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.