I had called upon my friend Sherlock Holmes
upon the
second morning after Christmas, with the intention
of wishing
him the compliments of the season. He was lounging
upon the
sofa in a purple dressing-gown, a pipe-rack within
his reach
upon the right, and a pile of crumpled morning papers,
evidently
newly studied, near at hand. Beside the couch was
a wooden
chair, and on the angle of the back hung a very seedy
and
disreputable hard-felt hat, much the worse for wear,
and cracked
in several places. A lens and a forceps lying upon
the seat of the
chair suggested that the hat had been suspended in
this manner
for the purpose of examination.
"You are engaged," said l; "perhaps I interrupt
you."
"Not at all. I am glad to have a friend with
whom I can
discuss my results. The matter is a perfectly trivial
one" -- he
jerked his thumb in the direction of the old hat --
"but there are
points in connection with it which are not entirely
devoid of
interest and even of instruction."
I seated myself in his armchair and warmed
my hands before
his crackling fire, for a sharp frost had set in,
and the windows
were thick with the ice crystals. "I suppose," I remarked,
"that,
homely as it looks, this thing has some deadly story
linked on to
it -- that it is the clue which will guide you in
the solution of
some mystery and the punishment of some crime."
"No, no. No crime," said Sherlock Holmes, laughing.
"Only
one of those whimsical little incidents which will
happen when
you have four million human beings all jostling each
other within
the space of a few square miles. Amid the action and
reaction of
so dense a swarm of humanity, every possible combination
of
events may be expected to take place, and many a little
problem
will be presented which may be striking and bizarre
without
being criminal. We have already had experience of
such."
"So much so," l remarked, "that of the last
six cases which I
have added to my notes, three have been entirely free
of any
legal crime."
"Precisely. You allude to my attempt to recover
the Irene
Adler papers, to the singular case of Miss Mary Sutherland,
and
to the adventure of the man with the twisted lip.
Well, I have no
doubt that this small matter will fall into the same
innocent
category. You know Peterson, the commissionaire?"
"Yes."
"It is to him that this trophy belongs."
"It is his hat."
"No, no, he found it. Its owner is unknown.
I beg that you
will look upon it not as a battered billycock but
as an intellectual
problem. And, first, as to how it came here. It arrived
upon
Christmas morning, in company with a good fat goose,
which is,
I have no doubt, roasting at this moment in front
of Peterson's
fire. The facts are these: about four o'clock on Christmas
morn-
ing, Peterson, who, as you know, is a very honest
fellow, was
returning from some small jollification and was making
his way
homeward down Tottenham Court Road. In front of him
he saw,
in the gaslight, a tallish man, walking with a slight
stagger, and
carrying a white goose slung over his shoulder. As
he reached
the corner of Goodge Street, a row broke out between
this
stranger and a little knot of roughs. One of the latter
knocked off
the man's hat, on which he raised his stick to defend
himself
and, swinging it over his head, smashed the shop window
behind
him. Peterson had rushed forward to protect the stranger
from his
assailants; but the man, shocked at having broken
the window,
and seeing an official-looking person in uniform rushing
towards
him, dropped his goose, took to his heels, and vanished
amid the
labyrinth of small streets which lie at the back of
Tottenham
Court Road. The roughs had also fled at the appearance
of
Peterson, so that he was left in possession of the
field of battle,
and also of the spoils of victory in the shape of
this battered hat
and a most unimpeachable Christmas goose."
"Which surely he restored to their owner?"
"My dear fellow, there lies the problem. It
is true that 'For
Mrs. Henry Baker' was printed upon a small card which
was tied
to the bird's left leg, and it is also true that the
initials 'H. B.'
are legible upon the lining of this hat, but as there
are some
thousands of Bakers, and some hundreds of Henry Bakers
in this
city of ours, it is not easy to restore lost property
to any one of
them."
"What, then, did Peterson do?"
"He brought round both hat and goose to me
on Christmas
morning, knowing that even the smallest problems are
of interest
to me. The goose we retained until this morning, when
there
were signs that, in spite of the slight frost, it
would be well that
it should be eaten without unnecessary delay. Its
finder has
carried it off, therefore, to fulfil the ultimate
destiny of a goose,
while I continue to retain the hat of the unknown
gentleman who
lost his Christmas dinner."
"Did he not advertise?"
"No."
"Then, what clue could you have as to his identity?"
"Only as much as we can deduce."
"From his hat?"
"Precisely."
"But you are joking. What can you gather from
this old
battered felt?"
"Here is my lens. You know my methods. What
can you
gather yourself as to the individuality of the man
who has worn
this article?"
I took the tattered object in my hands and
turned it over rather
ruefully. It was a very ordinary black hat of the
usual round
shape, hard and much the worse for wear. The lining
had been of
red silk, but was a good deal discoloured. There was
no maker's
name; but, as Holmes had remarked, the initials "H.
