The Adventure Of The Dancing Men

Holmes had been seated for some hours in silence with his long,

thin back curved over a chemical vessel in which he was brewing a

particularly malodorous product. His head was sunk upon his breast, and

he looked from my point of view like a strange, lank bird, with dull

gray plumage and a black top-knot.

"So, Watson," said he, suddenly, "you do not propose to invest in South

African securities?"


I gave a start of astonishment. Accustomed as I was to Holmes's curious

faculties, this sudden intrusion into my most intimate thoughts was

utterly inexplicable.

"How on earth do you know that?" I asked.

He wheeled round upon his stool, with a steaming test-tube in his hand,

and a gleam of amusement in his deep-set eyes.

"Now, Watson, confess yourself utterly taken aback," said he.

"I am."

"I ought to make you sign a paper to that effect."


"Because in five minutes you will say that it is all so absurdly


"I am sure that I shall say nothing of the kind."

"You see, my dear Watson,"--he propped his test-tube in the rack, and

began to lecture with the air of a professor addressing his class--"it

is not really difficult to construct a series of inferences, each

dependent upon its predecessor and each simple in itself. If, after

doing so, one simply knocks out all the central inferences and presents

one's audience with the starting-point and the conclusion, one may

produce a startling, though possibly a meretricious, effect. Now, it was

not really difficult, by an inspection of the groove between your left

forefinger and thumb, to feel sure that you did NOT propose to invest

your small capital in the gold fields."

"I see no connection."

"Very likely not; but I can quickly show you a close connection. Here

are the missing links of the very simple chain: 1. You had chalk between

your left finger and thumb when you returned from the club last night.

2. You put chalk there when you play billiards, to steady the cue. 3.

You never play billiards except with Thurston. 4. You told me, four

weeks ago, that Thurston had an option on some South African property

which would expire in a month, and which he desired you to share with

him. 5. Your check book is locked in my drawer, and you have not asked

for the key. 6. You do not propose to invest your money in this manner."

"How absurdly simple!" I cried.

"Quite so!" said he, a little nettled. "Every problem becomes very

childish when once it is explained to you. Here is an unexplained one.

See what you can make of that, friend Watson." He tossed a sheet of

paper upon the table, and turned once more to his chemical analysis.

I looked with amazement at the absurd hieroglyphics upon the paper.

"Why, Holmes, it is a child's drawing," I cried.

"Oh, that's your idea!"

"What else should it be?"

"That is what Mr. Hilton Cubitt, of Riding Thorpe Manor, Norfolk, is

very anxious to know. This little conundrum came by the first post, and

he was to follow by the next train. There's a ring at the bell, Watson.

I should not be very much surprised if this were he."

A heavy step was heard upon the stairs, and an instant later there

entered a tall, ruddy, clean-shaven gentleman, whose clear eyes and

florid cheeks told of a life led far from the fogs of Baker Street. He

seemed to bring a whiff of his strong, fresh, bracing, east-coast air

with him as he entered. Having shaken hands with each of us, he was

about to sit down, when his eye rested upon the paper with the curious

markings, which I had just examined and left upon the table.

"Well, Mr. Holmes, what do you make of these?" he cried. "They told me

that you were fond of queer mysteries, and I don't think you can find a

queerer one than that. I sent the paper on ahead, so that you might have

time to study it before I came."

"It is certainly rather a curious production," said Holmes. "At first

sight it would appear to be some childish prank. It consists of a number

of absurd little figures dancing across the paper upon which they

are drawn. Why should you attribute any importance to so grotesque an


"I never should, Mr. Holmes. But my wife does. It is frightening her to

death. She says nothing, but I can see terror in her eyes. That's why I

want to sift the matter to the bottom."

Holmes held up the paper so that the sunlight shone full upon it. It was

a page torn from a notebook. The markings were done in pencil, and ran

in this way:

Holmes examined it for some time, and then, folding it carefully up, he

placed it in his pocketbook.

"This promises to be a most interesting and unusual case," said he.

"You gave me a few particulars in your letter, Mr. Hilton Cubitt, but I

should be very much obliged if you would kindly go over it all again for

the benefit of my friend, Dr. Watson."

"I'm not much of a story-teller," said our visitor, nervously clasping

and unclasping his great, strong hands. "You'll just ask me anything

that I don't make clear. I'll begin at the time of my marriage last

year, but I want to say first of all that, though I'm not a rich man,

my people have been at Riding Thorpe for a matter of five centuries, and

there is no better known family in the County of Norfolk. Last year I

came up to London for the Jubilee, and I stopped at a boarding-house in

Russell Square, because Parker, the vicar of our parish, was staying in

it. There was an American young lady there--Patrick was the name--Elsie

Patrick. In some way we became friends, until before my month was up

I was as much in love as man could be. We were quietly married at a

registry office, and we returned to Norfolk a wedded couple. You'll

think it very mad, Mr. Holmes, that a man of a good old family should

marry a wife in this fashion, knowing nothing of her past or of

her people, but if you saw her and knew her, it would help you to


"She was very straight about it, was Elsie. I can't say that she did not

give me every chance of getting out of it if I wished to do so. 'I have

had some very disagreeable associations in my life,' said she, 'I wish

to forget all about them. I would rather never allude to the past, for

it is very painful to me. If you take me, Hilton, you will take a woman

who has nothing that she need be personally ashamed of, but you will

have to be content with my word for it, and to allow me to be silent

as to all that passed up to the time when I became yours. If these

conditions are too hard, then go back to Norfolk, and leave me to the

lonely life in which you found me.' It was only the day before our

wedding that she said those very words to me. I told her that I was

content to take her on her own terms, and I have been as good as my


"Well we have been married now for a year, and very happy we have been.

