Ù!

Æä´× ¾ÆÁÖ¸Ó´Ï!

¹«½¼ ÀÏÀÌ¶óµµ ³µ´Ï, ¾ê¾ß?
/ ¸¶´Ô°ú ´ë·É´Ô²²

²ûÂïÇÑ ÀÏÀÌ »ý±ä ¸ð¾çÀε¥ ¹®ÀÌ ¿­¸®Áú ¾Ê¾Æ¿ä.

³»°¡ ¿­¾î º¸°Ú³×.

µÑ ´Ù ¼Ò¸®Ãļ­ ¸ØÃß°Ô ÇØºÁ¿ä.
/ ¹ÙŬ¸® ¸¶´Ô!

¹ÙŬ¸® ¸¶´Ô, ¹® ¿­¾îÁÖ¼¼¿ä!

 

¹ÙŬ¸® ¸¶´Ô, ¹® ¿­¾îÁÖ¼¼¿ä!

¹®ÀÌ ¾È¿¡¼­ Àá°Ü ÀÖÀ» »Ó ¾Æ´Ï¶ó
¿­¼èµµ ¾È º¸¿©.

ÀÇ»ç¶û °æÂûÀ» ºÒ·¯¿À°Ú³×.

 

#5. ²ÅÃß »ç³ªÀÌ

 

...³»°¡ ºÎ»óÀ¸·Î ±ÍÇâÇßÀ» ¶§µµ ²Ï ³²¾Æ ÀÖ¾ú¾î.

Àεµ¿¡ ÀÖÀ» ¶§¸¦ µ¹ÀÌÄѺ¸¸é, º¬°ñ ¹Ý¶õ ¶© º°ÀÏÀÌ ´Ù ÀÖ¾úÀ¸´Ï
*The Indian Mutiny = º¬°ñ ¹Ý¶õ, ¼¼Æ÷ÀÌÀÇ ³­ (1857-58)

ÀÚ³×°¡ »ç°ÇÀ» ¸Ã¾Æ¼­ ½Ç¸ÁÇÏÁø ¾ÊÀ» °Å¾ß.

¼ö°íÇϳ×.
*'ÁÖÈ«»ö ¿¬±¸'ÀÇ ¿Ó½¼Àº ¾ÆÇÁ°£Àü¿¡¼­ ºÎ»ó´çÇϹǷΠÀεµ ¾ê±â´Â µµÀÏÀÇ ½Ç¼ö·Î »ý°¢µÊ.

 

Á¸ ¿Ó½¼ ¹Ú»çÀÔ´Ï´Ù. ·Î¿­ ¹öÅ©¼Å ¿¬´ë ¹è¼Ó Àü(îñ)±ºÀǰüÀ¸·Î, ÇöÀç ¹Î°£ ÀÇ¿øÀ» ¿î¿µÇϰí ÀÖ¼Ò.

·Î¿­ ¸È·Î¿ìÁî ¿¬´ëÀÇ ºÎ°üÀÎ ¸ÓÇÇÀÔ´Ï´Ù.

¿¬´ëÀå´ÔÀÇ »ç¸ÁÀ¸·Î ÀÎÇØ Àӽà ÁöÈÖ¸¦ ¸Ã¾Ò½À´Ï´Ù.

À̺ÐÀÌ È¨Áî ¾¾À̽ʴϱî? ¾ÉÀ¸½ÃÁÒ.

 

ÀÌ·¸°Ô ½Å¼ÓÈ÷ ¿ÍÁּż­ °¨»çµå¸³´Ï´Ù.
/ º°°Í ¾Æ´Ï¿À.

½ºÄµµé·Î ¹øÁú °¡´É¼ºÀ» ¸Å¿ì ¿°·ÁÇÑ´Ù°í ȨÁî¿¡°Ô ¼³¸íÇßÁö¿ä.

°¨»çÇÕ´Ï´Ù.

 

Á¦ ¾î±ú¿¡ ¿¬´ë ÀüüÀÇ ¸í¿¹°¡ °É·Á ÀÖ½À´Ï´Ù.

ÇÏÁö¸¸ ½Å¹®±â»ç¸¦ º¸¾ÆÇÏ´Ï ½ºÄµµéÀº ÇÇÇÒ ¼ö ¾øÀ» µí ÇÏ´øµ¥¿ä.

±×·² ¸®°¡¿ä! ±âÀÚµéÀ» °¡´ÉÇÑÇÑ Á¢±ÙÇÏÁö ¸øÇÏ°Ô ÃÖ¼±À» ´ÙÇß½À´Ï´Ù.

±×°Ô ¹Ù·Î ±âÀÚµéÀÌ ÀǽÉÀ» ǰ°Ô µÇ´Â ÀÌÀ¯¿ä.

ÀÚ±âµéÀÌ ¾Ë¾Æ³½ ¾ó¸¶ ¾È µÇ´Â °Íº¸´Ù ´õ¿í È®½ÇÇÑ ¼ö¼ö²²³¢ÀÇ ³¿»õ°¡ ³ª´Ï±î.

¸Â´Â ¸»¾¸ÀÔ´Ï´Ù¸¸, ¹øº¹Àº °ï¶õÇÕ´Ï´Ù.

ÁÖÀǸ¦ ²ø°Ô ¸¸µé Å×´Ï -

±×·¸°í¸»°í¿ä.

 

¾Æ½Ã´Ù½ÃÇÇ ±ÍÇÏÀÇ µµ¿òÀÌ ¸Å¿ì Àý½ÇÇÕ´Ï´Ù, ȨÁî ¾¾.

 

´ë²Ù Á» ÇØºÁ, ȨÁî.
/ ³»°¡ ¹» ¸»ÇÒ ¼ö ÀÖ°Ú¾î?

¸ÓÇÇ ¼Ò·É, Áö±Ý±îÁö ¾Æ¹«°Íµµ ¾Ë·ÁÁֽŠ°Ô ¾ø¼ÒÀÌ´Ù.

³ª´Â ÀÌ Ä£±¸ÀÇ ¼³µæ¿¡ ¸øÀÌ°Ü ¿©±â, ¿Ã´õ¼ô¿¡ ³»·Á¿Ô´Âµ¥

Ä£±¸´Â ³ªº¸´Ù ±ºÀÇ ÀÔÀåÀ» ´õ ì±â´Â±º¿ä.

ÀÚ, Á¦°¡ ¿©±â ¿ÔÀ¸´Ï

ºÎŹÄÁ´ë, »ç½ÇÀ̳ª ¸»ÇØ ÁֽÿÀ!

 

¿ì¸® ¿¬´ëÀÇ ÁöÈÖ°üÀÎ Á¦ÀÓ½º ¹ÙŬ¸® ´ë·É´ÔÀÌ

Áö³­¹ã 10½Ã °æ¿¡ ÀÚÅÿ¡¼­ ½Ãü·Î ¹ß°ßµÇ¾ú½À´Ï´Ù.

´ç¹øÀÌ´ø º£ÀÌÃ÷ ÀϺ´ÀÌ °Å½ÇÀÇ »çü¸¦ ¹ß°ßÇßÀ¸¸ç,

µÞ¸Ó¸®¿¡ 2ÀÎÄ¡ Á¤µµÀÇ Âõ¾îÁø »óó°¡ ÀÖ¾ú´Âµ¥,

µÐ±â·Î ¾ò¾î¸Â¾Æ »ý±ä °ÍÀÓÀÌ ºÐ¸íÇß½À´Ï´Ù.

»çü ¿· ¸¶·ç¿£ ƯÀÌÇÏ°Ô »ý±ä ¼ÕÀâÀ̰¡ ´Þ¸° ³ª¹« °ïºÀÀÌ ¶³¾îÁ® ÀÖ¾ú½À´Ï´Ù.

¶ÇÇÑ, ³½½Ã, ¾Æ´Ï ¹ÙŬ¸® ºÎÀÎÀÌ ±âÀýÇØ ¼ÒÆÄ¿¡ ´©¿ö ÀÖ¾ú½À´Ï´Ù.

°è¼ÓÇϽÃÁÒ, ¸ÓÇÇ ¼Ò·É.

 

ÇÏÀεéÀº ÀÌ ºñ±ØÀÇ Á÷Àü¿¡ ´ë·É°ú ºÎÀÎÀÌ ´ÙÅõ´Â ¼Ò¸®¸¦ µé¾ú´Ù°í ÇÕ´Ï´Ù.

°Å½Ç¿¡ µé¾î°¡ º¸·Á ÇßÀ¸³ª Àá°Ü À־, º£ÀÌÃ÷ ÀϺ´ÀÌ Á¤¿øÀ¸·Î µ¹¾Æ ³ª°¡ ÇÁ¶û½º½Ä âÀ» ³Ñ¾î µé¾î°¬½À´Ï´Ù.

±×·³ ¹ÙŬ¸® ºÎÀο¡°Ô ÇøÀǸ¦ µÎ½Ã¿À? / ±×·¸½À´Ï´Ù.

Ç㳪 ±×³à´Â ÀÌ·± ²ûÂïÇÑ ÁþÀ» ÇÒ ¼ö ¾ø½À´Ï´Ù.

Àú´Â ¸î ³â°£ °íÀÎÀÇ ºÎ°üÀ¸·Î ÀÏÇØ ¿Ô±â ¶§¹®¿¡ ³½½Ã ¹ÙŬ¸® ¿©»ç¸¦ Àß ¾Ð´Ï´Ù.

Áö´çÇÑ ¸»¾¸ÀÌ¿À.

 

¹ÙŬ¸® ´ë·É¿¡ ´ëÇØ ¹¯°Ú´Âµ¥, ºÎÇϵ鿡°Ô Á¸°æ¹Þ´Â »ó°üÀ̾ú³ª¿ä?

±×ÀÇ Ãâ½ÅÀ» »ý°¢ÇØ º¼ ¶§ È®½ÇÈ÷ ±×·¨½À´Ï´Ù.

Ãâ½Å ¶§¹®¿¡ ¹º°¡ ºÒ¸í¿¹½º·± ÀÏÀ» ´çÇß¼Ò?

