a child asking

questions of its teacher.

"well, i don't think that is very hard to explain. a very

deep, malicious, vindictive person is the gentleman who is

now awaiting us downstairs. you know that he was once

refused by mcfarlane's mother? you don't! i told you that

you should go to blackheath first and norwood afterwards.

well, this injury, as he would consider it, has rankled in

his wicked, scheming brain, and all his life he has longed

for vengeance, but never seen his chance. during the last

year or two things have gone against him -- secret

speculation, i think -- and he finds himself in a bad way.

he determines to swindle his creditors, and for this

purpose he pays large cheques to a certain mr. cornelius,

who is, i imagine, himself under another name. i have not

traced these cheques yet, but i have no doubt that they

were banked under that name at some provincial town where

oldacre from time to time led a double existence. he

intended to change his name altogether, draw this money,

and vanish, starting life again elsewhere."

"well, that's likely enough."

"it would strike him that in disappearing he might throw

all pursuit off his track, and at the same time have an

ample and crushing revenge upon his old sweetheart, if he

could give the impression that he had been murdered by her

only child. it was a masterpiece of villainy, and he

carried it out like a master. the idea of the will, which

would give an obvious motive for the crime, the secret

visit unknown to his own parents, the retention of the

stick, the blood, and the animal remains and buttons in the

wood-pile, all were admirable. it was a net from which it

seemed to me a few hours ago that there was no possible

escape. but he had not that supreme gift of the artist,

the knowledge of when to stop. he wished to improve that

which was already perfect -- to draw the rope tighter yet

round the neck of his unfortunate victim -- and so he

ruined all. let us descend, lestrade. there are just one

or two questions that i would ask him."

the malignant creature was seated in his own parlour with a

policeman upon each side of him.

"it was a joke, my good sir, a practical joke, nothing

more," he whined incessantly. "i assure you, sir, that i

simply concealed myself in order to see the effect of my

disappearance, and i am sure that you would not be so

unjust as to imagine that i would have allowed any harm to

befall poor young mr. mcfarlane."

"that's for a jury to decide," said lestrade. "anyhow, we

shall have you on a charge of conspiracy, if not for

attempted murder."

"and you'll probably find that your creditors will impound

the banking account of mr. cornelius," said holmes.

the little man started and turned his malignant eyes upon

my friend.

"i have to thank you for a good deal," said he. "perhaps

i'll pay my debt some day."

holmes smiled indulgently.

"i fancy that for some few years you will find your time

very fully occupied," said he. "by the way, what was it

you put into the wood-pile besides your old trousers? a

dead dog, or rabbits, or what? you won't tell? dear me,

how very unkind of you! well, well, i dare say that a

couple of rabbits would account both for the blood and for

the charred ashes. if ever you write an account, watson,

you can make rabbits serve your turn."

{--------------------------------------------------------}

{----------------- end of text --------------------------}

{--------------------------------------------------------}

{---------------- textual notes -------------------------}

{source: the strand magazine 26 (nov. 1903)}

{1} {the entire newspaper article is in a smaller type-face,}

{while the letters "ater" in "later" are in small caps}

{2} {lestrade's telegram is in small caps}

{--------------------------------------------------------}

{-------------- end textual notes -----------------------}

{--------------------------------------------------------}

{danc, rev 4, 1/17/96 rms, 3rd proofing}

{the adventure of the dancing men, arthur conan doyle}

{source: the strand magazine, 26 (dec. 1903)}

{etext prepared by roger squires rsquires@nmia.com}

{braces({}) in the text indicate textual end-notes}

{underscores (_) in the text indicate italics}

iii. -- the adventure of the dancing men.

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 grey 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 t