But about a month ago, at the end of June, I saw for the first time

signs of trouble. One day my wife received a letter from America. I saw

the American stamp. She turned deadly white, read the letter, and threw

it into the fire. She made no allusion to it afterwards, and I made

none, for a promise is a promise, but she has never known an easy hour

from that moment. There is always a look of fear upon her face--a look

as if she were waiting and expecting. She would do better to trust me.

She would find that I was her best friend. But until she speaks, I can

say nothing. Mind you, she is a truthful woman, Mr. Holmes, and whatever

trouble there may have been in her past life it has been no fault of

hers. I am only a simple Norfolk squire, but there is not a man in

England who ranks his family honour more highly than I do. She knows it

well, and she knew it well before she married me. She would never bring

any stain upon it--of that I am sure.

"Well, now I come to the queer part of my story. About a week ago--it

was the Tuesday of last week--I found on one of the window-sills a

number of absurd little dancing figures like these upon the paper. They

were scrawled with chalk. I thought that it was the stable-boy who had

drawn them, but the lad swore he knew nothing about it. Anyhow, they had

come there during the night. I had them washed out, and I only mentioned

the matter to my wife afterwards. To my surprise, she took it very

seriously, and begged me if any more came to let her see them. None did

come for a week, and then yesterday morning I found this paper lying on

the sundial in the garden. I showed it to Elsie, and down she dropped

in a dead faint. Since then she has looked like a woman in a dream, half

dazed, and with terror always lurking in her eyes. It was then that I

wrote and sent the paper to you, Mr. Holmes. It was not a thing that

I could take to the police, for they would have laughed at me, but you

will tell me what to do. I am not a rich man, but if there is any danger

threatening my little woman, I would spend my last copper to shield


He was a fine creature, this man of the old English soil--simple,

straight, and gentle, with his great, earnest blue eyes and broad,

comely face. His love for his wife and his trust in her shone in his

features. Holmes had listened to his story with the utmost attention,

and now he sat for some time in silent thought.

"Don't you think, Mr. Cubitt," said he, at last, "that your best plan

would be to make a direct appeal to your wife, and to ask her to share

her secret with you?"

Hilton Cubitt shook his massive head.

"A promise is a promise, Mr. Holmes. If Elsie wished to tell me she

would. If not, it is not for me to force her confidence. But I am

justified in taking my own line--and I will."

"Then I will help you with all my heart. In the first place, have you

heard of any strangers being seen in your neighbourhood?"


"I presume that it is a very quiet place. Any fresh face would cause


"In the immediate neighbourhood, yes. But we have several small

watering-places not very far away. And the farmers take in lodgers."

"These hieroglyphics have evidently a meaning. If it is a purely

arbitrary one, it may be impossible for us to solve it. If, on the other

hand, it is systematic, I have no doubt that we shall get to the bottom

of it. But this particular sample is so short that I can do nothing, and

the facts which you have brought me are so indefinite that we have no

basis for an investigation. I would suggest that you return to Norfolk,

that you keep a keen lookout, and that you take an exact copy of any

fresh dancing men which may appear. It is a thousand pities that we

have not a reproduction of those which were done in chalk upon the

window-sill. Make a discreet inquiry also as to any strangers in the

neighbourhood. When you have collected some fresh evidence, come to me

again. That is the best advice which I can give you, Mr. Hilton Cubitt.

If there are any pressing fresh developments, I shall be always ready to

run down and see you in your Norfolk home."

The interview left Sherlock Holmes very thoughtful, and several times in

the next few days I saw him take his slip of paper from his notebook

and look long and earnestly at the curious figures inscribed upon it. He

made no allusion to the affair, however, until one afternoon a fortnight

or so later. I was going out when he called me back.

"You had better stay here, Watson."


"Because I had a wire from Hilton Cubitt this morning. You remember

Hilton Cubitt, of the dancing men? He was to reach Liverpool Street at

one-twenty. He may be here at any moment. I gather from his wire that

there have been some new incidents of importance."

We had not long to wait, for our Norfolk squire came straight from the

station as fast as a hansom could bring him. He was looking worried and

depressed, with tired eyes and a lined forehead.

"It's getting on my nerves, this business, Mr. Holmes," said he, as he

sank, like a wearied man, into an armchair. "It's bad enough to feel

that you are surrounded by unseen, unknown folk, who have some kind of

design upon you, but when, in addition to that, you know that it is just

killing your wife by inches, then it becomes as much as flesh and blood

can endure. She's wearing away under it--just wearing away before my


"Has she said anything yet?"

"No, Mr. Holmes, she has not. And yet there have been times when the

poor girl has wanted to speak, and yet could not quite bring herself

to take the plunge. I have tried to help her, but I daresay I did it

clumsily, and scared her from it. She has spoken about my old family,

and our reputation in the county, and our pride in our unsullied honour,

and I always felt it was leading to the point, but somehow it turned off

before we got there."

"But you have found out something for yourself?"