±×·± °Ç ¾Æ´Õ´Ï´Ù¸¸ Áü ¹ÙŬ¸®°¡ ¿ì¸® ¿¬´ëÀÇ »çº´ ½ÅºÐ¿¡¼­ Ãâ¹ßÇØ

°æ·ÂÀ» ½×±â ½ÃÀÛÇÑ °ÍÀº ¿¬´ë ¹Ù±ù¿¡¼± Àß ¸ð¸£ÁÒ.
/ Á¤¸»ÀÌ¿À?

ÇÑ ¿¬´ë ³»¿¡¼­ »çº´ºÎÅÍ ÁöÈÖ°ü±îÁö µÇ´Ù´Ï,

Á¤¸» µå¹® ÀÏÀϼ¼.

º¬°ñ ¹Ý¶õ¿¡¼­ÀÇ ¹«ÈÆÀ¸·Î ÀÎÇØ Ãâ¼¼ÀÇ ±âȸ¸¦ Àâ¾Ò°í

¼¼¿ùÀÌ È帣¸é¼­ Á¤¸» ±Þ¼ÓÇÑ ½ÂÁøÀ» ÇßÁÒ.

Àúº¸´Ùµµ ÈξÀ »¡¶ú´ä´Ï´Ù.

 

´ë´ÜÇϱº¿ä.

 

ºÒ½ÖÇÑ ¹ÙŬ¸® ºÎÀÎÀº ±¸¼ÓµÇ¾ú°ÚÁö¿ä?

¾ö¹ÐÈ÷ ¸»ÇÏÀÚ¸é, ¾Æ´Õ´Ï´Ù.

±×³à´Â º´¿ø¿¡ ÀÔ¿øÇØ ÀÖÀ¸¸ç, °æÂû°üÀÌ °¨½ÃÇϰí ÀÖ½À´Ï´Ù.

³½½Ã ¹ÙŬ¸®´Â Áö±Ýµµ ¸Å·ÂÀûÀÔ´Ï´Ù¸¸

30³â Àü Àεµ¿¡¼­ ¼Ò³à ½ÃÀýÀÇ ±×³à´Â ¾öû³µ½À´Ï´Ù.

±×³à´Â ¿¬´ëÀÇ µþÀ̳ª ´Ù¸§¾ø¾úÁö¿ä.

¾Æ¹öÁö°¡ ¿¬´ë ¿ø»çÀÎ µåº¸ÀÌ ¾¾¿´±â¿¡
* Sergeant Major : ¿ø»ç, ÇÏ»ç°üµéÀÇ ¿ìµÎ¸Ó¸®

±ºÀÎÀ̶ó¸é ´©±¸µç ¾ÆÁÖ µçµçÇÑ ¹éÀÌ µÇ¾îÁÙ ÀåÀÎÀ̾ú½À´Ï´Ù.

°°Àº ºÎ´ëÀÇ ¸ðµç º´»çµéÀÌ ±×³à¸¦ º´¿µ³» ÃÖ°í ¹ÌÀÎÀ¸·Î ¶°¹Þµé´ø ±â¾ïÀÌ ³³´Ï´Ù.

ÇÏ±Þ Àå±³¿´±â¿¡ Àú´Â ±×³à¿Í º° Àο¬ÀÌ ¾ø¾úÁö¸¸

±×³à°¡ ¸ÅȤÀûÀ̸鼭 Ȱ´ÞÇÑ ¼Ò³àÀÓÀº ¾Ë°í ÀÖ¾úÁö¿ä.

 

¿¬´ë ³»¿¡ ¹ÙŬ¸® ¸»°íµµ ±×³àÀÇ ¼ÕÀ» ÁÀ¾Ò´ø ³²ÀÚ°¡ ¸¹ÀÌ ÀÖ¾ú´ø °Ç ´ç¿¬ÇÕ´Ï´Ù¸¸

³¡³» ±×³à°¡ ¼±ÅÃÇÑ °Ç ¹ÙŬ¸®¿´½À´Ï´Ù.

 

µÑÀº ÄÜÆ÷¸£ ±ÙóÀÇ ¹ö¸£Æ¼¿¡¼­ °áÈ¥Çߴµ¥

1858³â ´Ò À屺ÀÇ Áö¿ø¿¡ ÀÇÇØ Æ÷À§¿¡¼­ Ç®·Á³­ ¸î°³¿ù ÈÄ¿´ÁÒ.

°áÈ¥ÇÏ°í ¾ó¸¶ ¾È µÇ¾î¼­,

¿¹»ó´ë·Î ¹ÙŬ¸® º´ÀåÀº ½ÂÁøÇß½À´Ï´Ù.

óÀ½¿£ ¹ÙŬ¸®¸¦ º¸´Â ½Ã¼±ÀÌ °öÁö ¾Ê¾Ò°Ú±º¿ä.

»çº´¿¡¼­ Áø±ÞÇÑ µ¥´Ù,¿¬´ë ¿ø»çÀÇ µþ°ú °áÈ¥ÇÑ ÇÏ»ç°üÀÌ´Ï
* ranks ÀÏ¹Ý »çº´
* NCO = Non-Commissioned Officer (ÇÏ»ç°ü)

¿¹. ¸ðÁ¾ÀÇ »ç±³Àû ¸¶ÂûÀÌ ÀÖ¾ú´Ù°í ¾Ë°í ÀÖ½À´Ï´Ù.

ÇÏÁö¸¸ ³½½ÃÀÇ ¿ì¾ÆÇÔ°ú ¸Å·ÂÀ¸·Î Àß ¹«¸¶µÇ¾î

°ð ¸ðµÎµé ±×µé ºÎºÎ¸¦ ÀÎÁ¤ÇÏ°Ô µÇ¾úÁÒ.

¹ÙŬ¸®ÀÇ °æ·ÂÀº È­·ÁÇØÁ®¸¸ °¬°í, 5³â ÈÄ Àεµ¿¡¼­ ¿¬´ë°¡ ±ÍÇâÇÏ°Ô µÇÀÚ

¿¬´ëÀÇ ÁöÈÖ°üÀ¸·Î ÀÓ¸í¹Þ¾Ò½À´Ï´Ù.

±×µéÀÇ °áÈ¥ »ýȰÀº ÁÙ°ð ÇູÇß½À´Ï±î?

±×·¸°Ô º¸À̱ä Çß½À´Ï´Ù. / º¸¿´´Ù´Ï¿ä?

´Ùµé °áÈ¥ »ýȰÀº Á× ÇູÇÏ°Ô À̾îÁø´Ù°í »ý°¢ÇÏÁö¿ä.

±ÍÇÏÀÇ °ßÇØ´Â ¾î¶»½À´Ï±î, ¸ÓÇÇ ¼Ò·É?

¼­¿­ 2À§ÀÇ Á÷Ã¥ ¶§¹®¿¡ ÀÚÁÖ ¹ÙŬ¸®ÀÇ ÀÚÅÿ¡ °¡°ï Çß½À´Ï´Ù.

°áÈ¥ÀÇ ´Ù¸¥ ÀϸéÀ» º¸¾ÒÁÒ.

 

°íÀÎÀÌ µÈ »ó°ü¿¡ ´ëÇÑ Ãæ¼º½Éº¸´Ù Áø½ÇÀ» ¹àÈ÷´Â °Ô Áß¿äÇÏ¿À.

¾î´À ³¯ ¹ã ±×ºÐ ÀÚÅÿ¡¼­ Àú³á ½Ä»ç°¡ ÀÖ¾úÁÒ.

³¡³ª°í µ¹¾Æ°¡´Â µµÁß¿¡ ´ã¹è°©À» ½Ä´ç¿¡ ³õ°í ¿Â °Ô »ý°¢³µ½À´Ï´Ù.

µÇµ¹¾Æ°¬´õ´Ï ¾ÆÁ÷ Á¤¹®ÀÌ ¿­·ÁÀÖ´õ±º¿ä.

ÇϳàÀÎ Á¦ÀÎÀÌ È¦¿¡ ÀÖ¾ú½À´Ï´Ù.

¾ÆÁ÷ ¾È ÀÚ¼­ ´ÙÇàÀ̱º. ½ÄŹ¿¡ ´ã¹è°©À» ³õ°í °¬´Ù³×.

´ë·É´Ô°ú ¸¶´ÔÀº ÀÚ¸®¿¡ µå½Å °Å °°½À´Ï´Ù.

¿À, Á¦¹ß ±×¸¸ÇØ¿ä, Á¦ÀÓ½º!
/ ¾î¼­ Åоî³ö, ±×°Ô ´©±¸¾ß, ¾î¶² ³ðÀ̾ß!

ÀÌ°Í ³ö¿ä, ¾ÆÇÁÀݾÆ.
/³ª ¸»°í ´Ù¸¥ ´©±¸µµ »ç¶ûÇÏÁö ¾Ê´Â´Ù°í ÇØÁà.

µè°í ÀÖ¾î, µè°í Àֳı¸!?
/ ¾Æ´Ï¸é ¿Ö ´ç½Å°ú °áÈ¥Çß°Ú¾î¿ä..?

±×°Å¾ß ¸ð¸£Áö, °¡²û Á¤¸» ±×·²±î ½Í´Ù´Ï±î.

 

¹ÙŬ¸®¾¾ ´ìÀ» ¶°³ª½Ã¸é¼­ ¹Ù·Î ÁúÅõ ¶§¹®À̶ó´Â »ý°¢ÀÌ ¶°¿Ã¶ú°Ú³×¿ä, ¸ÓÇÇ ¼Ò·É.

´ë·É´Ô²²¼­ Ȥ½Ã Æø·ÂÀûÀÎ ¸éÀº ¾ø¾ú½À´Ï±î?
/ °¡²û ±×·¨½À´Ï´Ù.

ÀþÀº ºÎÇϵ鿡°Ô´Â ¸Å¿ì °¡È¤ÇÑ »ó°üÀ̾úÀ»Áöµµ ¸ð¸¨´Ï´Ù.

