The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

by Arthur Conan Doyle

  VII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE BLUE CARBUNCLE

  I had called upon my friend Sherlock Holmes upon the secondmorning after Christmas, with the intention of wishing him thecompliments of the season. He was lounging upon the sofa in apurple dressing-gown, a pipe-rack within his reach upon theright, and a pile of crumpled morning papers, evidently newlystudied, near at hand. Beside the couch was a wooden chair, andon the angle of the back hung a very seedy and disreputablehard-felt hat, much the worse for wear, and cracked in severalplaces. A lens and a forceps lying upon the seat of the chairsuggested that the hat had been suspended in this manner for thepurpose of examination.

  "You are engaged," said I; "perhaps I interrupt you."

  "Not at all. I am glad to have a friend with whom I can discussmy results. The matter is a perfectly trivial one"--he jerked histhumb in the direction of the old hat--"but there are points inconnection with it which are not entirely devoid of interest andeven of instruction."

  I seated myself in his armchair and warmed my hands before hiscrackling fire, for a sharp frost had set in, and the windowswere thick with the ice crystals. "I suppose," I remarked, "that,homely as it looks, this thing has some deadly story linked on toit--that it is the clue which will guide you in the solution ofsome mystery and the punishment of some crime."

  "No, no. No crime," said Sherlock Holmes, laughing. "Only one ofthose whimsical little incidents which will happen when you havefour million human beings all jostling each other within thespace of a few square miles. Amid the action and reaction of sodense a swarm of humanity, every possible combination of eventsmay be expected to take place, and many a little problem will bepresented which may be striking and bizarre without beingcriminal. We have already had experience of such."

  "So much so," I remarked, "that of the last six cases which Ihave added to my notes, three have been entirely free of anylegal crime."

  "Precisely. You allude to my attempt to recover the Irene Adlerpapers, to the singular case of Miss Mary Sutherland, and to theadventure of the man with the twisted lip. Well, I have no doubtthat 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 willlook upon it not as a battered billycock but as an intellectualproblem. And, first, as to how it came here. It arrived uponChristmas morning, in company with a good fat goose, which is, Ihave no doubt, roasting at this moment in front of Peterson'sfire. The facts are these: about four o'clock on Christmasmorning, Peterson, who, as you know, is a very honest fellow, wasreturning from some small jollification and was making his wayhomeward down Tottenham Court Road. In front of him he saw, inthe gaslight, a tallish man, walking with a slight stagger, andcarrying a white goose slung over his shoulder. As he reached thecorner of Goodge Street, a row broke out between this strangerand a little knot of roughs. One of the latter knocked off theman'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 hisassailants; but the man, shocked at having broken the window, andseeing an official-looking person in uniform rushing towards him,dropped his goose, took to his heels, and vanished amid thelabyrinth of small streets which lie at the back of TottenhamCourt Road. The roughs had also fled at the appearance ofPeterson, so that he was left in possession of the field ofbattle, and also of the spoils of victory in the shape of thisbattered 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 'ForMrs. Henry Baker' was printed upon a small card which was tied tothe 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 aresome thousands of Bakers, and some hundreds of Henry Bakers inthis city of ours, it is not easy to restore lost property to anyone 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 signsthat, in spite of the slight frost, it would be well that itshould be eaten without unnecessary delay. Its finder has carriedit off, therefore, to fulfil the ultimate destiny of a goose,while I continue to retain the hat of the unknown gentleman wholost 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 batteredfelt?"

  "Here is my lens. You know my methods. What can you gatheryourself as to the individuality of the man who has worn thisarticle?"

  I took the tattered object in my hands and turned it over ratherruefully. It was a very ordinary black hat of the usual roundshape, hard and much the worse for wear. The lining had been ofred silk, but was a good deal discoloured. There was no maker'sname; but, as Holmes had remarked, the initials "H. B." werescrawled upon one side. It was pierced in the brim for ahat-securer, but the elastic was missing. For the rest, it wascracked, exceedingly dusty, and spotted in several places,although there seemed to have been some attempt to hide thediscoloured 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 indrawing 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 introspectivefashion which was characteristic of him. "It is perhaps lesssuggestive than it might have been," he remarked, "and yet thereare a few inferences which are very distinct, and a few otherswhich represent at least a strong balance of probability. Thatthe man was highly intellectual is of course obvious upon theface of it, and also that he was fairly well-to-do within thelast three years, although he has now fallen upon evil days. Hehad foresight, but has less now than formerly, pointing to amoral retrogression, which, when taken with the decline of hisfortunes, seems to indicate some evil influence, probably drink,at work upon him. This may account also for the obvious fact thathis wife has ceased to love him."

  "My dear Holmes!"