"A good deal, Mr. Holmes. I have several fresh dancing-men pictures for

you to examine, and, what is more important, I have seen the fellow."

"What, the man who draws them?"

"Yes, I saw him at his work. But I will tell you everything in order.

When I got back after my visit to you, the very first thing I saw next

morning was a fresh crop of dancing men. They had been drawn in chalk

upon the black wooden door of the tool-house, which stands beside the

lawn in full view of the front windows. I took an exact copy, and here

it is." He unfolded a paper and laid it upon the table. Here is a copy

of the hieroglyphics:

"Excellent!" said Holmes. "Excellent! Pray continue."

"When I had taken the copy, I rubbed out the marks, but, two mornings

later, a fresh inscription had appeared. I have a copy of it here:"

Holmes rubbed his hands and chuckled with delight.

"Our material is rapidly accumulating," said he.

"Three days later a message was left scrawled upon paper, and placed

under a pebble upon the sundial. Here it is. The characters are, as you

see, exactly the same as the last one. After that I determined to lie in

wait, so I got out my revolver and I sat up in my study, which overlooks

the lawn and garden. About two in the morning I was seated by the

window, all being dark save for the moonlight outside, when I heard

steps behind me, and there was my wife in her dressing-gown. She

implored me to come to bed. I told her frankly that I wished to see who

it was who played such absurd tricks upon us. She answered that it was

some senseless practical joke, and that I should not take any notice of


"'If it really annoys you, Hilton, we might go and travel, you and I,

and so avoid this nuisance.'

"'What, be driven out of our own house by a practical joker?' said I.

'Why, we should have the whole county laughing at us.'

"'Well, come to bed,' said she, 'and we can discuss it in the morning.'

"Suddenly, as she spoke, I saw her white face grow whiter yet in the

moonlight, and her hand tightened upon my shoulder. Something was moving

in the shadow of the tool-house. I saw a dark, creeping figure which

crawled round the corner and squatted in front of the door. Seizing my

pistol, I was rushing out, when my wife threw her arms round me and held

me with convulsive strength. I tried to throw her off, but she clung to

me most desperately. At last I got clear, but by the time I had opened

the door and reached the house the creature was gone. He had left a

trace of his presence, however, for there on the door was the very same

arrangement of dancing men which had already twice appeared, and which

I have copied on that paper. There was no other sign of the fellow

anywhere, though I ran all over the grounds. And yet the amazing thing

is that he must have been there all the time, for when I examined the

door again in the morning, he had scrawled some more of his pictures

under the line which I had already seen."

"Have you that fresh drawing?"

"Yes, it is very short, but I made a copy of it, and here it is."

Again he produced a paper. The new dance was in this form:

"Tell me," said Holmes--and I could see by his eyes that he was much

excited--"was this a mere addition to the first or did it appear to be

entirely separate?"

"It was on a different panel of the door."

"Excellent! This is far the most important of all for our purpose. It

fills me with hopes. Now, Mr. Hilton Cubitt, please continue your most

interesting statement."

"I have nothing more to say, Mr. Holmes, except that I was angry with

my wife that night for having held me back when I might have caught the

skulking rascal. She said that she feared that I might come to harm. For

an instant it had crossed my mind that perhaps what she really feared

was that HE might come to harm, for I could not doubt that she knew who

this man was, and what he meant by these strange signals. But there is a

tone in my wife's voice, Mr. Holmes, and a look in her eyes which forbid

doubt, and I am sure that it was indeed my own safety that was in her

mind. There's the whole case, and now I want your advice as to what I

ought to do. My own inclination is to put half a dozen of my farm lads

in the shrubbery, and when this fellow comes again to give him such a

hiding that he will leave us in peace for the future."

"I fear it is too deep a case for such simple remedies," said Holmes.

"How long can you stay in London?"

"I must go back to-day. I would not leave my wife alone all night for

anything. She is very nervous, and begged me to come back."

"I daresay you are right. But if you could have stopped, I might

possibly have been able to return with you in a day or two. Meanwhile

you will leave me these papers, and I think that it is very likely that

I shall be able to pay you a visit shortly and to throw some light upon

your case."

Sherlock Holmes preserved his calm professional manner until our visitor

had left us, although it was easy for me, who knew him so well, to see

that he was profoundly excited. The moment that Hilton Cubitt's broad

back had disappeared through the door my comrade rushed to the table,

laid out all the slips of paper containing dancing men in front of him,

and threw himself into an intricate and elaborate calculation. For

two hours I watched him as he covered sheet after sheet of paper with

figures and letters, so completely absorbed in his task that he had

evidently forgotten my presence. Sometimes he was making progress and

whistled and sang at his work; sometimes he was puzzled, and would sit

for long spells with a furrowed brow and a vacant eye. Finally he sprang

from his chair with a cry of satisfaction, and walked up and down the

room rubbing his hands together. Then he wrote a long telegram upon a

cable form. "If my answer to this is as I hope, you will have a very

pretty case to add to your collection, Watson," said he. "I expect that

we shall be able to go down to Norfolk tomorrow, and to take our friend

some very definite news as to the secret of his annoyance."

I confess that I was filled with curiosity, but I was aware that Holmes

liked to make his disclosures at his own time and in his own way, so I

waited until it should suit him to take me into his confidence.