Ç㳪 ±×´Â ±âµíÀÌ Âø½ÇÈ÷ ÃÖ°í±îÁö ¿Ã¶ó¿Ô½À´Ï´Ù.

º¸Åë ±×·¯·Á¸é ±â°èó·³ ³ÃÈ¤ÇØ¾ß ÇÏÁÒ.

½º½º·Î Àå±³ Á÷Ã¥¿¡ ¾î¿ï¸®Áö ¾Ê´Â´Ù°í »ý°¢ÇÑ °Ô ¾Æ´Ï¾úÀ»±î¿ä?

±×·± °Í °°Áø ¾Ê¾ÒÁö¸¸ º°³­ Àý¸Á¿¡ »ç·ÎÀâÇô ÀÖ´Â µí Çß½À´Ï´Ù.

¿©¿Õ ÆóÇϸ¦ À§ÇÏ¿©! / À§ÇÏ¿©!

 

°¡²û¾¿ ¿ì¸®°¡ ¿¾ ÀüÅõ ¾ê±âµé,

ÇÁ¸®¹Ì¾î, º¬°ñ ¹Ý¶õ, ¾ÆÇÁ°£ Àü(îú) µîÀÇ ¾ê±â¸¦

²¨³¾ ¶§¸é º¸ÀÌÁö ¾Ê´Â ¼Õ¿¡ °­Á¦µÈ µí, ±×ÀÇ ÀÔ¿¡¼­ ¿ôÀ½ÀÌ »ç¶óÁö°ï Çß½À´Ï´Ù.

 

¿¹, Àεµ¿¡¼­ ¿À·¡ Áö³»´Ù º¸¸é ±×·¸°Ô µÇ±âµµ ÇÏÁÒ.

³»°¡ ¹öÅ©¼Å¿¡ ÀÖÀ» ¶§µµ ±×·±°É º» ÀûÀÌ ÀÖ¼Ò.

½Ãü °ç¿¡ ³ª¹« °ïºÀÀÌ ÀÖ¾ú´Ù°í Çϼ̴µ¥,

´ë·É´ÔÀÇ Àεµ ±â³äǰÀԴϱî?

ÇÏÀεéÀº ¿¹Àü¿¡ ±×·± °É º»ÀûÀÌ ¾ø´Ù°í ºÎÀÎÇß½À´Ï´Ù.

´ç¿¬È÷, Á¦°¡ ¹æ¹®ÇßÀ» ¶§µµ ±×·± °É º» ÀûÀÌ ¾ø½À´Ï´Ù. ¾öû ±æ´õ±º¿ä.

¾Æ¸¶µµ °æÂûÀÌ Á¶»çÂ÷ ±×°É °¡Á®°¬°ÚÁö¿ä? / ³×.

°æÂûÀº »ìÀÎÀÇ Èä±â·Î ¹Ï°í ÀÖ½À´Ï´Ù.

¾î·ÃÇϰھî¿ä. ±×·³ ¹ÙŬ¸® ÀÚÅÃÀ» ¹æ¹®ÇÔÀ¸·Î½á ¼ö»ç¸¦ ½ÃÀÛÇϰڽÀ´Ï´Ù.

¹°·Ð, ¹ÙŬ¸® ºÎÀÎÀ» ¸éȸÇÒ ¼ö ÀÖ´Ù¸é ¸ÕÀú ¸¸³ªµµ·Ï ÇÏÁÒ.

±×³à´Â ¾ÆÁ÷ È¥¼ö »óŶó ¸éȸ´Â ¾î·Æ½À´Ï´Ù.

±×·² °Å¶ó°í »ý°¢Çß¼Ò.

 

µ¥À̺ø, µ¥À̺ø...

 

Á¤¸» ¾Æ¸§´Ù¿î ¾ÆÄ§Àϼ¼!

 

ȨÁî, ¹ÙŬ¸® ºÎÀο¡°Ô ¾ÖÀÎÀÌ ÀÖ¾ú´Âµ¥ ´ë·ÉÀÌ ´«Ä¡Ã¦ °Ç ¾Æ´Ò±î?

¸ÓÇÇ ¼Ò·ÉÀº ²Ï ±×³à¶û °¡±î¿î °Å °°´øµ¥.

¾Ë´Ù½ÃÇÇ ¿­´ë ±âÈÄ¿¡¼­ Áö³»´Â Àå±³µé°ú ±× ¾Æ³»µé »çÀÌ¿¡ °£Åë »ç°ÇÀº ²Ï ÈçÇÑ ÀÏÀÌÁö.

°í¸¿³×, ¿Ó½¼, ±ºÀÇ µµ´ö¼º¿¡ ´ëÇØ ±ú¿ìÃÄ Á־.

¸¸ÀÏ ¸ÓÇÇ ¼Ò·É°ú ¹ÙŬ¸® ºÎÀÎ »çÀÌ¿¡ ¹¹°¡ ÀÖ¾ú´Ù¸é

´ã¹è°© ³õ°í °¬´ø »ç°ÇÀ» ¸»ÇØÁáÀ»±î?

 

7½Ã 30ºÐ °æ¿¡ Àú´Â ½Ä»ç°¡ ³¡³ª±æ ±â´Ù¸®°í ÀÖ¾ú½À´Ï´Ù.

¸¶´ÔÀº ÇÑ´Þ¿¡ ÇÑ ¹ø, ¿Ã´õ¼ôÀÇ ÀÚ¼± »ç¾÷À» µµ¿ì·¯ Àú³á¿¡ ³ª°¡¼Ì½À´Ï´Ù.

 

¾îµô ±×·¸°Ô ¼­µÑ·¯ ³ª°¡´Â °Ô¿ä?

¾Æ, Çå¿Ê ³ª´©´Â Çà»ç´Â 8½Ã¿¡ ½ÃÀÛÇϴµ¥

¾Ø ¸ð¸®½¼ ¾ç¿¡°Ô Àüµµ¼Ò¿¡ ½Ã°£ ¸ÂÃç ³ª°¡°Ú´Ù°í ¾à¼ÓÇ߰ŵç¿ä.

±×·¡, ´ç½ÅÀÌ º­·èÀÌ µé²ú´Â °ÍµéÀ» ±»ÀÌ ¸¸Á®¼­ ¸÷¾µ º´¿¡ °É¸®°í ½Í¾îÇÑ´Ù¸é ¾Ë¾Æ¼­ Ç϶ó±¸.

»ç¶÷Àº Àڱ⠿î¸íÀ» ¹þ¾î³ª °»»ýÇÒ ±Ç¸®°¡ ÀÖ´Â ¹ýÀÌÁÒ.

¿ì¸° ±×·±´ë·Î »ì¸¸ÇÏ´Ï ¿îÀÌ ÁÁÁö¸¸,

´Ù¸¥ À̵éÀº ±×·¸Áö ¾Ê°Åµç¿ä.

 

³Ê¹« ´Ê°Ô ±Í°¡ÇÏÁö ¸¶½Ã¿À. / ´ç¿¬ÇÏÁö¿ä.

 

¸¶´ÔÀº 9½Ã 15ºÐ Âë µ¹¾Æ¿À¼Ì´ø °Ô Ʋ¸²¾ø½À´Ï´Ù.

Àú´Â ºÎ¾ý¿¡¼­ ¿ä¸®»ç¸¦ µµ¿Í ¼³°ÐÀ̸¦ Çϰí ÀÖ¾úÁÒ.

¸Ö¸®¼­ ¹ø°³°¡ Ä¡±æ·¡ Æä´× ºÎÀβ² ÆøÇ³ ¾ê±â¸¦ Çϰí ÀÖ¾ú´Âµ¥, °Å½ÇÀÇ ÃÊÀÎÁ¾ÀÌ ¿ï·È½À´Ï´Ù.

°Å½Ç·Î ¿ÍºÃ´õ´Ï ¸¶´ÔÀÌ µ¹¾Æ¿Í °è¼ÌÁÒ.

ÇϾé°Ô Áú¸° ¾ó±¼·Î ÈïºÐÇØ¼­ ÀÌ ¹æÀ» ¿Ô´Ù°¬´ÙÇÏ°í °è¼Ì°í

 

¹«½Ã¹«½ÃÇÑ Ç¥Á¤À» ÇÏ°í °è¼Ì½À´Ï´Ù.

 

ºÎ¸£¼Ì½À´Ï±î, ¸¶´Ô?

±×·¡, Á¦ÀÎ, Â÷ Á» °®´Ù ´Ù¿À.

¿¹, ¸¶´Ô.

 

Á¦ÀÎÀ̳Ä?

 

¿¹, ³ª¸®.

 

¾È»ç¶÷ µ¹¾Æ¿Í Àִ°¡?
/ ¿¹, ³ª¸®, °Å½Ç¿¡ °è½Ê´Ï´Ù.

°Å½Ç¿¡? / ³×. Â÷¸¦ °®´Ùµå¸®·Á°í ...

Â÷(ó±)¶ó°í?!

 

ÀÌ·± ½Ã°¢¿¡ Â÷´Â ¸¶¼Å¼­ ¹½¿¡ ¾µ·Á°í?

 

¾Æ¸¶µµ ±×°Ô ¹ÙŬ¸® ´ë·ÉÀÌ »ì¾ÆÀÖ´Â °É º» ¸¶Áö¸·À̾ú°ÚÁö¿ä?
/ ±×·¸½À´Ï´Ù.

¿©ÁÖÀβ²¼­ ³­·Îµµ ²¨³õ´Â ´ÊÀº ½Ã°¢¿¡ °Å½Ç·Î µé¾î¿À½Å ±î´ßÀÌ È¤½Ã ÁüÀÛÀÌ °©´Ï±î? / ¾Æ´¢.

¸¶´ÔÀÌ ´ë·É´ÔÀ» ÀÚÁÖ ÀǵµÀûÀ¸·Î ÇÇÇϰï Çϼ̽À´Ï±î?

µÎ ºÐÀÌ ´ÙÅõ½Ã´Â °É µéÀº Àû ÀÖ½À´Ï±î?

Á¦°¡ ¾Æ´Â ÇÑ¿£ ÀüÇô ¾ø¾ú½À´Ï´Ù.

