THE STRAND MAGAZINE
                   Vol. 26  DECEMBER, 1903
                THE RETURN OF SHERLOCK HOLMES.
                    By ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE.



III. --- 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 grey 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."

"Why?"

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

"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 goldfields."

"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 cheque-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 object?"

"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 note-book.  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 pocket-book.

"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 Ridling 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 a 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 understand.

"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 word.

"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 sun-dial 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 her."

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?"

"No."

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

"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 look-out, 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 note-book 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."

"Why?"

"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 arm-chair.  "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 eyes."

"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 dare say I did it clumsily, and scared her off 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 sun-dial.  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 it.

"`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 dare say 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 to-morrow, 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 sun-dial.  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 Ridling 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 Ridling Thorpe Manor," said he, "but we have
heard nothing of what has passed there."

"It's a terrible business," said the station-master.  "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 honoured."

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 country-side 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 Ridling 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 sun-dial 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 ensure that
justice be done.  Will you associate me in your investigation,
or will you prefer that I should act independently?"

"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?"

"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,
grey-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 couple.

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 backwards, 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 away?"

"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 has 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 hand-bag 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, and 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 cylinder.

"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 ensure 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 Ruston.

"Is it a lonely farm?"

"Very lonely, sir."

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

"Maybe not, sir."

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

"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, Elrige's 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 gaol.  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 fore-runners 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 recognised, 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

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 

"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 fashion:--

        .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:--

        AM  HERE  A.E  SLANE.

Or, filling in the obvious vacancies in the name:--

        AM  HERE  ABE  SLANEY.

I had so many letters now that I could proceed with considerable
confidence to the second message, which worked out in this
fashion:--

        A.  ELRI.ES.

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:--

         ELSIE  .RE.ARE  TO  MEET  THY  GO.

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 to 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 grey 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 the path as if the place belonged to him,
and we heard his loud, confident peal at the bell.

"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 to 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 forwards 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 note-book.  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.