But there was a delay in that answering telegram, and two days of

impatience followed, during which Holmes pricked up his ears at every

ring of the bell. On the evening of the second there came a letter from

Hilton Cubitt. All was quiet with him, save that a long inscription had

appeared that morning upon the pedestal of the sundial. He inclosed a

copy of it, which is here reproduced:

Holmes bent over this grotesque frieze for some minutes, and then

suddenly sprang to his feet with an exclamation of surprise and dismay.

His face was haggard with anxiety.

"We have let this affair go far enough," said he. "Is there a train to

North Walsham to-night?"

I turned up the time-table. The last had just gone.

"Then we shall breakfast early and take the very first in the morning,"

said Holmes. "Our presence is most urgently needed. Ah! here is our

expected cablegram. One moment, Mrs. Hudson, there may be an answer. No,

that is quite as I expected. This message makes it even more essential

that we should not lose an hour in letting Hilton Cubitt know how

matters stand, for it is a singular and a dangerous web in which our

simple Norfolk squire is entangled."

So, indeed, it proved, and as I come to the dark conclusion of a story

which had seemed to me to be only childish and bizarre, I experience

once again the dismay and horror with which I was filled. Would that I

had some brighter ending to communicate to my readers, but these are the

chronicles of fact, and I must follow to their dark crisis the strange

chain of events which for some days made Riding Thorpe Manor a household

word through the length and breadth of England.

We had hardly alighted at North Walsham, and mentioned the name of our

destination, when the station-master hurried towards us. "I suppose that

you are the detectives from London?" said he.

A look of annoyance passed over Holmes's face.

"What makes you think such a thing?"

"Because Inspector Martin from Norwich has just passed through. But

maybe you are the surgeons. She's not dead--or wasn't by last accounts.

You may be in time to save her yet--though it be for the gallows."

Holmes's brow was dark with anxiety.

"We are going to Riding Thorpe Manor," said he, "but we have heard

nothing of what has passed there."

"It's a terrible business," said the stationmaster. "They are shot, both

Mr. Hilton Cubitt and his wife. She shot him and then herself--so the

servants say. He's dead and her life is despaired of. Dear, dear, one

of the oldest families in the county of Norfolk, and one of the most


Without a word Holmes hurried to a carriage, and during the long seven

miles' drive he never opened his mouth. Seldom have I seen him so

utterly despondent. He had been uneasy during all our journey from

town, and I had observed that he had turned over the morning papers with

anxious attention, but now this sudden realization of his worst fears

left him in a blank melancholy. He leaned back in his seat, lost in

gloomy speculation. Yet there was much around to interest us, for we

were passing through as singular a countryside as any in England, where

a few scattered cottages represented the population of to-day, while on

every hand enormous square-towered churches bristled up from the flat

green landscape and told of the glory and prosperity of old East Anglia.

At last the violet rim of the German Ocean appeared over the green edge

of the Norfolk coast, and the driver pointed with his whip to two old

brick and timber gables which projected from a grove of trees. "That's

Riding Thorpe Manor," said he.

As we drove up to the porticoed front door, I observed in front of it,

beside the tennis lawn, the black tool-house and the pedestalled sundial

with which we had such strange associations. A dapper little man, with

a quick, alert manner and a waxed moustache, had just descended from a

high dog-cart. He introduced himself as Inspector Martin, of the Norfolk

Constabulary, and he was considerably astonished when he heard the name

of my companion.

"Why, Mr. Holmes, the crime was only committed at three this morning.

How could you hear of it in London and get to the spot as soon as I?"

"I anticipated it. I came in the hope of preventing it."

"Then you must have important evidence, of which we are ignorant, for

they were said to be a most united couple."

"I have only the evidence of the dancing men," said Holmes. "I will

explain the matter to you later. Meanwhile, since it is too late to

prevent this tragedy, I am very anxious that I should use the knowledge

which I possess in order to insure that justice be done. Will you

associate me in your investigation, or will you prefer that I should act


"I should be proud to feel that we were acting together, Mr. Holmes,"

said the inspector, earnestly.

"In that case I should be glad to hear the evidence and to examine the

premises without an instant of unnecessary delay."

Inspector Martin had the good sense to allow my friend to do things

in his own fashion, and contented himself with carefully noting the

results. The local surgeon, an old, white-haired man, had just come down

from Mrs. Hilton Cubitt's room, and he reported that her injuries were

serious, but not necessarily fatal. The bullet had passed through the

front of her brain, and it would probably be some time before she could

regain consciousness. On the question of whether she had been shot or

had shot herself, he would not venture to express any decided opinion.

Certainly the bullet had been discharged at very close quarters. There

was only the one pistol found in the room, two barrels of which had

been emptied. Mr. Hilton Cubitt had been shot through the heart. It was

equally conceivable that he had shot her and then himself, or that

she had been the criminal, for the revolver lay upon the floor midway

between them.

"Has he been moved?" asked Holmes.

"We have moved nothing except the lady. We could not leave her lying

wounded upon the floor."

"How long have you been here, Doctor?"

"Since four o'clock."

"Anyone else?"

"Yes, the constable here."

"And you have touched nothing?"


"You have acted with great discretion. Who sent for you?"

"The housemaid, Saunders."

"Was it she who gave the alarm?"

"She and Mrs. King, the cook."

"Where are they now?"

"In the kitchen, I believe."

"Then I think we had better hear their story at once."

