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" 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, of Riding Thorpe Manor,
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."
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.


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