B." were
scrawled upon one side. It was pierced in the brim
for a hat-
securer, but the elastic was missing. For the rest,
it was cracked,
exceedingly dusty, and spotted in several places,
although there
seemed to have been some attempt to hide the discoloured
patches by smearing them with ink.
"I can see nothing," said I, handing it back
to my friend.
"On the contrary, Watson, you can see everything.
You fail,
however, to reason from what you see. You are too
timid in
drawing your inferences."
"Then, pray tell me what it is that you can
infer from this
hat?"
He picked it up and gazed at it in the peculiar
introspective
fashion which was characteristic of him. "It is perhaps
less
suggestive than it might have been," he remarked,
"and yet
there are a few inferences which are very distinct,
and a few
others which represent at least a strong balance of
probability.
That the man was highly intellectual is of course
obvious upon
the face of it, and also that he was fairly well-to-do
within the
last three years, although he has now fallen upon
evil days. He
had foresight, but has less now than formerly, pointing
to a
moral retrogression, which, when taken with the decline
of his
fortunes, seems to indicate some evil influence, probably
drink,
at work upon him. This may account also for the obvious
fact
that his wife has ceased to love him."
"My dear Holmes!"
"He has, however, retained some degree of self-respect,"
he
continued, disregarding my remonstrance. "He is a
man who
leads a sedentary life, goes out little, is out of
training entirely,
is middle-aged, has grizzled hair which he has had
cut within the
last few days, and which he anoints with lime-cream.
These are
the more patent facts which are to be deduced from
his hat.
Also, by the way, that it is extremely improbable
that he has gas
laid on in his house."
"You are certainly joking, Holmes."
"Not in the least. Is it possible that even
now, when I give
you these results, you are unable to see how they
are attained?"
"I have no doubt that I am very stupid, but
I must confess that
I am unable to follow you. For example, how did you
deduce
that this man was intellectual?"
For answer Holmes clapped the hat upon his
head. It came
right over the forehead and settled upon the bridge
of his nose.
"It is a question of cubic capacity," said he; "a
man with so
large a brain must have something in it."
"The decline of his fortunes, then?"
"This hat is three years old. These flat brims
curled at the
edge came in then. It is a hat of the very best quality.
Look at
the band of ribbed silk and the excellent lining.
If this man could
afford to buy so expensive a hat three years ago,
and has had no
hat since, then he has assuredly gone down in the
world."
"Well, that is clear enough, certainly. But
how about the
foresight and the moral retrogression?"
Sherlock Holmes laughed. "Here is the foresight,"
said he
putting his finger upon the little disc and loop of
the hat-securer.
"They are never sold upon hats. If this man ordered
one, it is a
sign of a certain amount of foresight, since he went
out of his
way to take this precaution against the wind. But
since we see
that he has broken the elastic and has not troubled
to replace it, it
is obvious that he has less foresight now than formerly,
which is
a distinct proof of a weakening nature. On the other
hand, he has
endeavoured to conceal some of these stains upon the
felt by
daubing them with ink, which is a sign that he has
not entirely
lost his self-respect."
"Your reasoning is certainly plausible."
"The further points, that he is middle-aged,
that his hair is
grizzled, that it has been recently cut, and that
he uses lime-
cream, are all to be gathered from a close examination
of the
lower part of the lining. The lens discloses a large
number of
hair-ends, clean cut by the scissors of the barber.
They all appear
to be adhesive, and there is a distinct odour of lime-cream.
This
dust, you will observe, is not the gritty, gray dust
of the street
but the fluffy brown dust of the house, showing that
it has been
hung up indoors most of the time, while the marks
of moisture
upon the inside are proof positive that the wearer
perspired very
freely, and could therefore, hardly be in the best
of training."
"But his wife -- you said that she had ceased
to love him."
"This hat has not been brushed for weeks. When
I see you,
my dear Watson, with a week's accumulation of dust
upon your
hat, and when your wife allows you to go out in such
a state, I
shall fear that you also have been unfortunate enough
to lose
your wife's affection."
"But he might be a bachelor."
"Nay, he was bringing home the goose as a peace-offering
to
his wife. Remember the card upon the bird's leg."
"You have an answer to everything. But how
on earth do you
deduce that the gas is not laid on in his house?"
"One tallow stain, or even two, might come
by chance; but
when I see no less than five, I think that there can
be little doubt
that the individual must be brought into frequent
contact with
burning tallow -- walks upstairs at night probably
with his hat in
one hand and a guttering candle in the other. Anyhow,
he never
got tallow-stains from a gasjet. Are you satisfied?"
"Well, it is very ingenious," said I, laughing;
"but since, as
you said just now, there has been no crime committed,
and no
harm done save the loss of a goose, all this seems
to be rather a
waste of energy."