The old hall, oak-panelled and high-windowed, had been turned into a

court of investigation. Holmes sat in a great, old-fashioned chair, his

inexorable eyes gleaming out of his haggard face. I could read in them

a set purpose to devote his life to this quest until the client whom he

had failed to save should at last be avenged. The trim Inspector Martin,

the old, gray-headed country doctor, myself, and a stolid village

policeman made up the rest of that strange company.

The two women told their story clearly enough. They had been aroused

from their sleep by the sound of an explosion, which had been followed

a minute later by a second one. They slept in adjoining rooms, and Mrs.

King had rushed in to Saunders. Together they had descended the stairs.

The door of the study was open, and a candle was burning upon the table.

Their master lay upon his face in the centre of the room. He was quite

dead. Near the window his wife was crouching, her head leaning against

the wall. She was horribly wounded, and the side of her face was red

with blood. She breathed heavily, but was incapable of saying anything.

The passage, as well as the room, was full of smoke and the smell of

powder. The window was certainly shut and fastened upon the inside. Both

women were positive upon the point. They had at once sent for the

doctor and for the constable. Then, with the aid of the groom and the

stable-boy, they had conveyed their injured mistress to her room. Both

she and her husband had occupied the bed. She was clad in her dress--he

in his dressing-gown, over his night-clothes. Nothing had been moved in

the study. So far as they knew, there had never been any quarrel between

husband and wife. They had always looked upon them as a very united


These were the main points of the servants' evidence. In answer to

Inspector Martin, they were clear that every door was fastened upon the

inside, and that no one could have escaped from the house. In answer to

Holmes, they both remembered that they were conscious of the smell of

powder from the moment that they ran out of their rooms upon the top

floor. "I commend that fact very carefully to your attention," said

Holmes to his professional colleague. "And now I think that we are in a

position to undertake a thorough examination of the room."

The study proved to be a small chamber, lined on three sides with books,

and with a writing-table facing an ordinary window, which looked out

upon the garden. Our first attention was given to the body of the

unfortunate squire, whose huge frame lay stretched across the room. His

disordered dress showed that he had been hastily aroused from sleep.

The bullet had been fired at him from the front, and had remained in

his body, after penetrating the heart. His death had certainly been

instantaneous and painless. There was no powder-marking either upon his

dressing-gown or on his hands. According to the country surgeon, the

lady had stains upon her face, but none upon her hand.

"The absence of the latter means nothing, though its presence may

mean everything," said Holmes. "Unless the powder from a badly fitting

cartridge happens to spurt backward, one may fire many shots without

leaving a sign. I would suggest that Mr. Cubitt's body may now be

removed. I suppose, Doctor, you have not recovered the bullet which

wounded the lady?"

"A serious operation will be necessary before that can be done. But

there are still four cartridges in the revolver. Two have been fired and

two wounds inflicted, so that each bullet can be accounted for."

"So it would seem," said Holmes. "Perhaps you can account also for the

bullet which has so obviously struck the edge of the window?"

He had turned suddenly, and his long, thin finger was pointing to a hole

which had been drilled right through the lower window-sash, about an

inch above the bottom.

"By George!" cried the inspector. "How ever did you see that?"

"Because I looked for it."

"Wonderful!" said the country doctor. "You are certainly right, sir.

Then a third shot has been fired, and therefore a third person must have

been present. But who could that have been, and how could he have got


"That is the problem which we are now about to solve," said Sherlock

Holmes. "You remember, Inspector Martin, when the servants said that on

leaving their room they were at once conscious of a smell of powder, I

remarked that the point was an extremely important one?"

"Yes, sir; but I confess I did not quite follow you."

"It suggested that at the time of the firing, the window as well as the

door of the room had been open. Otherwise the fumes of powder could not

have been blown so rapidly through the house. A draught in the room was

necessary for that. Both door and window were only open for a very short

time, however."

"How do you prove that?"

"Because the candle was not guttered."

"Capital!" cried the inspector. "Capital!

"Feeling sure that the window had been open at the time of the tragedy,

I conceived that there might have been a third person in the affair, who

stood outside this opening and fired through it. Any shot directed at

this person might hit the sash. I looked, and there, sure enough, was

the bullet mark!"

"But how came the window to be shut and fastened?"

"The woman's first instinct would be to shut and fasten the window. But,

halloa! What is this?"

It was a lady's hand-bag which stood upon the study table--a trim little

handbag of crocodile-skin and silver. Holmes opened it and turned

the contents out. There were twenty fifty-pound notes of the Bank of

England, held together by an india-rubber band--nothing else.

"This must be preserved, for it will figure in the trial," said Holmes,

as he handed the bag with its contents to the inspector. "It is now

necessary that we should try to throw some light upon this third bullet,

which has clearly, from the splintering of the wood, been fired from

inside the room. I should like to see Mrs. King, the cook, again. You

said, Mrs. King, that you were awakened by a LOUD explosion. When you

said that, did you mean that it seemed to you to be louder than the

second one?"

"Well, sir, it wakened me from my sleep, so it is hard to judge. But it

did seem very loud."

"You don't think that it might have been two shots fired almost at the

same instant?"

"I am sure I couldn't say, sir."

"I believe that it was undoubtedly so. I rather think, Inspector Martin,

that we have now exhausted all that this room can teach us. If you will

kindly step round with me, we shall see what fresh evidence the garden

has to offer."