 

¸¶´ÔÀÇ Â÷¸¦ °¡Áö°í ÁÖ¹æÀ¸·ÎºÎÅÍ µ¹¾Æ¿ÔÀ» ¶§ °Å½Ç ¹®ÀÌ Àá±ä °ÍÀ» ¾Ë¾Ò°í,

¾ð¼ºÀÌ ³ô¾ÆÁø °ÍÀ» µéÀ¸¼Ì´òÁÒ. ÀÚ, Á¤È®È÷ ¹«½¼ ¸»ÀÌ µé·È³ª¿ä?

µÎ ºÐÀº ´ÙÅõ°í °è¼Ì½À´Ï´Ù.

 

¸¶´Ô²²¼± ´ë·É´ÔÀ» °ÌÀåÀ̶ó ºÎ¸£¸é¼­

"´ç½ÅÀÌ ³» ÀλýÀ» ¸ÁÃÆ´Ù" °í Çϼ̽À´Ï´Ù.

¸¶´ÔÀÌ "µ¥À̺ø"À̶õ À̸§À» ¿ÜÄ¡¼Ì½À´Ï´Ù.

±× ¸»À» µÎ¹øÀ̳ª ÇϼÌÁÒ.

 

"µ¥À̺ø"? / È®½ÇÇÏ´Ù°í ¸Í¼¼ÇÒ ¼ö ÀÖ½À´Ï±î?

È®½ÅÇÕ´Ï´Ù.

 

Ç㳪 ´ë·ÉÀÇ À̸§Àº "Á¦ÀÓ½º"¿´´Âµ¥.

¿©ÁÖÀβ²¼­ µ¥À̺øÀ̶õ À̸§ÀÇ »ç¶÷À» ¾ð±ÞÇÏ´Â °É µéÀº Àû ÀÖ½À´Ï±î?

¾Æ´¢, µÎ ºÐ ´Ù µ¥À̺øÀ̶õ À̸§ÀÇ Ä£±¸ºÐÀº ¾ø´Â °Í °°½À´Ï´Ù.

°Ô´Ù°¡ ¸ÓÇÇ ¼Ò·ÉÀÇ ¼¼·Ê¸íÀº 'ÆÐÆ®¸¯'À̾ú³×.

µ¥À̺øÀ̶õ À̸§À» °¡Áø ¹æ¹®ÀÚ°¡ ÃÖ±Ù¿¡ ÀÖ¾ú½À´Ï±î? / ¾ø¾ú´ø °Í °°½À´Ï´Ù.

¹ÙŬ¸® ´ë·ÉÀÇ ½Ãü ¿·¿¡ ¶³¾îÁ® ÀÖ´ø °ïºÀ ¸»Àε¥, Àü¿¡ º»ÀûÀÌ ÀÖ¾ú½À´Ï±î? / ¾Æ´¢.

´ë·É´Ô²²¼± ¸î°¡Áö Àεµ»ê ±â³äǰÀ» °®°í °è¼ÌÁö¸¸ ±×·± °ïºÀÀº ¾ø¾ú½À´Ï´Ù.

Á¤¸» ¾ø¾ú´ø °Ô È®½ÇÇѰ¡¿ä? / È®½ÇÇÕ´Ï´Ù.

¾îµð¼­ ³­ °ÇÁö ÀüÇô ¸ð¸£°Ú½À´Ï´Ù.

 

ÀÌÁ¦ µÆ½À´Ï´Ù, °í¸¿¼Ò.

 

¾ÆÂü, ¸¶Áö¸·À¸·Î ÇѰ¡Áö¸¸ ´õ,

¸ÓÇÇ ¼Ò·ÉÀÌ ´ã¹î°©À» µÎ°í °¡¼Å¼­ ã¾Æµå¸° ÀûÀÌ ÀÖ¾ú³ª¿ä? / ³×.

 

´ë·É´ÔÀº ¿©±â ¾²·¯Á® °è¼Ì½À´Ï´Ù.

³­·Î ¿ïŸ¸®¿¡ ¸Ó¸®°¡ ´êÀº ä ¸»ÀÌÁÒ? / ³×.

¾ÆÁ÷µµ ÇÍÀÚ±¹À» º¸½Ç ¼ö ÀÖÀ» °Ì´Ï´Ù.

Ç㳪 °¡Àå °øÆ÷½º·¯¿ü´ø °ÍÀº ±×ºÐÀÇ ¾ó±¼À̾ú½À´Ï´Ù.
/ ¾ó±¼ÀÌ¿ä?

±×ºÐÀÇ ¸öÀ» µ¹¾Æ´¯È÷´Ù°¡ °ÅÀÇ ±âÀýÇÒ »· Çß´ä´Ï´Ù.

ºñÇÒ µ¥ ¾øÀÌ ²ûÂïÇÑ °øÆ÷¶óµµ º» µí, ±äÀåµÇ°í Àϱ׷¯Áø ¾ó±¼À̾ú½À´Ï´Ù.

ÀÚ±â ÀÚ½ÅÀÇ Á×À½ÀÌ¶óµµ ¹Ì¸® º» °Ç°¡?

±×·¨À»·±Áöµµ ¸ð¸¨´Ï´Ù.

°í¸¿¼Ò, º£ÀÌÃ÷.

 

¾î¶² À¯·É, ¾î¶² ±«¹°À̾ú±æ·¡

´ë·ÉÀ» ±×¸® ³î¶ó°Ô ÇÒ ¼ö ÀÖ¾úÀ»±î.

È®½ÇÈ÷ ³½½Ã ¹ÙŬ¸®´Â ¾Æ´Ï¾ú¾î.

ÀÌ ¹®Àº Àá°Ü ÀÖ¾ú½À´Ï´Ù. °Ô´Ù°¡ ¿­¼è´Â »ç¶óÁ³°í¿ä.

»ç¶óÁ³´Ù°í¿ä? / ³×, °á±¹¿¡ ¿­¼èÀåÀ̸¦ ºÒ·¯ ¹®À» µû¾ß¸¸ ÇßÁÒ.

¿­¼è¸¦ »ô»ôÀÌ Ã£¾Æº¸¼Ì°ÚÁö¿ä? / À§Ãþ ¾Æ·¡Ãþ ´Ù µÚÁ³´ä´Ï´Ù.

¸¶´ÔÀº °¡Áö°í °è½ÃÁö ¾Ê¾Ò°í, ´ë·É´Ô ÁÖ¸Ó´Ï¿¡µµ ¾ø´õ¶ó±¸¿ä.

°¨»çÇÕ´Ï´Ù, Æä´× ºÎÀÎ.

 

¿Ó½¼, ¸¸ÀÏ ¿­¼è°¡ ¹®¿¡ ²ÈÇô ÀÖÁö ¾Ê¾Ò°í,

¹ÙŬ¸® ºÎÀÎ, ´ë·É µÑ ´Ù ¿­¼è°¡ ¼öÁß¿¡ ¾ø¾ú´Ù¸é ±×·³-

±×·³ Á¦ 3ÀÇ Àι°ÀÌ ÀÖ¾ú´ø °Ô Ʋ¸²¾ø±º.

Á¤´äÀ̾ß.

 

´©±º°¡°¡ µé¾î¿Ôµç°¡...

 

...³ª°¬°ÚÁö...

 

Àú â¹®À» ÅëÇØ¼­.

 

À̰͵éÀº º£ÀÌÃ÷ÀÇ ¹ßÀÚ±¹Àϼ¼.

 

Ç㳪 À̰ÍÀº... ´Ù¸¥ ´©±º°¡ÀÇ ¹ßÀÚ±¹À̷αº.

ÃÖ±Ù¿¡ ¾î¶² À̰¡ ÀÌ Àܵ𸦠°¡·ÎÁú·¯ °¬¾î.

¹ßÀÚÃë°¡ ¶Ñ·ÇÇϱº!

 

±×ÀÚ´Â Àú â¹®À» ÅëÇØ µé¾î¿Ô´Ù ³ª°¬¾î! ¿Ó½¼!

¿ì¸®°¡ Á¦´ë·Î ¤¾ú³×!

 

¿Ó½¼, ÀÌ°Í Á» ºÁ.

 

ÀÌ°Ô ¹º°¡?
/ ħÀÔÀÚ´Â º°³­ µ¿¹«¸¦ µ¥¸®°í ÀÖ´Â ¸ð¾çÀ̾ß.

°³°¡ ¾Æ´Ñ°¡, ´©°¡ °³¸¦ µ¥¸®°í ÀÖ¾ú³ª?

ĿưÀ» ´Þ·Á¿Ã¶ó°¡´Â °³ ¾ê±â¸¦ µéÀº Àû ÀÖ³ª?

±×·³ °í¾çÀÌÀÏ·Á³ª?

ÀÌ ¹ßÅé ÀÚ±¹Àº °í¾çÀ̵µ ¿ø¼þÀ̵µ ¾Æ³Ä, ¿ì¸®°¡ Àͼ÷ÇÑ µ¿¹°ÀÇ °ÍÀÌ ¾Æ´Ò¼¼.

µÞ¹ß¿¡¼­ ¾Õ¹ß±îÁöÀÇ °Å¸®·Î ÃßÃøÇØº¸ÀÚ¸é

Àû¾îµµ 15ÀÎÄ¡(=37.5 cm)´Ï±î, ¿©±â´Ù ¸ñ°ú ¸Ó¸®ÀÇ ±æÀ̸¦ ´õÇϸé

2ÇÇÆ®°¡ ³Ñ´Â µ¿¹°À» ¾ò°Ô µÇÁö. ²¿¸®±îÁö ÀÖ´Ù¸é ´õÇϰھî.

ÀÌ ±â¹¦ÇÑ º¸ÆøÀÇ ±æÀÌ·Î ¹Ì·ç¾î, ±ä µî¿¡ ªÀº ´Ù¸®¸¦ °¡Áø Áü½ÂÀÓÀ» ¾Ë ¼ö ÀÖ³×.

´ãºñ³ª Á·Á¦ºñ °°Àº °Ç°¡?