Sherlock Holmes had opened his mouth to reply,
when the
door flew open, and Peterson, the commissionaire,
rushed into
the apartment with flushed cheeks and the face of
a man who is
dazed with astonishment.
"The goose, Mr. Holmes! The goose, sir!" he
gasped.
"Eh? What of it, then? Has it returned to life
and flapped off
through the kitchen window?" Holmes twisted himself
round
upon the sofa to get a fairer view of the man's excited
face.
"See here, sir! See what my wife found in its
crop!" He held
out his hand and displayed upon the centre of the
palm a
brilliantly scintillating blue stone, rather smaller
than a bean in
size, but of such purity and radiance that it twinkled
like an
electric point in the dark hollow of his hand.
Sherlock Holmes sat up with a whistle. "By
Jove, Peterson!"
said he, "this is treasure trove indeed. I suppose
you know what
you have got?"
"A diamond, sir? A precious stone. It cuts
into glass as
though it were putty."
"It's. more than a precious stone. It is the
precious stone."
"Not the Countess of Morcar's blue carbuncle!"
I ejaculated.
"Precisely so. l ought to know its size and
shape, seeing that I
have read the advertisement about it in The Times
every day
lately. It is absolutely unique, and its value can
only be conjec-
tured, but the reward offered of 1000 pounds is certainly
not within a
twentieth part of the market price."
"A thousand pounds! Great Lord of mercy!" The
commis-
sionaire plumped down into a chair and stared from
one to the
other of us.
"That is the reward, and I have reason to know
that there are
sentimental considerations in the background which
would in-
duce the Countess to part with half her fortune if
she could but
recover the gem."
"It was lost, if I remember aright, at the
Hotel Cosmopoli-
tan," I remarked.
"Precisely so, on December 22d, just five days
ago. John
Horner, a plumber, was accused of having abstracted
it from the
lady's jewel-case. The evidence against him was so
strong that
the case has been referred to the Assizes. I have
some account of
the matter here, I believe." He rummaged amid his
newspapers,
glancing over the dates, until at last he smoothed
one out,
doubled it over, and read the following paragraph:
"Hotel Cosmopolitan Jewel Robbery. John Horner, 26,
plumber, was brought up upon the charge of having upon
the 22d inst., abstracted from the jewel-case of the Countess
of Morcar the valuable gem known as the blue carbuncle.
James Ryder, upper-attendant at the hotel, gave his evi-
dence to the effect that he had shown Horner up to the
dressing-room of the Countess of Morcar upon the day of
the robbery in order that he might solder the second bar of
the grate, which was loose. He had remained with Horner
some little time, but had finally been called away. On
returning, he found that Horner had disappeared, that the
bureau had been forced open, and that the small morocco
casket in which, as it afterwards transpired, the Countess
was accustomed to keep her jewel, was lying empty upon
the dressing-table. Ryder instantly gave the alarm, and Horner
was arrested the same evening; but the stone could not be
found either upon his person or in his rooms. Catherine
Cusack, maid to the Countess, deposed to having heard
Ryder's cry of dismay on discovering the robbery, and to
having rushed into the room, where she found matters as
described by the last witness. Inspector Bradstreet, B divi-
sion, gave evidence as to the arrest of Horner, who strug-
gled frantically, and protested his innocence in the strongest
terms. Evidence of a previous conviction for robbery having
been given against the prisoner, the magistrate refused to
deal summarily with the offence, but referred it to the
Assizes. Horner, who had shown signs of intense emotion
during the proceedings, fainted away at the conclusion and
was carried out of court.
"Hum! So much for the police-court," said Holmes
thought-
fully, tossing aside the paper. "The question for
us now to solve
is the sequence of events leading from a rifled jewel-case
at one
end to the crop of a goose in Tottenham Court Road
at the other.
You see, Watson, our little deductions have suddenly
assumed a
much more important and less innocent aspect. Here
is the stone;
the stone came from the goose, and the goose came
from Mr.
Henry Baker, the gentleman with the bad hat and all
the other
characteristics with which I have bored you. So now
we must set
ourselves very seriously to finding this gentleman
and ascertain-
ing what part he has played in this little mystery.
To do this, we
must try the simplest means first, and these lie undoubtedly
in an
advertisement in all the evening papers. If this fail,
I shall have
recourse to other methods."
"What will you say?"
"Give me a pencil and that slip of paper. Now,
then:
"Found at
the corner of Goodge Street, a goose and a
black felt hat. Mr.
Henry Baker can have the same by
applying at 6:30 this
evening at 221B, Baker Street.
That is clear and concise."
"Very. But will he see it?"
"Well, he is sure to keep an eye on the papers,
since, to a
poor man, the loss was a heavy one. He was clearly
so scared by
his mischance in breaking the window and by the approach
of
Peterson that he thought of nothing but flight, but
since then he
must have bitterly regretted the impulse which caused
him to
drop his bird. Then, again, the introduction of his
name will
cause him to see it, for everyone who knows him will
direct his
attention to it. Here you are, Peterson, run down
to the advertis-
ing agency and have this put in the evening papers."