A flower-bed extended up to the study window, and we all broke into an

exclamation as we approached it. The flowers were trampled down, and the

soft soil was imprinted all over with footmarks. Large, masculine feet

they were, with peculiarly long, sharp toes. Holmes hunted about among

the grass and leaves like a retriever after a wounded bird. Then, with

a cry of satisfaction, he bent forward and picked up a little brazen


"I thought so," said he, "the revolver had an ejector, and here is the

third cartridge. I really think, Inspector Martin, that our case is

almost complete."

The country inspector's face had shown his intense amazement at the

rapid and masterful progress of Holmes's investigation. At first he

had shown some disposition to assert his own position, but now he was

overcome with admiration, and ready to follow without question wherever

Holmes led.

"Whom do you suspect?" he asked.

"I'll go into that later. There are several points in this problem which

I have not been able to explain to you yet. Now that I have got so far,

I had best proceed on my own lines, and then clear the whole matter up

once and for all."

"Just as you wish, Mr. Holmes, so long as we get our man."

"I have no desire to make mysteries, but it is impossible at the moment

of action to enter into long and complex explanations. I have the

threads of this affair all in my hand. Even if this lady should never

recover consciousness, we can still reconstruct the events of last night

and insure that justice be done. First of all, I wish to know whether

there is any inn in this neighbourhood known as 'Elrige's'?"

The servants were cross-questioned, but none of them had heard of such a

place. The stable-boy threw a light upon the matter by remembering that

a farmer of that name lived some miles off, in the direction of East


"Is it a lonely farm?"

"Very lonely, sir."

"Perhaps they have not heard yet of all that happened here during the


"Maybe not, sir."

Holmes thought for a little, and then a curious smile played over his


"Saddle a horse, my lad," said he. "I shall wish you to take a note to

Elrige's Farm."

He took from his pocket the various slips of the dancing men. With these

in front of him, he worked for some time at the study-table. Finally he

handed a note to the boy, with directions to put it into the hands

of the person to whom it was addressed, and especially to answer no

questions of any sort which might be put to him. I saw the outside of

the note, addressed in straggling, irregular characters, very unlike

Holmes's usual precise hand. It was consigned to Mr. Abe Slaney, Elriges

Farm, East Ruston, Norfolk.

"I think, Inspector," Holmes remarked, "that you would do well to

telegraph for an escort, as, if my calculations prove to be correct, you

may have a particularly dangerous prisoner to convey to the county jail.

The boy who takes this note could no doubt forward your telegram. If

there is an afternoon train to town, Watson, I think we should do well

to take it, as I have a chemical analysis of some interest to finish,

and this investigation draws rapidly to a close."

When the youth had been dispatched with the note, Sherlock Holmes gave

his instructions to the servants. If any visitor were to call asking for

Mrs. Hilton Cubitt, no information should be given as to her condition,

but he was to be shown at once into the drawing-room. He impressed these

points upon them with the utmost earnestness. Finally he led the way

into the drawing-room, with the remark that the business was now out of

our hands, and that we must while away the time as best we might until

we could see what was in store for us. The doctor had departed to his

patients, and only the inspector and myself remained.

"I think that I can help you to pass an hour in an interesting and

profitable manner," said Holmes, drawing his chair up to the table,

and spreading out in front of him the various papers upon which were

recorded the antics of the dancing men. "As to you, friend Watson, I owe

you every atonement for having allowed your natural curiosity to remain

so long unsatisfied. To you, Inspector, the whole incident may appeal

as a remarkable professional study. I must tell you, first of all, the

interesting circumstances connected with the previous consultations

which Mr. Hilton Cubitt has had with me in Baker Street." He then

shortly recapitulated the facts which have already been recorded. "I

have here in front of me these singular productions, at which one

might smile, had they not proved themselves to be the forerunners of

so terrible a tragedy. I am fairly familiar with all forms of secret

writings, and am myself the author of a trifling monograph upon the

subject, in which I analyze one hundred and sixty separate ciphers,

but I confess that this is entirely new to me. The object of those who

invented the system has apparently been to conceal that these characters

convey a message, and to give the idea that they are the mere random

sketches of children.

"Having once recognized, however, that the symbols stood for letters,

and having applied the rules which guide us in all forms of secret

writings, the solution was easy enough. The first message submitted to

me was so short that it was impossible for me to do more than to say,

with some confidence, that the symbol XXX stood for E. As you are aware,

E is the most common letter in the English alphabet, and it predominates

to so marked an extent that even in a short sentence one would expect

to find it most often. Out of fifteen symbols in the first message, four

were the same, so it was reasonable to set this down as E. It is true

that in some cases the figure was bearing a flag, and in some cases not,

but it was probable, from the way in which the flags were distributed,

that they were used to break the sentence up into words. I accepted this

as a hypothesis, and noted that E was represented by XXX.

"But now came the real difficulty of the inquiry. The order of

the English letters after E is by no means well marked, and any

preponderance which may be shown in an average of a printed sheet may be

reversed in a single short sentence. Speaking roughly, T, A, O, I, N, S,

H, R, D, and L are the numerical order in which letters occur, but T,

A, O, and I are very nearly abreast of each other, and it would be an

endless task to try each combination until a meaning was arrived at.

I therefore waited for fresh material. In my second interview with Mr.

Hilton Cubitt he was able to give me two other short sentences and one

message, which appeared--since there was no flag--to be a single word.