¶ÇÇÑ À°½Äµ¿¹°À̶õ °Íµµ ¾Ë¾Æ.
/ ¾î¶»°Ô ±×°É Àå´ãÇϳª?

Èì, ¹½ ¶§¹®¿¡ ĿưÀ» ±â¾î¿Ã¶ó°¬´ÂÁö º¸¶ó°í.

Ä«³ª¸®¾Æ! / Á¤´ä.

 

ÀÌ Áü½ÂÀÌ ¹«¾ùÀ̱淡?

 

Àý´ë ¾È µË´Ï´Ù.

 

Ä£±¸¸¦ ¹è½ÅÇÒ ¼ö ¾øÀ¸´Ï ´õ ¹¯Áö ¸¶¼¼¿ä.

 

¸ð¸®½¼ ¾ç,

 

ÀÌÆ² Àü ¹ÙŬ¸® ºÎÀÎÀÌ ¿ÜÃâÇØ ¿©±â ¿À½Ç ¶§¿¡´Â

ÇູÇÏ°í »î¿¡ ¸¸Á·ÇϽЏð½ÀÀ̾ú´Âµ¥

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´ç½ÅÀº Ä£±¸ÀÇ ´©¸íÀ» ¹þ±æ Ã¥ÀÓÀÌ ÀÖÀ¸½Ê´Ï´Ù.

¾îÁ¦ ¹ã¿¡ ±×ºÐÀ» º¯È­½ÃŲ »ç°Ç¿¡ ´ëÇØ ¸»¾¸ÇØ ÁֽʽÿÀ.

ÁÁ¾Æ¿ä, ħ¹¬ÀÇ ¸Í¼¼¸¦ ±ú°Ú½À´Ï´Ù. Á¦ Áõ¾ðÀÌ ±×³à¿¡°Ô Á¤¸» µµ¿òÀÌ µÈ´Ù¸é ¸»ÀÔ´Ï´Ù.

¿ª½Ã ¹«¾ð°¡°¡ ÀÖ¾ú¾î.

 

Á¤¸» ±«»óÇÑ ÀÏÀ̾ú½À´Ï´Ù.

¿©±â ÀÖ´Ù º¸¸é º°º° Áö°æ¿¡ óÇÑ »ç¶÷µéÀ» º¸°Ô µË´Ï´Ù¸¸,

¾îÁ¦ ¹ã, Á¦°¡ ºÁ¿Â Áß °¡Àå ±âÀÌÇÑ Àι°À» º¸¾Ò½À´Ï´Ù.

µîÀÌ ±Á¾î ²ÅÃß°¡ µÈ °Ç ¹°·ÐÀ̰í

´Ù¸®±îÁö Àý¾î¼­ ¹«¸­À» ²ª´Ù½ÃÇÇ ÇØ¼­ °È°í ÀÖ¾úÁÒ.

¾ó±¼Àº ÇÞºµ¿¡ Ÿ ½ÃÄ¿¸Ý°í, ¿À·¡µÈ »ç°úó·³ ÁÖ¸§ÀâÇô ¿À±×¶óµé¾î ÀÖ¾ú½À´Ï´Ù.

È¥ÀÚ »ý°¢Çϱ⸦, ÀÌ Áö±¸¿£ ÀÀ´çÈ÷ ¹ÞÀ» °Íº¸´Ù ´õ ¸¹Àº ºÒ¿îÀ» Áû¾îÁø À̵éÀÌ ÀÖ±¸³ª, ½Í¾úÁÒ.

±× ¸ð½ÀÀº °ÉÄ¡°í ÀÖ´Â µ¿¾çdzÀÇ ´©´õ±â Å¿¿¡ ´õ º°½º·´°Ô º¸¿´´ä´Ï´Ù.

 

³½½Ã¿¡°Ô ±× »ç¶÷À» °¡¸®ÄÑ ÁöÀûÇϸ鼭 ƯÈ÷ µµ¿ÍÁà¾ß ÇÒ »ç¶÷À̶ó°í ÇßÁÒ.

±×³¯ Àú³á, ³½½Ã´Â ƯÈ÷³ª ¿­½ÉÀ̾ú½À´Ï´Ù.

±×»ç¶÷ °çÀ¸·Î °¡¼­ µµ¿òÀÌ ÇÊ¿äÇÑÁö ¹¯´Â ±×³à¸¦ ÁöÄѺÃÁÒ.

±×¶§ ³½½ÃÀÇ Åµµ¿¡ º¯È­°¡ ÀϾ½À´Ï´Ù.

±× ³²ÀÚ¶û ´ëÈ­¸¦ ³ª´©±â ½ÃÀÛÇÏ´õ´Ï, °©Àڱ⠳½½Ã ¾ó±¼ÀÌ ÇϾé°Ô Áú¸®´õ±º¿ä.

²À À¯·ÉÀÌ¶óµµ º» »ç¶÷ °°¾Ò´ä´Ï´Ù.

±× ³²ÀÚµµ ³½½Ã¸¦ º» °Í¿¡ ÀÌ»óÇϰԵµ ±¸¾ÖµÇ´Â °Í °°¾ÒÁÒ.

³²ÀÚ°¡ °ÅÄ¥°Ô ¼ÕÁþÀ» ÇÏ´Â °ÍÀ» ºÃ½À´Ï´Ù.

À½.. ³½½Ã¿Í ±× ³²Àڴ ȦÀÇ Á¶¿ëÇÑ ÇÑ ±ÍÅüÀÌ·Î °¡¼­ Á¶±Ý ´ëÈ­¸¦ ³ª´©¾ú´Âµ¥

±× ³²ÀÚ°¡ È­³­ ¸ñ¼Ò¸®·Î ¿ÜÄ¡´õ´Ï Çã°ø¿¡ ÁÖ¸ÔÀ» Èֵθ£¸é¼­ ÈÝÇÏ´Ï ³ª°¡¹ö·È½À´Ï´Ù.

 

³½½Ã, ¹«½¼ ÀÏÀ̾ß,

±¦ÂúÀº °Å¾ß?

 

Àú °¡·ÃÇÑ ¾ç¹ÝÀº ´©±¸¾ß?

Èûµç ³¯À» ¸¸³ª ¸ô¶ôÇÑ ¿¾ Ä£±¸¾ß.

 

¾Ö´Ï, ¾à¼ÓÇØÁà, ¾Æ¹«¿¡°Ôµµ ÀÌ ¾ê±â´Â ÇÏÁö ¾Ê´Â´Ù°í, ¸Í¼¼ÇØÁà!

±×·¯±æ ¿øÇÑ´Ù¸é ´ç¿¬È÷ ¾à¼ÓÇØ¾ßÁö. /°í¸¶¿Í!

 

±× ³²ÀÚÀÇ Á¤Ã¼´Â ¹«¾ùÀ̾ú½À´Ï±î?

¹°¾îº¸½Ç ÁÙ ¾Ë¾Ò½À´Ï´Ù.

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´Ü°ñµé ¸î »ç¶÷¿¡°Ô ¹°¾îº¸¾ÒÁö¿ä.

±×·± ±âÀÌÇÑ ¿Ü¸ðÀÇ Àι°À̶ó¸é ºÐ¸íÈ÷ ´«¿¡ ¶é Å״ϱî¿ä.

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´Ù¸¥ µÞ»çÁ¤Àº ¾Æ¹«µµ ¾ËÁö ¸øÇßÁö¸¸,

º´»çµé¿¡°Ô À¯ÈïÀ» Á¦°øÇÏ¿© »ý°è¸¦ Àմ´ٴõ±º¿ä.

¸¶¼úÀ̳ª, ±×·± °Å ÀÖÀݾƿä.

 

°æÂû¿¡°Ô ±× ³²ÀÚ¿¡ ´ëÇØ ¸»Çϼ̽À´Ï±î?

´ç¿¬È÷ ¸»ÇÏÁö ¾Ê¾Ò¾î¿ä!

¾à¼ÓÀº ¾à¼ÓÀ̴ϱî¿ä.

 

±×·¸°í¸»°í¿ä.

 

°í¸¿½À´Ï´Ù, ¸ð¸®½¼ ¾ç.

 

Àú°Ô ¿ì¸® ħÀÔÀÚÀÇ ³×¹ß ´Þ¸° µ¿¹«·Î±º.

¸Á±¸½º¾ß. / ¿ì¸®°¡ Á¦´ë·Î ãÀº °Å °°³×.

 

ÃÖ±Ù±îÁö Àεµ¿¡ °è½Ã´ø Ç ¿ìµå ¾¾ÁÒ?

¸»¾¸ Á» ¿©Âåµµ µÉ±î¿ä? / ¹¹¿ä?

Á¦ÀÓ½º ¹ÙŬ¸® ´ë·ÉÀÇ Á×À½¿¡ °üÇÑ ÀÛÀº Áú¹®ÀÔ´Ï´Ù¸¸.

 

±×³à´Â °á¹éÇØ, ³»°¡ º¸ÁõÇϰڼÒ!

±×·³ ´ç½Å¿¡°Ô Á˰¡ ÀÖ±º.
/ ¾Æ´Ï, ³­ °á¹éÇÏ¿À.

±×·³ ´©°¡ ´ë·ÉÀ» Ãļ­ ¾²·¯¶ß¸° °Å¿ä?

±×°¡ ¾²·¯Áø °Ç ¼øÀüÈ÷ ½ÅÀÇ ¼·¸®¿´¼Ò. ÀÚ½ÅÀÇ ÁËÃ¥°¨ Å¿À̾úÁö.

¼³¸íÀ» ºÙÀ̽ô °Ô ÁÁ°Ú½À´Ï´Ù.

¸¿¼Ò»ç, ±×³ðÀÇ ¸Ó¸®¸¦ ¹¶°³¹ö·ÈÀ¸¸é ÁÁ¾ÒÀ» ÅÙµ¥, ³» ¸¶À½ °¡´Â ´ë·Î!