"In which, sir?"
"Oh, in the Clobe, Star, Pall Mall, St. James's,
Evening
News Standard, Echo, and any others that occur to
you."
"Very well, sir. And this stone?"
"Ah, yes, I shall keep the stone. Thank you.
And, I say,
Peterson, just buy a goose on your way back and leave
it here
with me, for we must have one to give to this gentleman
in place
of the one which your family is now devouring."
When the commissionaire had gone, Holmes took
up the stone
and held it against the light. "It's a bonny thing,"
said he. "Just
see how it glints and sparkles. Of course it is a
nucleus and focus
of crime. Every good stone is. They are the devil's
pet baits. In
the larger and older jewels every facet may stand
for a bloody
deed. This stone is not yet twenty years old. It was
found in the
banks of the Amoy River in southem China and is remarkable
in
having every characteristic of the carbuncle, save
that it is blue
in shade instead of ruby red. In spite of its youth,
it has already a
sinister history. There have been two murders, a vitriol-throwing,
a suicide, and several robberies brought about for
the sake of this
forty-grain weight of crystallized charcoal. Who would
think that
so pretty a toy would be a purveyor to the gallows
and the
prison? I'll lock it up in my strong box now and drop
a line to
the Countess to say that we have it."
"Do you think that this man Horner is innocent?"
"I cannot tell."
"Well, then, do you imagine that this other
one, Henry Baker,
had anything to do with the matter?"
"It is, I think, much more likely that Henry
Baker is an
absolutely innocent man, who had no idea that the
bird which he
was carrying was of considerably more value than if
it were
made of solid gold. That, however, I shall determine
by a very
simple test if we have an answer to our advertisement."
"And you can do nothing until then?"
"Nothing. "
"In that case I shall continue my professional
round. But I
shall come back in the evening at the hour you have
mentioned,
for I should like to see the solution of so tangled
a business."
"Very glad to see you. I dine at seven. There
is a woodcock, I
believe. By the way, in view of recent occurrences,
perhaps I
ought to ask Mrs. Hudson to examine its crop."
I had been delayed at a case, and it was a
little after half-past
six when I found myself in Baker Street once more.
As I
approached the house I saw a tall man in a Scotch
bonnet with a
coat which was buttoned up to his chin waiting outside
in the
bright semicircle which was thrown from the fanlight.
Just as l
arrived the door was opened, and we were shown up
together to
Holmes's room.
"Mr. Henry Baker, I believe," said he, rising
from his armchair
and greeting his visitor with the easy air of geniality
which he
could so readily assume. "Pray take this chair by
the fire, Mr.
Baker. It is a cold night, and I observe that your
circulation is
more adapted for summer than for winter. Ah, Watson,
you have
just come at the right time. Is that your hat, Mr.
Baker?"
"Yes, sir, that is undoubtedly my hat."
He was a large man with rounded shoulders,
a massive head,
and a broad, intelligent face, sloping down to a pointed
beard of
grizzled brown. A touch of red in nose and cheeks,
with a slight
tremor of his extended hand, recalled Holmes's surmise
as to his
habits. His rusty black frock-coat was buttoned right
up in front,
with the collar turned up, and his lank wrists protruded
from his
sleeves without a sign of cuff or shirt. He spoke
in a slow
staccato fashion, choosing his words with care, and
gave the
impression generally of a man of learning and letters
who had
had ill-usage at the hands of fortune.
"We have retained these things for some days,"
said Holmes,
"because we expected to see an advertisement from
you giving
your address. I am at a loss to know now why you did
not
advertise."
Our visitor gave a rather shamefaced laugh.
"Shillings have
not been so plentiful with me as they once were,"
he remarked.
"I had no doubt that the gang of roughs who assaulted
me had
carried off both my hat and the bird. I did not care
to spend more
money in a hopeless attempt at recovering them."
"Very naturally. By the way, about the bird,
we were com-
pelled to eat it."
"To eat it!" Our visitor half rose from his
chair in his
excitement.
"Yes, it would have been of no use to anyone
had we not
done so. But I presume that this other goose upon
the sideboard,
which is about the same weight and perfectly fresh,
will answer
your purpose equally well?"
"Oh, certainly, certainly," answered Mr. Baker
with a sigh of
relief.
"Of course, we still have the feathers, legs,
crop, and so on of
your own bird, so if you wish --"
The man burst into a hearty laugh. "They might
be useful to
me as relics of my adventure," said he, "but beyond
that I can
hardly see what use the disjecta membra of my late
acquaintance
are going to be to me. No, sir, I think that, with
your permis-
sion, I will confine my attentions to the excellent
bird which I
perceive upon the sideboard."