Here are the symbols. Now, in the single word I have already got the

two E's coming second and fourth in a word of five letters. It might

be 'sever,' or 'lever,' or 'never.' There can be no question that

the latter as a reply to an appeal is far the most probable, and

the circumstances pointed to its being a reply written by the lady.

Accepting it as correct, we are now able to say that the symbols stand

respectively for N, V, and R.

"Even now I was in considerable difficulty, but a happy thought put me

in possession of several other letters. It occurred to me that if these

appeals came, as I expected, from someone who had been intimate with the

lady in her early life, a combination which contained two E's with

three letters between might very well stand for the name 'ELSIE.' On

examination I found that such a combination formed the termination of

the message which was three times repeated. It was certainly some appeal

to 'Elsie.' In this way I had got my L, S, and I. But what appeal could

it be? There were only four letters in the word which preceded 'Elsie,'

and it ended in E. Surely the word must be 'COME.' I tried all other

four letters ending in E, but could find none to fit the case. So now I

was in possession of C, O, and M, and I was in a position to attack the

first message once more, dividing it into words and putting dots for

each symbol which was still unknown. So treated, it worked out in this


.M .ERE ..E SL.NE.

"Now the first letter CAN only be A, which is a most useful discovery,

since it occurs no fewer than three times in this short sentence, and

the H is also apparent in the second word. Now it becomes:


Or, filling in the obvious vacancies in the name:


I had so many letters now that I could proceed with considerable

confidence to the second message, which worked out in this fashion:


Here I could only make sense by putting T and G for the missing letters,

and supposing that the name was that of some house or inn at which the

writer was staying."

Inspector Martin and I had listened with the utmost interest to the full

and clear account of how my friend had produced results which had led to

so complete a command over our difficulties.

"What did you do then, sir?" asked the inspector.

"I had every reason to suppose that this Abe Slaney was an American,

since Abe is an American contraction, and since a letter from America

had been the starting-point of all the trouble. I had also every cause

to think that there was some criminal secret in the matter. The lady's

allusions to her past, and her refusal to take her husband into her

confidence, both pointed in that direction. I therefore cabled to my

friend, Wilson Hargreave, of the New York Police Bureau, who has more

than once made use of my knowledge of London crime. I asked him whether

the name of Abe Slaney was known to him. Here is his reply: 'The most

dangerous crook in Chicago.' On the very evening upon which I had his

answer, Hilton Cubitt sent me the last message from Slaney. Working with

known letters, it took this form:


The addition of a P and a D completed a message which showed me that the

rascal was proceeding from persuasion to threats, and my knowledge of

the crooks of Chicago prepared me to find that he might very rapidly

put his words into action. I at once came to Norfolk with my friend and

colleague, Dr. Watson, but, unhappily, only in time to find that the

worst had already occurred."

"It is a privilege to be associated with you in the handling of a case,"

said the inspector, warmly. "You will excuse me, however, if I speak

frankly to you. You are only answerable to yourself, but I have to

answer to my superiors. If this Abe Slaney, living at Elrige's, is

indeed the murderer, and if he has made his escape while I am seated

here, I should certainly get into serious trouble."

"You need not be uneasy. He will not try to escape."

"How do you know?"

"To fly would be a confession of guilt."

"Then let us go arrest him."

"I expect him here every instant."

"But why should he come."

"Because I have written and asked him."

"But this is incredible, Mr. Holmes! Why should he come because you

have asked him? Would not such a request rather rouse his suspicions and

cause him to fly?"

"I think I have known how to frame the letter," said Sherlock Holmes.

"In fact, if I am not very much mistaken, here is the gentleman himself

coming up the drive."

A man was striding up the path which led to the door. He was a tall,

handsome, swarthy fellow, clad in a suit of gray flannel, with a Panama

hat, a bristling black beard, and a great, aggressive hooked nose, and

flourishing a cane as he walked. He swaggered up a path as if as if

the place belonged to him, and we heard his loud, confident peal at the


"I think, gentlemen," said Holmes, quietly, "that we had best take up

our position behind the door. Every precaution is necessary when dealing

with such a fellow. You will need your handcuffs, Inspector. You can

leave the talking to me."

We waited in silence for a minute--one of those minutes which one can

never forget. Then the door opened and the man stepped in. In an instant

Holmes clapped a pistol to his head, and Martin slipped the handcuffs

over his wrists. It was all done so swiftly and deftly that the fellow

was helpless before he knew that he was attacked. He glared from one to

the other of us with a pair of blazing black eyes. Then he burst into a

bitter laugh.

"Well, gentlemen, you have the drop on me this time. I seem to have

knocked up against something hard. But I came here in answer to a letter

from Mrs. Hilton Cubitt. Don't tell me that she is in this? Don't tell

me that she helped to set a trap for me?"

"Mrs. Hilton Cubitt was seriously injured, and is at death's door."

The man gave a hoarse cry of grief, which rang through the house.

"You're crazy!" he cried, fiercely. "It was he that was hurt, not she.

Who would have hurt little Elsie? I may have threatened her--God forgive

me!--but I would not have touched a hair of her pretty head. Take it

back--you! Say that she is not hurt!"

"She was found badly wounded, by the side of her dead husband."

He sank with a deep groan on the settee and buried his face in his

manacled hands. For five minutes he was silent. Then he raised his face

once more, and spoke with the cold composure of despair.