±×ÀÚ´Â ³ªÇÑÅ× ¹Þ¾Ò¾î¾ß ¸¶¶¥ÇÑ ÀÀº¸¸¦ ¹Þ¾Ò¼Ò.

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ÀÌ ¸»½éÀº ³ª¿Í ¹«°üÇÏ¿À.

 

³» »ç¿¬À» µé·Á ÁÖÁö.

 

ºÎ²ô·¯¿ï ÀÌÀ¯ µûÀ© ¾Æ¹«°Íµµ ¾øÀ¸´Ï±î!

 

º¸´Ù½ÃÇÇ Áö±Ý ³» µîÀº ³«Å¸Ã³·³ ±ÁÀºµ¥´Ù ¿Â¸öÀÇ »Àµµ µÚƲ·ÈÁö¸¸,

ÇѶ§ Ç ¿ìµå »óº´ ÇÏ¸é ·Î¿­ ¸á·Î¿ìÁî ¿¬´ë ÃÖ°íÀÇ ³²ÀÚ¿´¼Ò.

¹ÙŬ¸® ´ë·É°ú °°Àº ¿¬´ë¿¡ ÀÖ¾ú¼Ò?

¿À, ±×·¨Áö, ±×¶© ¾ÆÁ÷ Áü ¹ÙŬ¸® º´.Àå. À̾úÁö¸¸.

¿ì¸° °°Àº Áß´ë ¼Ò¼ÓÀ̾ú¼Ò.

±×°Í ¸»°íµµ °øÅëÁ¡ÀÌ ÀÖ¾ú´Âµ¥,

 

µÑ ´Ù ³½½Ã µåº¸À̶ó´Â ¿©ÀÚ¸¦ »ç¶ûÇϰí ÀÖ¾úÁö.

 

¿¬´ë ¿ø»çÀÇ µû´Ô ¸»À̱º¿ä.

 

±×³à¸¦ »ç¶ûÇÏ´Â ³²ÀÚ´Â µÑÀ̾úÁö¸¸

 

±×³à°¡ »ç¶ûÇÑ ÀÌ´Â ¿ÀÁ÷ Çϳª»ÓÀ̾ú¼Ò.

 

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¸öÀ» ´þÈ÷·Á°í ºÒ°¡¿¡ ´Ù°¡¼­¼­

³½½Ã°¡ ³¯ »ç¶ûÇÏ°Ô µÈ °Ç

³» ¸ÚÁø ¿Ü¸ð ¶§¹®À̾ú´Ù°í

ÀÚ¶ûÇÏ´Â °É µéÀ¸¸é

Ʋ¸²¾øÀÌ ºñ¿ôÀ» °Ô¿ä.

 

±×³à´Â ³ª¸¦ ÁÙ°ð »ç¶ûÇØ ÁÖ¾ú½À´Ï´Ù.

Ç㳪 ±×³àÀÇ ¸¶À½À» Àâ¾Ò¾îµµ, ³½½ÃÀÇ ¾Æ¹ö´ÔÀº Âù¼ºÇÏÁö ¾ÊÀ¸¼Ì¼Ò.

³ª´Â ´ýº¡´ë°í °æ¼ÖÇÑ Ã»³âÀ̾úÁö¸¸

Ç×»ó Á¤Á÷ÇÏ°í ¼ÖÁ÷ÇÏ°Ô ÇൿÇÏ·Á°í ÇßÁÒ.

 

³½½ÃÀÇ ¾Æ¹ö´ÔÀº ¹ÙŬ¸®¶û ±×³à¸¦ ¦Áö¾îÁÖ°í ½Í¾îÇß¼Ò.

±×´Â Á¶½É½º·¯¿ö¼­ ¸»½é¿£ °ü¿©ÇÏÁö ¾Ê°í, ´Ã ¿ÇÀº Àϸ¸ ÇßÁÒ.

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Mrs. Barclay, your tea.

 

All these years, how could you
do such a thing?

 

Your tea, madam.

 

Oh, I hate you, I hate you,

 

I hate you, I hate you.

 

David -

 

Your tea, madam.

 

David, you betrayed him.

 

Mrs. Fenning-

 

What's happened, what is it, child?

 

It's madam and the Colonel,

 

something awful is going on

 

and I can't open the door.

 

Here, let me try.

 

Stop him, both of you.

 

Mrs. Barclay,

 

Mrs. Barclay, open the door.

 

Mrs. Barclay, open the door.

 

The door is locked on the inside as well,

 

and there's no key.

 

I'm going out for a doctor,
and the police.

 

... There's quite a few of them

 

when I sailed home wounded.

 

Had a good record out in India,

 

did wonders during the Mutiny.

 

I'm sure you won't regret
taking the case.

 

Ah, sentry.

 

Dr. John Watson,
formerly medical officer

 

attached to the Royal Berkshires,

 

now in civilian practice.

 

Murphy, second in command,

 

temporarily in charge
of the Royal Mallows,

 

following the, tragedy
of our Colonel's death.

 

And this will be Mr. Holmes?

 

Please.

 

It's good of you to come so swiftly.

 

Not at all.

 

I have explained to Holmes
how concerned

 

you must be about the
possibility of a scandal.

 

Thank you.

 

The honor of the regiment is in my care.

 

And yet, the newspapers report suggest

 

that a scandal is inevitable.

 

Surely not.

 

I've done my utmost
to make sure that reporters

 

were kept as far away as possible.

 

Exactly, and that is what
has made them suspicious.

 

They scent a mystery, that much is clear

 

from the little they have
been able to say.

 

Surely, it would be wrong to repeat,

 

to draw attention to -

 

Quite.

 

You see how much we need
your help, Mr. Holmes.

 

What do you say, Holmes?

 

What can I say?

 

Major Murphy, you have
told me nothing.

 

I have come down here

 

after persuasion from
my friend, to Aldershot,

 

who has more interest in
military matters than I.

 

Now that I am here,
please tell me the facts.

 

The commanding officer
of this regiment,

 

Colonel James Barclay,

 

was found dead in his villa

 

at about 10 o'clock
the night before last.

 

The body was found by Private Bates,

 

his batman, lying in the morning room.

 

There was a ragged cut,
two-inches long,

 

on the back of his head,

 

which had evidently been caused
by a violent blow

 

from a blunt instrument.

 

And upon the floor by the body

 

was a singular hand-carved
wooden club.

 

Also, stretched out on the sofa

 

lying in a dead faint, was Nancy Bar -

 

Mrs. Barclay.

 

Please continue, Major Murphy.

 

The servants had been alerted
to the tragedy

 

by the sounds of a quarrel

 

between the Colonel and Mrs. Barclay.

 

They tried to enter the morning room

 

but found it locked.

 

Bates had to go around by the garden

 

and get in through the french windows.

 

And now you suspect Mrs. Barclay?

 

Yes.

 

But she is quite incapable

 

of such a dreadful act.

 

I have been the late Colonel's

 

second in command
for a number of years.

 

I've come to know Nancy Barclay well.

 

Of course.

 

Tell me about Colonel Barclay,

 

was he highly regarded by
the men under his command?

 

Considering his background,
remarkably so.

 

His background, why,
was he ever disgraced?

 

No, but it's not generally known outside

 

that Jim Barclay began his career

 

as a private soldier in the Mallows.

 

Did he, indeed?

 

From private soldier to
commanding officer

 

in the same regiment,

 

that's a rare achievement.

 

I was his gallantry in the Indian Mutiny

 

that got him his commission,

 

and then quite rapid promotion
over the years,

 

more rapid than mine, for instance.

 

Impressive.

 

And I suppose the unfortunate
Mrs. Barclay is in custody?

 

No, not exactly, no.

 

She's in hospital, being looked after,

 

with a police constable standing by.

 

Nancy Barclay is a
handsome woman now,

 

but you should have seen her

 

as a young girl in India, 30 years ago.

 

She was a daughter of the regiment.

 

Her father was the Regimental
Sergeant Major, RSM Devoy,

 

and therefore quite a formidable
father-in-law for any soldier.

 

I remember that all
the men in my company

 

thought her quite the
prettiest girl in the garrison.

 

As a junior officer I had
little to do with her,

 

but I was aware that
she was a most charming,

 

most vivacious and spirited girl.

 

It was quite understandable

 

that Barclay was not the only
man in the regiment

 

who sought her hand.

 

But, in the end, he was
the one she chose.

 

They were married at Bhurtee,

 

not far from Cornpor a few months after

 

the besieged garrison there

 

was relieved by General Neill's column

 

in the summer of 1858.

 

Shortly after the marriage,

 

Sergeant Barclay got his
commission, as expected.

 

It must have been difficult

 

for the Barclays at first,

 

NCO, promoted from the ranks,

 

married to a regimental
Sergeant Major's daughter?

 

Yes, I believe there was
some little social friction.

 

But, Nancy carried it off
with dignity and charm,

 

and they gained acceptance in no time.

 

Barclay's career flourished,

 

and the regiment returned
from India some five years ago.

 

Barclay was then appointed
to commanding officer.

 

And the marriage continued
to be a happy one?

 

It appeared to be so.

 

Appeared?

 

Most people believe the marriage

 

to have been a uniformly happy one.

 

And what do you believe,
Major Murphy?

 

My position as second in command

 

often took me to the Barclay's house.

 

I saw a different side to the marriage.

 

The truth is more important

 

than loyalty to your late commander.

 

One night I had been
dining at the Barclays.

 

It wasn't until I reached
the end of the drive

 

that I realized I'd left my cigar case

 

in the dining room.

 

I went back, the front door
was still open;

 

Jane, the maid, was in the hall.

 

I'm glad you're still here,

 

I left my cigar case on the table.

 

I think the Colonel and Mrs. Barclay

 

have gone to bed, sir.

 

Oh, for goodness sake, James.

 

Confess then, who is it, who?

 

Let go of me, you're hurting me.

 

Tell me you love me then,

 

me and nobody else.

 

Do you hear, do you hear me?

 

Oh, would I have married you
if I didn't?

 

I don't know, sometimes I wonder.

 

And this expression of jealousy

 

occurred within seconds of you,
Major Murphy,

 

leaving the Barclays' house.