Sherlock Holmes glanced sharply across at me
with a slight
shrug of his shoulders.
"There is your hat, then, and there your bird,"
said he. "By
the way, would it bore you to tell me where you got
the other
one from? I am somewhat of a fowl fancier, and I have
seldom
seen a better grown goose."
"Certainly, sir," said Baker, who had risen
and tucked his
newly gained property under his arm. "There are a
few of us
who frequent the Alpha Inn, near the Museum -- we
are to be
found in the Museum itself during the day, you understand.
This
year our good host, Windigate by name, instituted
a goose club,
by which, on consideration of some few pence every
week, we
were each to receive a bird at Christmas. My pence
were duly
paid, and the rest is familiar to you. I am much indebted
to you,
sir, for a Scotch bonnet is fitted neither to my years
nor my
gravity." With a comical pomposity of manner he bowed
sol-
emnly to both of us and strode off upon his way.
"So much for Mr. Henry Baker," said Holmes
when he had
closed the door behind him. "It is quite certain that
he knows
nothing whatever about the matter. Are you hungry,
Watson?"
"Not particularly."
"Then I suggest that we turn our dinner into
a supper and
follow up this clue while it is still hot."
"By all means."
It was a bitter night, so we drew on our ulsters
and wrapped
cravats about our throats. Outside, the stars were
shining coldly
in a cloudless sky, and the breath of the passers-by
blew out into
smoke like so many pistol shots. Our footfalls rang
out crisply
and loudly as we swung through the doctors' quarter,
Wimpole
Street, Harley Street, and so through Wigmore Street
into Ox-
ford Street. In a quarter of an hour we were in Bloomsbury
at the
Alpha Inn, which is a small public-house at the corner
of one of
the streets which runs down into Holborn. Holmes pushed
open
the door of the private bar and ordered two glasses
of beer from
the ruddy-faced, white-aproned landlord.
"Your beer should be excellent if it is as
good as your
geese," said he.
"My geese!" The man seemed surprised.
"Yes. I was speaking only half an hour ago
to Mr. Henry
Baker, who was a member of your goose club."
"Ah! yes, I see. But you see, sir, them's not
our geese."
"Indeed! Whose, then?"
"Well, I got the two dozen from a salesman
in Covent Garden."
"Indeed? I know some of them. Which was it?"
"Breckinridge is his name."
"Ah! I don't know him. Well, here's your good
health
landlord, and prosperity to your house. Good-night.
"Now for Mr. Breckinridge," he continued, buttoning
up his
coat as we came out into the frosty air. "Remember,
Watson
that though we have so homely a thing as a goose at
one end of
this chain, we have at the other a man who will certainly
get
seven years' penal servitude unless we can establish
his inno-
cence. It is possible that our inquiry may but confirm
his guilt
but, in any case, we have a line of investigation
which has been
missed by the police, and which a singular chance
has placed in
our hands. Let us follow it out to the bitter end.
Faces to the
south, then, and quick march!"
We passed across Holborn, down Endell Street,
and so through
a zigzag of slums to Covent Garden Market. One of
the largest
stalls bore the name of Breckinridge upon it, and
the proprietor
a horsy-looking man, with a sharp face and trim side-whiskers
was helping a boy to put up the shutters.
"Good-evening. It's a cold night," said Holmes.
The salesman nodded and shot a questioning
glance at my
companion.
"Sold out of geese, I see," continued Holmes,
pointing at the
bare slabs of marble.
"Let you have five hundred to-morrow morning."
"That's no good."
"Well, there are some on the stall with the
gas-flare."
"Ah, but I was recommended to you."
"Who by?"
"The landlord of the Alpha."
"Oh, yes; I sent him a couple of dozen."
"Fine birds they were, too. Now where did you
get them
from?"
To my surprise the question provoked a burst
of anger from
the salesman.
"Now, then, mister," said he, with his head
cocked and his
arms akimbo, "what are you driving at? Let's have
it straight,
now."
"It is straight enough. I should like to know
who sold you the
geese which you supplied to the Alpha."
"Well then, I shan't tell you. So now!"
"Oh, it is a matter of no importance; but I
don't know why
you should be so warm over such a trifle."
"Warm! You'd be as warm, maybe, if you were
as pestered
as I am. When I pay good money for a good article
there should
be an end of the business; but it's 'Where are the
geese?' and
'Who did you sell the geese to?' and 'What will you
take for the
geese?' One would think they were the only geese in
the world,
to hear the fuss that is made over them."
"Well, I have no connection with any other
people who have
been making inquiries," said Holmes carelessly. "If
you won't
tell us the bet is off, that is all. But I'm always
ready to back my
opinion on a matter of fowls, and I have a fiver on
it that the bird
I ate is country bred."
"Well, then, you've lost your fiver, for it's
town bred,"
snapped the salesman.
"It's nothing of the kind."