"I have nothing to hide from you, gentlemen," said he. "If I shot the

man he had his shot at me, and there's no murder in that. But if you

think I could have hurt that woman, then you don't know either me or

her. I tell you, there was never a man in this world loved a woman more

than I loved her. I had a right to her. She was pledged to me years ago.

Who was this Englishman that he should come between us? I tell you that

I had the first right to her, and that I was only claiming my own.

"She broke away from your influence when she found the man that you

are," said Holmes, sternly. "She fled from America to avoid you, and she

married an honourable gentleman in England. You dogged her and followed

her and made her life a misery to her, in order to induce her to abandon

the husband whom she loved and respected in order to fly with you, whom

she feared and hated. You have ended by bringing about the death of a

noble man and driving his wife to suicide. That is your record in this

business, Mr. Abe Slaney, and you will answer for it to the law."

"If Elsie dies, I care nothing what becomes of me," said the American.

He opened one of his hands, and looked at a note crumpled up in his

palm. "See here, mister! he cried, with a gleam of suspicion in his

eyes, "you're not trying to scare me over this, are you? If the lady is

hurt as bad as you say, who was it that wrote this note?" He tossed it

forward on to the table.

"I wrote it, to bring you here."

"You wrote it? There was no one on earth outside the Joint who knew the

secret of the dancing men. How came you to write it?"

"What one man can invent another can discover," said Holmes. There is a

cab coming to convey you to Norwich, Mr. Slaney. But meanwhile, you have

time to make some small reparation for the injury you have wrought. Are

you aware that Mrs. Hilton Cubitt has herself lain under grave suspicion

of the murder of her husband, and that it was only my presence here, and

the knowledge which I happened to possess, which has saved her from the

accusation? The least that you owe her is to make it clear to the whole

world that she was in no way, directly or indirectly, responsible for

his tragic end."

"I ask nothing better," said the American. "I guess the very best case I

can make for myself is the absolute naked truth."

"It is my duty to warn you that it will be used against you," cried the

inspector, with the magnificent fair play of the British criminal law.

Slaney shrugged his shoulders.

"I'll chance that," said he. "First of all, I want you gentlemen to

understand that I have known this lady since she was a child. There were

seven of us in a gang in Chicago, and Elsie's father was the boss of the

Joint. He was a clever man, was old Patrick. It was he who invented that

writing, which would pass as a child's scrawl unless you just happened

to have the key to it. Well, Elsie learned some of our ways, but she

couldn't stand the business, and she had a bit of honest money of her

own, so she gave us all the slip and got away to London. She had been

engaged to me, and she would have married me, I believe, if I had taken

over another profession, but she would have nothing to do with anything

on the cross. It was only after her marriage to this Englishman that I

was able to find out where she was. I wrote to her, but got no answer.

After that I came over, and, as letters were no use, I put my messages

where she could read them.

"Well, I have been here a month now. I lived in that farm, where I had

a room down below, and could get in and out every night, and no one the

wiser. I tried all I could to coax Elsie away. I knew that she read the

messages, for once she wrote an answer under one of them. Then my temper

got the better of me, and I began to threaten her. She sent me a letter

then, imploring me to go away, and saying that it would break her heart

if any scandal should come upon her husband. She said that she would

come down when her husband was asleep at three in the morning, and speak

with me through the end window, if I would go away afterwards and leave

her in peace. She came down and brought money with her, trying to bribe

me to go. This made me mad, and I caught her arm and tried to pull

her through the window. At that moment in rushed the husband with his

revolver in his hand. Elsie had sunk down upon the floor, and we were

face to face. I was heeled also, and I held up my gun to scare him off

and let me get away. He fired and missed me. I pulled off almost at the

same instant, and down he dropped. I made away across the garden, and as

I went I heard the window shut behind me. That's God's truth, gentlemen,

every word of it, and I heard no more about it until that lad came

riding up with a note which made me walk in here, like a jay, and give

myself into your hands."

A cab had driven up whilst the American had been talking. Two uniformed

policemen sat inside. Inspector Martin rose and touched his prisoner on

the shoulder.

"It is time for us to go."

"Can I see her first?"

"No, she is not conscious. Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I only hope that if ever

again I have an important case, I shall have the good fortune to have

you by my side."

We stood at the window and watched the cab drive away. As I turned back,

my eye caught the pellet of paper which the prisoner had tossed upon the

table. It was the note with which Holmes had decoyed him.

"See if you can read it, Watson," said he, with a smile.

It contained no word, but this little line of dancing men:

"If you use the code which I have explained," said Holmes, "you will

find that it simply means 'Come here at once.' I was convinced that

it was an invitation which he would not refuse, since he could never

imagine that it could come from anyone but the lady. And so, my dear

Watson, we have ended by turning the dancing men to good when they have

so often been the agents of evil, and I think that I have fulfilled my

promise of giving you something unusual for your notebook. Three-forty

is our train, and I fancy we should be back in Baker Street for dinner."

Only one word of epilogue. The American, Abe Slaney, was condemned to

death at the winter assizes at Norwich, but his penalty was changed to

penal servitude in consideration of mitigating circumstances, and the

certainty that Hilton Cubitt had fired the first shot. Of Mrs. Hilton

Cubitt I only know that I have heard she recovered entirely, and that

she still remains a widow, devoting her whole life to the care of the

poor and to the administration of her husband's estate.