One late morning near the end of July 1898, I was sitting in our living room at 221B Baker Street, thinking deeply. My friend and roommate, the famous detective Sherlock Holmes, was at his experiment table in the corner. He was studying a green, bad-smelling substance in a test tube.

"Watson," he said suddenly, "you are not going to invest your money in that South African gold mine."

I was very surprised. I knew my friend was good at making logical guesses, but I did not know he could read minds.

"How did you know that?" I asked.

He put his test tube on the rack and turned to face me. "Admit you're amazed," he said.

"I admit it," I replied.

"Good," he smiled, "because in five minutes you'll tell me it was all very simple. I work, Watson, by making a chain of small guesses, each one simple by itself. Then, by jumping to the end, I reach a conclusion that can seem surprising. I knew you had decided against investing in South African gold by looking at the groove between your left forefinger and thumb."

"I don’t understand," I said, looking at that part of my hand and shaking my head in confusion.

"Then I will show you how I figured it out," said Holmes. "First: you had chalk between your left finger and thumb when you came back from your club last night. Second: you use chalk when you play billiards to steady the cue. Third: you only play billiards with Thurston. Fourth: four weeks ago, you told me Thurston had asked if you wanted to join him in buying shares in a South African gold mine and gave you a month to decide. Fifth: your accounts book is locked in my drawer, and you haven’t asked for the key. Sixth: you’ve decided not to invest."

"How simple!" I exclaimed.

"Exactly," sighed Holmes. "Every problem seems simple once it is explained. Now, here’s something I can’t explain. What do you think of this, Watson?" He tossed a piece of paper onto the coffee table and went back to his test tube.

I frowned at the paper, which had been torn from a notebook. It showed a line of little stick figures in different poses. "Why, it’s just a child’s drawing," I said.

"Oh, do you think so?"

"What else could it be?"

"That is what the man who sent it to me wants to know," said Holmes. "He is Mr. Hilton Cubitt of Ridling Thorpe Manor in Norfolk. It arrived in this morning’s mail, and he promised to come by the next train ... Ah, there’s the doorbell now. I wouldn’t be surprised if that was him."

There was a heavy step on the stairs, and a moment later, a tall man with pink cheeks and serious blue eyes came into the room.

After shaking our hands, he noticed the paper on the table. “What do you think, Mr. Holmes?” he asked. “I’ve heard you like strange mysteries, and I can’t think of one stranger than this.”

“At first glance,” said Holmes, “it looks like a childish prank. What I don’t understand is why you’re so worried about it.”

“I wouldn’t be,” said Cubitt, “except I’ve seen how it affects my wife. It’s scaring her terribly. She says nothing, but I can see the fear in her eyes. That’s why I need to find out what’s going on.”

“Maybe,” suggested Holmes, “it would be best if you told your story from the beginning.”

I offered our visitor a chair, and after hesitating a bit, he began his story: “I am not rich, but I come from a very old and respectable family in Norfolk. Last year, I came to London for the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee. Staying at my hotel was an American lady named Elsie Patrick. We became friends, and before my month-long visit ended, we were very much in love.

“Elsie told me she had some bad experiences in her life. She wouldn’t talk about them because they were too painful. All she said was that she had done nothing she was personally ashamed of. She hoped that if we got married, I would let her stay silent about her past. If not, she would understand, and we should part ways.

“I told her I loved and trusted her and promised never to ask her about her past. After a quiet wedding in London, we went back to Norfolk. It may seem risky for a man in my position to marry someone with a complicated, mysterious past, but I saw a goodness and honesty in Elsie that made me believe in her.

“We’ve been married a year now and we’ve been very happy. But about a month ago, at the end of June, I saw the first sign of trouble. One day, Elsie received a letter from America. She turned very pale when she saw the postmark. After reading the letter, she threw it into the fire. She didn’t mention it afterward and neither did I, because a promise is a promise. But from that day on, there’s been a look of fear on her face, as if she’s expecting something awful to happen.”

"Now I'll tell you the strangest part of my story. Last Tuesday morning, I found a line of silly little dancing figures, like these ones on the paper, on one of the windowsills at my house. They were drawn there with chalk. I thought maybe the stable boy had drawn them, but he swore he didn't. After I had them cleaned off, I told my wife about it. To my surprise, she got even more worried and told me that if any more of these figures appeared, I should show them to her.