"I say it is."
"I don't believe it."
"D'you think you know more about fowls than
I, who have
handled them ever since I was a nipper? I tell you,
all those birds
that went to the Alpha were town bred."
"You'll never persuade me to believe that."
"Will you bet, then?"
"It's merely taking your money, for I know
that I am right.
But I'll have a sovereign on with you, just to teach
you not to be
obstinate."
The salesman chuckled grimly. "Bring me the
books, Bill,"
said he.
The small boy brought round a small thin volume
and a great
greasy-backed one, laying them out together beneath
the hanging
lamp.
"Now then, Mr. Cocksure," said the salesman,
"I thought
that I was out of geese, but before I finish you'll
find that there
is still one left in my shop. You see this little
book?"
"Well?"
"That's the list of the folk from whom I buy.
D'you see?
Well, then, here on this page are the country folk,
and the
numbers after their names are where their accounts
are in the big
ledger. Now, then! You see this other page in red
ink? Well, that
is a list of my town suppliers. Now, look at that
third name. Just
read it out to me."
"Mrs. Oakshott, 117, Brixton Road -- 249,"
read Holmes.
"Quite so. Now turn that up in the ledger."
Holmes turned to the page indicated. "Here
you are, 'Mrs.
Oakshott, 117, Brixton Road, egg and poultry supplier."
"Now, then, what's the last entry?"
" 'December 22d. Twenty-four geese at 7s. 6d.'
"
"Quite so. There you are. And underneath?"
" 'Sold to Mr. Windigate of the Alpha, at 12s.'
"
"What have you to say now?"
Sherlock Holmes looked deeply chagrined. He
drew a sover-
eign from his pocket and threw it down upon the slab,
turning
away with the air of a man whose disgust is too deep
for words.
A few yards off he stopped under a lamp-post and laughed
in the
hearty, noiseless fashion which was peculiar to him.
"When you see a man with whiskers of that cut
and the
'Pink 'un' protruding out of his pocket, you can always
draw him
by a bet," said he. "I daresay that if I had put lOO
pounds down in
front of him, that man would not have given me such
complete
information as was drawn from him by the idea that
he was
doing me on a wager. Well, Watson, we are, I fancy,
nearing
the end of our quest, and the only point which remains
to be
determined is whether we should go on to this Mrs.
Oakshott
to-night, or whether we should reserve it for to-morrow.
It is
clear from what that surly fellow said that there
are others
besides ourselves who are anxious about the matter,
and I
should --"
His remarks were suddenly cut short by a loud
hubbub which
broke out from the stall which we had just left. Turning
round
we saw a little rat-faced fellow standing in the centre
of the
circle of yellow light which was thrown by the swinging
lamp,
while Breckinridge, the salesman, framed in the door
of his stall,
was shaking his fists fiercely at the cringing figure.
"I've had enough of you and your geese," he
shouted. "I
wish you were all at the devil together. If you come
pestering me
any more with your silly talk I'll set the dog at
you. You bring
Mrs. Oakshott here and I'll answer her, but what have
you to do
with it? Did I buy the geese off you?"
"No; but one of them was mine all the same,"
whined the
little man.
"Well, then, ask Mrs. Oakshott for it."
"She told me to ask you."
"Well, you can ask the King of Proosia, for
all I care. I've
had enough of it. Get out of this!" He rushed fiercely
forward,
and the inquirer flitted away into the darkness.
"Ha! this may save us a visit to Brixton Road,"
whispered
Holmes. "Come with me, and we will see what is to
be made of
this fellow." Striding through the scattered knots
of people who
lounged round the flaring stalls, my companion speedily
over-
took the little man and touched him upon the shoulder.
He
sprang round, and I could see in the gas-light that
every vestige
of colour had been driven from his face.
"Who are you, then? What do you want?" he asked
in a
quavering voice.
"You will excuse me," said Holmes blandly,
"but I could not
help overhearing the questions which you put to the
salesman
just now. I think that I could be of assistance to
you."
"You? Who are you? How could you know anything
of the
matter?"
"My name is Sherlock Holmes. It is my business
to know
what other people don't know."
"But you can know nothing of this?"
"Excuse me, I know everything of it. You are
endeavouring
to trace some geese which were sold by Mrs. Oakshott,
of
Brixton Road, to a salesman named Breckinridge, by
him in turn
to Mr. Windigate, of the Alpha, and by him to his
club, of
which Mr. Henry Baker is a member."
"Oh, sir, you are the very man whom I have
longed to meet,"
cried the little fellow with outstretched hands and
quivering
fingers. "I can hardly explain to you how interested
I am in this
matter."
Sherlock Holmes hailed a four-wheeler which
was passing.
"In that case we had better discuss it in a cosy room
rather than
in this wind-swept market-place," said he. "But pray
tell me,
before we go farther, who it is that I have the pleasure
of
assisting."
