1903
SHERLOCK HOLMES
THE ADVENTURE OF THE DANCING MEN
by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
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."
"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 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 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 notebook. The markings were done in pencil, and
ran in this way:
-
(See illustration.)
-
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 boardinghouse 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, knawing 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 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 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 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."
"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 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 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 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:
-
(See illustration.)
-
"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":
-
(See illustration.)
-
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
dressinggown. 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:
-
(See illustration.)
-
"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. 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:
-
(See illustration.)
-
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 stationmaster 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 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 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 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, 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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, 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 [of the stickman
with both arms extended up in the air]
-
-
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 [the stickman with
both arms extended up in the air]
"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 [of the stickman with right hand on his hip, left
arm raised and knees bent, stickman with leg extended to the left, and
stickman with both arms raised in the air and left leg extended.]
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 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 striding up the path which led to the door. He was a tall,
handsome, swarthy fellow, clad in a suit of 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 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 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:
-
(See illustration.)
-
"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.
-
-
-THE END-