"Yesterday morning, I found this paper lying on the sundial in the garden. I showed it to Elsie, and she almost fainted. That’s when I decided to send the paper to you, Mr. Holmes. I thought the police might laugh at me, but I had a feeling that you would take this seriously."

"Don’t you think, Mr. Cubitt,” said Holmes, “that your best plan would be to talk to your wife and ask her to share her secret with you?”

Cubitt shook his head. “I promised not to ask her about her past, and I’m not going to break it.”

“I understand,” nodded Holmes. “Tell me, have any strangers been seen in your local area recently?”

“No. And in our quiet village, any new face would be noticed.”

“These dancing men clearly mean something,” said Holmes, “but this sample is too small to understand. I suggest you go back home and keep an eye out for any strangers. If you see any more dancing men, make copies and bring them to me. That's the best advice I can give you for now, Mr. Cubitt.”

The meeting with Mr. Hilton Cubitt left Sherlock Holmes in a thoughtful mood, and several times over the next few days I saw him take the slip of paper from his notebook and stare at the strange figures written on it.

We didn’t talk about it again until one afternoon about two weeks later when Cubitt returned. He looked very worried. “This problem is getting to me, Mr. Holmes,” he said, sitting down tiredly. “It’s bad enough feeling like you're surrounded by an unseen enemy, but it's worse knowing it's slowly hurting my wife. She's getting thinner from worry, right before my eyes.”

“Has she said anything yet?”

“No. Sometimes she seems like she wants to talk, but she can’t quite bring herself to. I've tried to reassure her—told her she wouldn't find a better friend if she ever wanted to talk—but fear keeps her silent.”

“Have you found out anything yourself?” asked Holmes.

“Yes, indeed. The morning after my visit to you, I found a new set of dancing men, drawn in chalk on the door of the toolshed. Here's a copy.” He put a piece of paper on the table. "This is what they looked like...

“Excellent!” said Holmes. “Please continue.”

“After making the copy, I erased the marks. Two mornings later, a new set appeared in the same place. Here's my copy..."

Holmes looked pleased. “Our sample is growing quickly,” he said.

“Three days later, I found this piece of paper under a stone on the sundial. The characters are exactly the same as the last one.

“After that, I decided to try to catch the person drawing these. So, I took out my gun and sat in my study by the window that looks over the garden and the toolshed. At two in the morning, my wife came in and begged me to come to bed, but I refused, telling her I had to see who was leaving these messages.”

“She said it was just a silly joke and I should ignore it. ‘Come to bed, my darling,’ she begged, ‘and we can talk about it tomorrow.’ But while she was talking, her face suddenly went pale, and she gripped my shoulder tightly. Something was moving in the shadow of the toolshed. I saw a dark figure creeping around the corner and squatting in front of the door.

“Grabbing my gun, I started to run out of the room, but my wife hugged me, stopping me. By the time I managed to push her away and get to the toolshed, the intruder was gone. But he left a sign. There on the door were the same dancing men that had appeared twice before.

“I searched the area but found no trace of him. However, he must have stayed there all that time because the next morning I found more figures drawn on the door, below the first ones. Here's my copy. It’s shorter…”

Holmes seemed very interested in this new set. “Was it added to the first group of dancing men, or did it seem completely separate?” he asked.

“It was on a different part of the door.”

“Excellent! This is the most important discovery yet. It gives me hope. Please continue your story, Mr. Cubitt.”

“I have nothing more to say, Mr. Holmes, except that I was mad at my wife for holding me back when I could have caught the villain. She said she was afraid I might get hurt. But for a moment, I wondered if her real fear was for the intruder’s safety, because I was sure she knew this man and understood what he meant by these strange symbols. But her look made me realize I was being foolish and she only cared about my safety.”

“How long can you stay in London?” asked Holmes.

“I have to go back today. I won’t leave my wife alone all night for anything. Mr. Holmes, what can we do?”

“Leave these papers with me. I think I will be able to visit you soon and shed some light on your case.”

Sherlock Holmes remained calm and professional until our visitor left.