The man hesitated for an instant. "My name
is John Robin-
son," he answered with a sidelong glance.
"No, no; the real name," said Holmes sweetly.
"It is always
awkward doing business with an alias."
A flush sprang to the white cheeks of the stranger.
"Well
then," said he, "my real name is James Ryder."
"Precisely so. Head attendant at the Hotel
Cosmopolitan. Pray
step into the cab, and I shall soon be able to tell
you everything
which you would wish to know."
The little man stood glancing from one to the
other of us with
half-frightened, half-hopeful eyes, as one who is
not sure whether
he is on the verge of a windfall or of a catastrophe.
Then he
stepped into the cab, and in half an hour we were
back in the
sitting-room at Baker Street. Nothing had been said
during our
drive, but the high, thin breathing of our new companion,
and
the claspings and unclaspings of his hands, spoke
of the nervous
tension within him.
"Here we are!" said Holmes cheerily as we filed
into the
room. "The fire looks very seasonabe in this weather.
You look
cold, Mr. Ryder. Pray take the basket-chair. I will
just put on my
slippers before we settle this little matter of yours.
Now, then!
You want to know what became of those geese?"
"Yes, sir."
"Or rather, I fancy, of that goose. It was
one bird, I imagine
in which you were interested -- white, with a black
bar across the
tail."
Ryder quivered with emotion. "Oh, sir," he
cried, "can you
tell me where it went to?"
"It came here."
"Here?"
"Yes, and a most remarkable bird it proved.
I don't wonder
that you should take an interest in it. It laid an
egg after it was
dead -- the bonniest, brightest little blue egg that
ever was seen. I
have it here in my museum."
Our visitor staggered to his feet and clutched
the mantelpiece
with his right hand. Holmes unlocked his strong-box
and held up
the blue carbuncle, which shone out like a star, with
a cold
brilliant, many-pointed radiance. Ryder stood glaring
with a
drawn face, uncertain whether to claim or to disown
it.
"The game's up, Ryder," said Holmes quietly.
"Hold up,
man, or you'll be into the fire! Give him an arm back
into his
chair, Watson. He's not got blood enough to go in
for felony
with impunity. Give him a dash of brandy. So! Now
he looks a
little more human. What a shrimp it is, to be sure!"
For a moment he had staggered and nearly fallen,
but the
brandy brought a tinge of colour into his cheeks,
and he sat
staring with frightened eyes at his accuser.
"I have almost every link in my hands, and
all the proofs
which I could possibly need, so there is little which
you need tell
me. Still, that little may as well be cleared up to
make the case
complete. You had heard, Ryder, of this blue stone
of the
Countess of Morcar's?"
"It was Catherine Cusack who told me of it,"
said he in a
crackling voice.
"I see -- her ladyship's waiting-maid. Well,
the temptation of
sudden wealth so easily acquired was too much for
you, as it has
been for better men before you; but you were not very
scrupu-
lous in the means you used. It seems to me, Ryder,
that there is
the making of a very pretty villain in you. You knew
that this
man Horner, the plumber, had been concerned in some
such
matter before, and that suspicion would rest the more
readily
upon him. What did you do, then? You made some small
job in
my lady's room -- you and your confederate Cusack
-- and you
managed that he should be the man sent for. Then,
when he had
left, you rifled the jewel-case, raised the alarm,
and had this
unfortunate man arrested. You then --"
Ryder threw himself down suddenly upon the
rug and clutched
at my companion's knees. "For God's sake, have mercy!"
he
shrieked. "Think of my father! of my mother! It would
break
their hearts. I never went wrong before! I never will
again. I
swear it. I'll swear it on a Bible. Oh, don't bring
it into court!
For Christ's sake, don't!"
"Get back into your chair!" said Holmes sternly.
"It is very
well to cringe and crawl now, but you thought little
enough of
this poor Horner in the dock for a crime of which
he knew
nothing."
"I will fly, Mr. Holmes. I will leave the country,
sir. Then
the charge against him will break down."
"Hum! We will talk about that. And now let
us hear a true
account of the next act. How came the stone into the
goose, and
how came the goose into the open market? Tell us the
truth, for
there lies your only hope of safety."
Ryder passed his tongue over his parched lips.
"I will tell you
it just as it happened, sir," said he. "When Horner
had been
arrested, it seemed to me that it would be best for
me to get
away with the stone at once, for I did not know at
what moment
the police might not take it into their heads to search
me and my
room. There was no place about the hotel where it
would be
safe. I went out, as if on some commission, and I
made for my
sister's house. She had married a man named Oakshott,
and
lived in Brixton Road, where she fattened fowls for
the market.
All the way there every man I met seemed to me to
be a
policeman or a detective; and, for all that it was
a cold night, the
sweat was pouring down my face before I came to the
Brixton
Road. My sister asked me what was the matter, and
why I was
so pale; but I told her that I had been upset by the
jewel robbery
at the hotel. Then I went into the back yard and smoked
a pipe
and wondered what it would be best to do.