 

Tell me about the Colonel,

 

was he a violent man in any way?

 

On occasion.

 

He could be most vindictive

 

towards young subalterns.

 

But he'd clawed his way to the top,

 

you need to be ruthless to do that.

 

Surely he didn't still feel

 

out of place as an officer?

 

No, I don't think so,

 

but he was subject to
a peculiar form of depression.

 

The Queen.

 

The Queen.

 

Sometimes when we were
discussing old campaigns,

 

the premier, the Mutiny, Afghan War,

 

the smile would often be
struck from his mouth

 

as if by some invisible hand.

 

Yes, long service in India

 

can have that effect.

 

I saw that when I was in the Berkshires.

 

You mentioned a carved wooden club

 

found by the body,

 

one of the Colonel's Indian souvenirs?

 

I believe the servants deny

 

ever having seen this club before.

 

Certainly I've never seen it
on any of my visits.

 

It was quite long.

 

And the police, I suppose,

 

have retained it for examination?

 

Yes.

 

They believe it to be
the murder weapon.

 

Do they, indeed?

 

I think we should begin

 

by visiting the Barclays' house,

 

unless, of course,

 

it is possible to interview
Mrs. Barclay?

 

I'm afraid she's still unconscious.

 

I thought as much.

 

David, David.

 

What a beautiful morning.

 

Holmes, suppose Mrs. Barclay

 

had a lover and the Colonel
had found out?

 

Major Murphy seems to have
been rather close to her.

 

You know, mild adultery

 

has always been commonplace

 

among officers and their wives

 

serving in hot climates.

 

Thank you, Watson,

 

for educating me in military morality.

 

If there had been anything

 

between Major Murphy and
Mrs. Barclay,

 

would he have related the incident

 

of his forgotten cigar case?

 

I was about half past seven, sir,

 

and I was waiting a table.

 

Once a month, Mrs. Barclay spent

 

the evening doing
charity work in Aldershot.

 

Where are you off to in such a hurry?

 

Well, the distribution of old
clothing starts at 8 o'clock,

 

and I promised Ann Morrison

 

I'd be at the mission hall on time.

 

Well, if you want to
catch some filthy disease

 

dealing with a lot of flea
ridden down and outs,

 

I suppose that's your affair.

 

I believe in putting back into life

 

as much as one gets out of it.

 

We've been fortunate with our lot;

 

others haven't been so lucky.

 

Don't be late back.

 

Of course not.

 

Mrs. Barclay must have returned

 

about quarter past nine, sir.

 

I was in the kitchen helping
the cook with the dishes.

 

There was thunder in the distance,

 

and I was just saying to Mrs. Fenning

 

that there was a storm brewing,

 

when the morning room bell rang.

 

I came up here to find that
Mrs. Barclay had returned.

 

She was walking up and down
this room, sir,

 

very pale, upset.

 

She looked awful, sir.

 

You rang, madam?

 

Yes, Jane, bring me some tea, will you?

 

Of course, madam.

 

Jane, is that you?

 

Yes, sir.

 

Did I hear Mrs. Barclay come in?

 

Yes, sir, she's in the morning room.

 

The morning room?

 

Yes, sir.

 

I'm just about to take her a pot of tea.

 

Tea? what does she want tea for
at this hour?

 

And that, presumably,

 

was the last time that anyone
saw Colonel Barclay alive?

 

Yes, sir.

 

Can you think of any reason

 

why your mistress came
into this morning room

 

at that time of night,
when the fire was unlit?

 

No, sir.

 

Did she often make a point

 

of purposely avoiding the Colonel?

 

Had you ever heard
them arguing before?

 

Not to my knowledge, sir.

 

When you returned from the kitchen

 

with Mrs. Barclay's tea,

 

you found the door locked,

 

and you heard voices raised.

 

Now, what exactly did you hear?

 

They were arguing, sir.

 

Mrs. Barclay called the Colonel
a coward.

 

She said you have ruined
my life all these years.

 

Mrs. Barclay shouted the name "David,"

 

she said it twice.

 

David?

 

Could you swear to that?

 

I was perfectly clear, sir.

 

But the Colonel's name was James.

 

Have you ever heard

 

Mrs. Barclay refer to
anyone called David?

 

No, sir, I don't think she
or the Colonel

 

knew anyone by the name of David.

 

And Major Murphy's christian
name is Patrick.

 

Had they had any visitors recently

 

by the name of David?

 

I don't think so, sir.

 

The club that was found

 

by Colonel Barclay's body,

 

had you seen it before?

 

No, sir.

 

The Colonel had several trophies
from India,

 

but nothing like that club.

 

Are you sure of that, Miss Stewart?

 

Yes, sir.

 

I don't know where it came from.

 

Thank you, that is all.

 

Oh, no, there is just one last thing,

 

Major Murphy once left
his cigar case here,

 

did you manage to find it?

 

Yes, sir.

 

The Colonel was lying down here, sir.

 

With his head by the fender?

 

Yes, sir.

 

You can see the mark of the blood still.

 

But the most frightening thing
of all, sir, was his face.

 

His face?

 

When I rolled him over.

 

I almost fainted away to look upon it.

 

It was all contorted, screwed up,

 

with the most horrible look
of fear and terror.

 

As if he'd foreseen his own death?

 

Quite possible, sir.

 

Thank you, Bates.

 

What apparition, what monster was it

 

that could have frightened
the Colonel so.

 

Not Nancy Barclay, for sure.

 

This door was locked shut, sir,

 

and what's more, the key was missing.

 

Missing?

 

Yes, in the end we had to send

 

for a locksmith to open it.

 

You have made a thorough
search for the key?

 

We searched high and low.

 

Mrs. Barclay hadn't got it,

 

and it wasn't in the Colonel's
pocket, sir.

 

Thank you, Mrs. Fenning.

 

Watson, if the key was not in the door,

 

and neither Mrs. Barclay nor
the Colonel had it, then -

 

Then there must have been
a third person.

 

Exactly,

 

who either entered or left
through those windows.

 

These are Bates' footprints.

 

But these, are the footprints of
someone else.

 

Someone has recently
crossed this lawn,

 

the marks are just visible.

 

He entered and left through
those windows, Watson,

 

we're on the right search.

 

Watson, look at this.

 

What is it?

 

Our entrant had a somewhat
unusual companion.

 

It's a dog, isn't it, somebody's dog?

 

Whoever heard of a dog

 

running up a curtain.

 

What about a cat then?

 

These claw marks are not
those of a cat,

 

nor of a monkey, nor of any creature

 

that we are familiar with.

 

I would think from hind foot to forefoot

 

at least 15 inches.

 

Add to that the length of neck and head,

 

you have a creature
no less than two feet,

 

more if there's a tail.

 

The length of its stride is odd,

 

it indicates a creature

 

with a long back and short legs.

 

Something like a stoat or a weasel?

 

We also know that it is carnivorous.

 

How can you tell that?

 

Well you see what made it
run up the curtain.

 

The canary.

 

Exactly.

 

Then what was this beast?

 

No, I can't, I cannot betray a friend,

 

please don't ask me to.

 

Miss Morrison,

 

when Mrs. Barclay left her house
to come here two nights ago,

 

she was happy and content.

 

When she returned two hours later,

 

she was a changed woman.

 

Now the police suspect her of murder.

 

You owe it to your friend to
clear her name.

 

You must tell me
what happened last night

 

that so changed her.

 

Very well, I shall break my
promise of silence

 

if what I can say can really help her.

 

So there was something.

 

It was most bizarre.

 

I should explain that we come across

 

all sorts of conditions of men here.

 

Yet, the other night,

 

I saw the most extraordinary creature

 

I have ever seen.

 

Not only had he a crooked back,

 

but he was lame

 

and walked with his knees bent.

 

His face was darkly tanned,

 

crinkled and puckered
like a withered apple.

 

I thought to myself that truly

 

there are some of us on this earth

 

who are burdened with more than

 

their fair share of misfortune.

 

This vision was made more unusual

 

by the oriental garb
the man was wearing.

 

I pointed this person out to Nancy

 

as someone especially
deserving of help.

 

Nancy had indeed been in
good spirits that evening,

 

and I saw her go towards the man

 

and ask him if he needed assistance.

 

It was now that a change
came over Nancy.

 

She had begun a conversation with
the man when suddenly

 

all the color drained from her face.

 

She looked as though
she had seen a ghost.

 

The man, too, seemed to be
strangely affected

 

by the sight of her,

 

and I saw him gesticulating wildly.

 

Well, Nancy and the man
went to a quiet corner

 

of the hall and they talked together

 

for a few moments or so

 

before I heard an angry shout
from the man

 

and saw him storm out,
waving his fists in the air.

 

Nancy, what is it,

 

are you all right?

 

Who was that poor creature?

 

It's an old acquaintance of mine

 

fallen on hard times.

 

Promise me, Annie,
you won't say anything

 

about this to anyone, promise me.

 

Of course, I promise, if you so wish.

 

And the identity of this man?

 

I thought you might ask me that.

 

Well, after this terrible happening,
Nancy left.

 

I naturally made a few inquiries

 

among some of the regulars;

 

such an unusual looking creature

 

has of course attracted attention.

 

It appears he is an old soldier
recently back from India,

 

and no one knows anything else

 

about his background

 

except that he makes a living

 

by entertaining the troops,
conjuring tricks,

 

that kind of thing.

 

And did you tell the police about him?

 

Of course not, a promise is a promise.

 

Yes, of course.

 

Thank you, Miss Morrison.

 

That is our intruder's
four-footed companion.

 

It's a mongoose.

 

I think we've found our man.

 

Mr. Henry Wood, I believe,
late of India.

 

May I have a word?

 

What about?

 

A little matter of Colonel
James Barclay's death.

 

She's innocent, you can take
my word for it.

 

Then you are guilty.

 

No, I am not guilty.

 

Then who struck the Colonel down?

 

It was a just Providence
that killed him,

 

his own guilty conscience.

 

I think you'd better explain.

 

My God, if I had smashed his head in,

 

as it was in my heart to do,

 

he would have got only what
he deserved from me.

