8 Although Friesland is located in the Netherlands, the S.S. Friesland was actually of Belgian registry. The transatlantic passenger liner was owned and operated by the Red Star line, carrying scores of emigrants from Antwerp to New York throughout the 1890s. In 1903, supplanted by faster, larger steamships, she was transferred to charter service between Liverpool and Philadelphia and was finally scrapped in 1912. Christopher Morley, who sailed on the Friesland from Philadelphia to Liverpool in September 1910, described her as “a beauty, a smart little Red Star liner.” Several scholars point out that in Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Lost World, it was the S.S. Friesland, a Dutch-American liner, that sighted Professor George Edward Challenger’s pterodactyl when it escaped from the Queen’s Hall.
9 “Now this really was swift work in the Telegraph office,” John Hyslop writes.”The murder took place, said the newspaper, last night or in the early morning. Yet here was the Telegraph with a full story . . .”
10 These were a large office block in the City, located off Throgmorton Street and apparently named after Sir Thomas Gresham (1518/19–1579), English merchant, financier, and founder of the Royal Exchange. “Gresham’s law”—the principle that “bad money drives out good”—was not formulated by him but named after him.
11 In the manuscript, the phrase is “a most curious expression which certainly seemed to be more threatening than benevolent.”
12 British law requires two witnesses to be present at the signing of a will; thus, with only the clerk to serve as witness, Oldacre’s will would have been invalid. Perhaps McFarlane supposed himself to be the second witness, which, as S. T. L. Harbottle points out, would also have rendered much of the will null and void (under the Wills Act, 1837), since McFarlane was a primary beneficiary of the will he was purportedly witnessing. Conjecturing that McFarlane could either have made a mistake or have intended to deceive Oldacre, Harbottle comes down on the side of the latter, conjecturing that McFarlane conspired with a relative who would benefit from an intestacy. “I fear McFarlane deliberately planned that the will should be ineffective,” writes Harbottle. “The fact that it was written on blue paper (at that time universally used for drafts and not for final copies or engrossments) then assumes a sinister significance.” The will of Elias Openshaw in “The Five Orange Pips” must also must have suffered from “witness” problems. Apparently “Fordham, the Horsham lawyer” and McFarlane had similar gaps in their training.
Conversely, D. Martin Dakin proposes that there was no error, but that there might have been another witness present (“a clerk from a neighbouring office, or the caretaker”) whom McFarlane simply did not mention. Michael Waxenberg also argues that under the Forfeiture Act of 1870, one could still inherit money or property after being arrested or convicted of a felony. Only in 1911 did English courts rule that a murderer could not benefit from killing his benefactor. “So, in 1895, it would have been possible, in theory, for McFarlane to murder Oldacre and still inherit from him. Thereafter, if McFarlane were hanged for the murder, his property would pass to his heirs. If McFarlane were acquitted, he would be free to enjoy the harvest of his inheritance.”
In the United States, modern laws do not automatically invalidate a will witnessed by an interested party. First, there may be other, disinterested witnesses present. And the fact that a will is witnessed by a beneficiary (such as McFarlane) merely creates the presumption that he or she acted fraudulently or exerted undue influence. If the suspected party can prove that there was no conflict of interest, then the presumption may be overcome.
13 Watson’s notes are confused at this point, for he has deleted from the manuscript the following, which appeared after the word “housekeeper”: “ ‘A bad shot that, Mr. McFarlane,’ said Lestrade, with a cynical smile. ‘Jonas Oldacre is well known as a woman hater, he has no servant except an old Charwoman who comes in for two hours every morning, and he gets all his meals at the Station restaurant. I warn you again that you are only making a bad case worse and this will all come up against you.’ Our unfortunate Client had turned a ghastly colour, and he looked from one to the other of us like a hunted creature. Twice he tried to speak but his dry lips would utter no sound. At last with an effort he was able to continue his statement. ‘I am speaking to you, Mr. Holmes. You will find out how far I am speaking the truth. I was shown into a sitting room . . .’ ”
14 Lower Norwood and Blackheath, Christopher Morley estimates, are only four miles from each other. “It has always bothered me,” he comments in “Clinical Notes by a Resident Patient,” “why could not the unhappy John Hector McFarlane get back from Lower Norwood to Blackheath that night?” McFarlane mentions later in his narrative that he and Jonas Oldacre completed their business “between eleven and twelve.” It is possible that McFarlane may have thought this “very late,” but considering the short distance to his parents’ house, spending the night in a hotel seems like an unnecessary exercise and expense.
15 According to Donald A. Redmond, “This was the imprint of Hyam & Co. Ltd, tailors, etc., of 134-140 Oxford Street, and of Birmingham, Wolverhampton and Leeds—one of what the duke of Plaza-Toro referred to as ‘those pressing prevailers, the ready-made tailors.’ A gentleman would patronize Bond Street and Savile Row, not Oxford Street; which tells something about the character of Oldacre.”
16 Did Holmes, in 1894, plan that he would require the public to be “patient” until 1903, when “The Norwood Builder” was published?
17 See “Sherlock Holmes and Fingerprinting,” page 860.
18 Several scholars complain that it should have been a simple matter for investigators to distinguish rabbit bones from human bones (if, indeed, a rabbit was the animal cast upon the fire). The report only mentioned “remains” lying in the ashes, but a wood-pile certainly could not have generated a fire that burned long enough or hot enough to melt bones, human or otherwise.
THE ADVENTURE OF THE DANCING MEN1
When Hilton Cubitt hires Sherlock Holmes to discover his wife’s secret past, Holmes must decipher the message of “The Dancing Men.” Some would rank this case as one of Holmes’s few failures, for he is unable to prevent tragedy; yet he does bring the criminal to justice. Although Americans figure in numerous cases, only twice before had Watson written of an American criminal (in A Study in Scarlet and “The Five Orange Pips”). The case, with its mention of Holmes’s friend Wilson Hargreave of the New York Police Bureau, hints that Holmes may have been to America himself. Conan Doyle had travelled there for lecture tours, and the play “Angels of Darkness” suggests that Watson, too, spent some time in America. Here we also learn a bit more about Watson: his friend Thurston, his fondness for billiards, and his apparent spendthrift nature. The cipher itself has been the subject of extensive study, by professional and amateur cryptanalysts as well as Sherlockians, and its ingenuity and originality make Dr. Watson’s tale a perennial favourite.
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?”2
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.”
&n
bsp; “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 thumb3 when you returned from the club4 last night. 2. You put chalk there when you play billiards to steady the cue. 3. You never play billiards except with Thurston.5 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,6 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,7 of Ridling Thorpe Manor,8 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.”
The United Service Club.
Queen’s London (1897)
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.”
“What do you make of these?”
Frederick Dorr Steele, Collier’s, 1903
“Holmes held up the paper.”
Sidney Paget, Strand Magazine, 1903
“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:
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 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,9 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.
The Queen’s carriage leaving the Quadrangle, Buckingham Palace,as the Jubilee procession commences (1897).
Queen’s London (1897)
Russell Square.
Queen’s London (1897)
“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,10 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, st
raight, 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 New Annotated Sherlock Holmes: The Complete Short Stories: The Return of Sherlock Holmes, His Last Bow and The Case-Book of Sherlock Holmes (Non-slipcased edition) (Vol. 2) (The Annotated Books) Page 11