"I had a friend once called Maudsley, who went
to the bad,
and has just been serving his time in Pentonville.
One day he had
met me, and fell into talk about the ways of thieves,
and how
they could get rid of what they stole. I knew that
he would be
true to me, for I knew one or two things about him;
so I made up
my mind to go right on to Kilburn, where he lived,
and take him
into my confidence. He would show me how to turn the
stone
into money. But how to get to him in safety? I thought
of the
agonies I had gone through in coming from the hotel.
I might at
any moment be seized and searched, and there would
be the
stone in my waistcoat pocket. I was leaning against
the wall at
the time and looking at the geese which were waddling
about
round my feet, and suddenly an idea came into my head
which
showed me how I could beat the best detective that
ever lived.
"My sister had told me some weeks before that
I might have
the pick of her geese for a Christmas present, and
I knew that
she was always as good as her word. I would take my
goose
now, and in it I would carry my stone to Kilburn.
There was a
little shed in the yard, and behind this I drove one
of the
birds -- a fine big one, white, with a barred tail.
I caught it, and
prying its bill open, I thrust the stone down its
throat as far as
my finger could reach. The bird gave a gulp, and I
felt the stone
pass along its gullet and down into its crop. But
the creature
flapped and struggled, and out came my sister to know
what was
the matter. As I turned to speak to her the brute
broke loose and
fluttered off among the others.
" 'Whatever were you doing with that bird,
Jem?' says she.
" 'Well,' said I, 'you said you'd give me one
for Christmas,
and I was feeling which was the fattest.'
" 'Oh,' says she, 'we've set yours aside for
you -- Jem's bird,
we call it. It's the big white one over yonder. There's
twenty-six
of them, which makes one for you, and one for us,
and two
dozen for the market.'
" 'Thank you, Maggie,' says l; 'but if it is
all the same to
you, I'd rather have that one I was handling just
now.'
" 'The other is a good three pound heavier,'
said she, 'and we
fattened it expressly for you.'
" 'Never mind. I'll have the other, and I'll
take it now,' said I.
" 'Oh, just as you like,' said she, a little
huffed. 'Which is it
you want, then?'
" 'That white one with the barred tail, right
in the middle of
the flock.'
" 'Oh, very well. Kill it and take it with
you.'
"Well, I did what she said, Mr. Holmes, and
I carried the bird
all the way to Kilburn. I told my pal what I had done,
for he was
a man that it was easy to tell a thing like that to.
He laughed
until he choked, and we got a knife and opened the
goose. My
heart turned to water, for there was no sign of the
stone, and I
knew that some terrible mistake had occurred. I left
the bird
rushed back to my sister's, and hurried into the back
yard.
There
was not a bird to be seen there.
" 'Where are they all, Maggie?' I cried.
" 'Gone to the dealer's, Jem.'
" 'Which dealer's?'
" 'Breckinridge, of Covent Garden.'
" 'But was there another with a barred tail?'
I asked, 'the
same as the one I chose?'
" 'Yes, Jem; there were two barred-tailed ones,
and I could
never tell them apart.'
"Well, then, of course I saw it all, and I
ran off as hard as my
feet would carry me to this man Breckinridge; but
he had sold
the lot at once, and not one word would he tell me
as to where
they had gone. You heard him yourselves to-night.
Well, he has
always answered me like that. My sister thinks that
I am going
mad. Sometimes I think that I am myself. And now --
and now I
am myself a branded thief, without ever having touched
the
wealth for which I sold my character. God help me!
God help
me!" He burst into convulsive sobbing, with his face
buried in
his hands.
There was a long silence, broken only by his
heavy breathing
and by the measured tapping of Sherlock Holmes's finger-tips
upon the edge of the table. Then my friend rose and
threw open
the door.
"Get out!" said he.
"What, sir! Oh, Heaven bless you!"
"No more words. Get out!"
And no more words were needed. There was a
rush, a clatter
upon the stairs, the bang of a door, and the crisp
rattle of running
footfalls from the street.
"After all, Watson," said Holmes, reaching
up his hand for
his clay pipe, "I am not retained by the police to
supply their
deficiencies. If Horner were in danger it would be
another thing;
but this fellow will not appear against him, and the
case must
collapse. I suppose that I am commuting a felony.
but it is just
possible that I am saving a soul. This fellow will
not go wrong
again; he is too terribly frightened. Send him to
jail now, and
you make him a jail-bird for life. Besides, it is
the season of
forgiveness. Chance has put in our way a most singular
and
whimsical problem, and its solution is its own reward.
If you
will have the goodness to touch the bell, Doctor,
we will begin
another investigation, in which, also a bird will
be the chief
feature." |