 

No, I never laid a hand on him,

 

I was spared the trouble.

 

I'll tell you my story.

 

There is no cause for
me to be ashamed of it.

 

You see me now with
my back like a camel,

 

my ribs all awry,

 

but there was a time when
Corporal Henry Wood

 

was the smartest man
in the Royal Mallows.

 

You were in the same regiment
as Colonel Barclay?

 

Oh, yes, but he was
Sergeant Jim Barclay then.

 

We were in the same company,

 

and we had something else in common,

 

we were both in love

 

with the same woman, Nancy Devoy.

 

Who was the daughter

 

of the Regimental Sergeant Major.

 

There were two men who loved her,

 

but only one whom she loved.

 

She - you'll laugh when you look at

 

this poor thing huddled
in front of the fire

 

and hear me say that it was
for my good looks

 

that Nancy loved me.

 

I was the one she loved all along.

 

But although I had her heart,

 

her father didn't approve of me.

 

I was a harum-scarum,
reckless sort of lad,

 

but I was always honest and
plain dealing as well.

 

Oh, Nancy's father wanted her
to marry Barclay.

 

He was careful to keep out of trouble,

 

always did the right thing,

 

not like me who took Nancy

 

to places her father didn't like.

 

Besides, Barclay had had an education,

 

he was already marked
for the sword-belt.

 

RSM Devoy naturally thought Barclay

 

the better match for his daughter.

 

But she remained true to me,

 

and we would have married

 

had it not been for the Mutiny.

 

Why did Nancy Devoy not marry
the man she loved?

 

It was monsoon time in 1857,

 

when the Sepoys rose up
against the British.

 

The regiment was shut up in Bhurtee.

 

There were 10,000 rebels round us,

 

pinning us down like terriers
round a rat cage.

 

We'd run short of food and ammunition,

 

we had to communicate with
General Neill's column

 

that was moving up-country.

 

It was our only chance to get help.

 

Our company commander had asked
for a volunteer,

 

a fit, strong soldier to slip out
of the garrison

 

at dead of night and make contact

 

with the relief column out on
the plain beyond.

 

Like a fool, I volunteered.

 

It was a dangerous mission all right,

 

there were a 1,000 lives in peril.

 

But I was thinking of
only one of them...

 

Nancy Devoy,

 

the woman I loved, and the finest girl

 

that ever had the breath of life
between her lips.

 

Saying goodbye to her was
the hardest thing.

 

As we exchanged mementos,
I never thought that

 

I was saying goodbye to her
for 30 years.

 

It was my rival for Nancy's hand

 

who saw me off on my journey

 

through the enemy lines that night,

 

Sergeant Barclay.

 

He said he knew the lie of the land

 

around the garrison
better than any other.

 

While I volunteered to make the journey,

 

Jim Barclay volunteered to advise me

 

on the best route to take.

 

So, just after then,

 

while my comrades gave me
covering fire,

 

I set off.

 

Barclay had told me to follow a stream

 

which would lead to a gully.

 

This, he said,
was the safest way downhill.

 

His directions were perfect

 

and soon I was wading
through icy water

 

that only the day before
had been snow in the Himalayas.

 

I could see the lights and fires
in the rebels' camp

 

but I kept well down,

 

out of sight of their sentry posts.

 

I came to the gully and
thought I was safe.

 

Then it happened, I was attacked.

 

Something hard cracked down
on my head

 

and everything spun around.

 

When I came to,
I was trussed up like a chicken

 

and hanging from a tree.

 

My arms felt as though
they were being wrenched

 

out of their sockets.

 

I didn't mind the pain,
but I was sick at heart

 

for having failed in my mission.

 

What would be the fate of those

 

I had been trying to save?

 

But the biggest blow came as I listened

 

to what I could understand
of a rebels' talk.

 

I heard enough to realize
that I had been betrayed.

 

The very man who had
shown me the way to take

 

had betrayed me to the enemy.

 

Barclay had got rid of me

 

to make sure he could have my girl.

 

Now, you know what James Barclay
was capable of.

 

Well, it turned out that
General Neill's column

 

was already on its way
to relieve Bhurtee.

 

The rebels retreated,

 

they dragged me away with them.

 

I was tortured.

 

I tried to escape, I was tortured again.

 

It was to be many a long year

 

before I saw another white face.

 

My captors fled north,
further into the hills,

 

and used me as a sort of slave.

 

I was treated worse than a dog

 

and they damn near broke
every bone in my body.

 

Sometimes I'd wish
they'd just killed me,

 

but my thoughts of hatred and
loathing for the man

 

who destroyed my life kept me going.

 

I dreamed of revenge on Barclay.

 

One day some Afghan tribesmen

 

murdered the rebels
that held me prisoner.

 

They left me for dead, too.

 

But by a miracle, I still lived.

 

So, I had my revenge on my torturers,

 

but Barclay was beyond my grasp.

 

And what of Nancy,

 

I had no means of knowing whether
she was alive or dead.

 

I wandered back to the Punjab,

 

and lived among the natives,

 

picking up a living
by the conjuring tricks

 

I'd learned from the street magicians.

 

What use was it for me,
a wretched cripple,

 

to get passage back by ship to England

 

and make myself known
to my old comrades in the regiment?

 

Even my desire to have my revenge
on Jim Barclay didn't make me go.

 

No, I - I'll tell you straight,

 

I preferred my Nancy and my old pals

 

in the Royal Mallows to go on believing

 

that Harry Wood died a hero's death

 

with a straight back,

 

than see him crawling about the world

 

more like a chimpanzee
than a human being.

 

But you did return,

 

and to Aldershot where your old
regiment was stationed, why?

 

I just wanted to see the old country
once more before I died.

 

I saved what I could and
eventually I got a ship.

 

I didn't know the regiment was
stationed here in Aldershot,

 

I just wanted to be where
there were soldiers.

 

I could earn my keep
going around the canteens

 

doing my tricks to entertain them.

 

I no longer wanted to kill Barclay,

 

the fires of revenge

 

had burned low over the years...

 

until I saw her.

 

I thought I'd better get
some English tongs,

 

I looked comical enough
without wearing

 

these foreign clothes the whole time.

 

At first, I was more interested
in finding

 

a thick overcoat than
looking at the charity

 

ladies who were doling them out.

 

Then one of them came over,

 

I recognized her at once,

 

she'd hardly changed, still beautiful.

 

What's more amazing is she -

 

she seemed to know me.

 

Good evening, can I help you?

 

Have you been able to
find anything that -

 

I'm sorry, I thought I...

 

Nancy, it is me, Harry.

 

Don't be afraid.

 

I thought you had been dead
these 30 years.

 

I have been...

 

I thought I would never see you again.

 

We spoke for a moment or two together.

 

I told her some of my story.

 

I should have spared telling her

 

that her husband was a traitor

 

but it all came pouring out of me,

 

30 years of hate.

 

She was so effected by what I said,

 

I couldn't stand it.

 

I went outside,

 

then I saw her come out of the mission

 

and I followed her home.

 

I saw her go into the house,
a light came on.

 

I saw her sitting in a chair.

 

And then he came into the room.

 

James, I have to talk to you.

 

Why are you locking that door.

 

Don't be back late, I said,

 

don't be back late, didn't I?

 

You've been with someone.

 

No -

 

You have been with someone.

 

No -

 

Who is it?

 

...you've ruined my life.

 

All these years, all these years.

 

Oh, how could you do such a thing -

 

Mrs. Barclay, your tea.

 

- it was evil.

 

I hate you, I hate you,
I hate you, I hate you.

 

No-

 

To see him lay a hand on her

 

made me mad with anger.

 

My feelings overcame me -

 

David -

 

Your tea, madam.

 

David, you betrayed him.

 

It's not true.

 

But he's alive, I tell you,
I've seen him.

 

You're lying, you're mad.

 

He looked as I have never seen
a man look.

 

I read death on his face
as plain as anything.

 

The bare sight of me was like a bullet

 

through his guilty heart.

 

Mrs. Barclay, Mrs. Barclay,
open the door.

 

He smashed onto the fender.

 

He was dead before he fell.

 

Mrs. Barclay, Mrs. Barclay,
open the door.

 

I took the key to the door
from Nancy's hand,

 

intending to open it and get help.

 

I thought I'd better get away

 

or things might look black against me.

 

In haste, I thrust the key
into my pocket

 

whilst I was chasing Teddy,

 

who'd escaped from his box and
run up a curtain.

 

Teddy.

 

So, the Colonel died before

 

he struck his head on the fender?

 

An apoplectic fit, brought on by shock.

 

Mr. Wood, provided the
coroner reaches

 

the same conclusion, Mrs. Barclay -

 

Nancy.

 

- will be free.

 

I trust you would have no objection

 

to repeating your story to the police,

 

should the need arise?

 

Mr. Holmes, how is Nancy?

 

She's in hospital.

 

I understand in time she should
make a complete recovery.

 

Thank God.

 

Hello, Ann, how lovely to see you.

 

Are you better?

 

Yes, I'm much better.

 

Holmes, there's just one thing
I don't understand.

 

If the Colonel's name was James,

 

and Wood was called
either Henry or Harry,

 

then who the deuce was David?

 

My dear Watson,

 

that name David should have told me

 

the whole story had I been
the ideal reasoner,

 

which you are so fond of depicting.

 

But alas, my powers of deduction failed.

 

You see, David, in this case,

 

was evidently used as
a term of reproach.

 

Reproach?

 

Don't you remember how King David

 

sent Uriah the Hittite
into the forefront

 

of the battle to die so that he might

 

steal his woman, Bathsheba?

 

I think you will find the story

 

in the first or second book of Samuel.

 

My old testament is a little rusty.

 

You're quite right, Holmes,

 

Il Samuel, 11:14-17.

 

You appear to have looked it up yourself

 

since we returned home from Aldershot.

 

How did you know?

 

You used this bill for our meal

 

at Waterloo as a bookmarker,
did you not?

 

Excellent, Watson.

 

Elementary, my dear Holmes.

 

Goodnight, old fellow.