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:--