  "He has, however, retained some degree of self-respect," hecontinued, disregarding my remonstrance. "He is a man who leads asedentary life, goes out little, is out of training entirely, ismiddle-aged, has grizzled hair which he has had cut within thelast few days, and which he anoints with lime-cream. These arethe more patent facts which are to be deduced from his hat. Also,by the way, that it is extremely improbable that he has gas laidon in his house."

  "You are certainly joking, Holmes."

  "Not in the least. Is it possible that even now, when I give youthese results, you are unable to see how they are attained?"

  "I have no doubt that I am very stupid, but I must confess that Iam unable to follow you. For example, how did you deduce thatthis man was intellectual?"

  For answer Holmes clapped the hat upon his head. It came rightover the forehead and settled upon the bridge of his nose. "It isa question of cubic capacity," said he; "a man with so large abrain must have something in it."

  "The decline of his fortunes, then?"

  "This hat is three years old. These flat brims curled at the edgecame in then. It is a hat of the very best quality. Look at theband of ribbed silk and the excellent lining. If this man couldafford to buy so expensive a hat three years ago, and has had nohat since, then he has assuredly gone down in the world."

  "Well, that is clear enough, certainly. But how about theforesight and the moral retrogression?"

  Sherlock Holmes laughed. "Here is the foresight," s
aid he puttinghis finger upon the little disc and loop of the hat-securer."They are never sold upon hats. If this man ordered one, it is asign of a certain amount of foresight, since he went out of hisway to take this precaution against the wind. But since we seethat he has broken the elastic and has not troubled to replaceit, it is obvious that he has less foresight now than formerly,which is a distinct proof of a weakening nature. On the otherhand, he has endeavoured to conceal some of these stains upon thefelt by daubing them with ink, which is a sign that he has notentirely lost his self-respect."

  "Your reasoning is certainly plausible."

  "The further points, that he is middle-aged, that his hair isgrizzled, that it has been recently cut, and that he useslime-cream, are all to be gathered from a close examination of thelower part of the lining. The lens discloses a large number ofhair-ends, clean cut by the scissors of the barber. They allappear to be adhesive, and there is a distinct odour oflime-cream. This dust, you will observe, is not the gritty, greydust of the street but the fluffy brown dust of the house,showing that it has been hung up indoors most of the time, whilethe marks of moisture upon the inside are proof positive that thewearer perspired very freely, and could therefore, hardly be inthe 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 dearWatson, with a week's accumulation of dust upon your hat, andwhen your wife allows you to go out in such a state, I shall fearthat you also have been unfortunate enough to lose your wife'saffection."

  "But he might be a bachelor."

  "Nay, he was bringing home the goose as a peace-offering to hiswife. Remember the card upon the bird's leg."

  "You have an answer to everything. But how on earth do you deducethat the gas is not laid on in his house?"

  "One tallow stain, or even two, might come by chance; but when Isee no less than five, I think that there can be little doubtthat the individual must be brought into frequent contact withburning tallow--walks upstairs at night probably with his hat inone hand and a guttering candle in the other. Anyhow, he nevergot tallow-stains from a gas-jet. Are you satisfied?"

  "Well, it is very ingenious," said I, laughing; "but since, asyou said just now, there has been no crime committed, and no harmdone save the loss of a goose, all this seems to be rather awaste of energy."

  Sherlock Holmes had opened his mouth to reply, when the door flewopen, and Peterson, the commissionaire, rushed into the apartmentwith flushed cheeks and the face of a man who is dazed withastonishment.

  "The goose, Mr. Holmes! The goose, sir!" he gasped.

  "Eh? What of it, then? Has it returned to life and flapped offthrough the kitchen window?" Holmes twisted himself round uponthe 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 outhis hand and displayed upon the centre of the palm a brilliantlyscintillating blue stone, rather smaller than a bean in size, butof such purity and radiance that it twinkled like an electricpoint in the dark hollow of his hand.

  Sherlock Holmes sat up with a whistle. "By Jove, Peterson!" saidhe, "this is treasure trove indeed. I suppose you know what youhave got?"

  "A diamond, sir? A precious stone. It cuts into glass as thoughit 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. I ought to know its size and shape, seeing that Ihave read the advertisement about it in The Times every daylately. It is absolutely unique, and its value can only beconjectured, but the reward offered of 1000 pounds is certainlynot within a twentieth part of the market price."

  "A thousand pounds! Great Lord of mercy!" The commissionaireplumped 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 aresentimental considerations in the background which would inducethe Countess to part with half her fortune if she could butrecover the gem."

  "It was lost, if I remember aright, at the Hotel Cosmopolitan," Iremarked.

  "Precisely so, on December 22nd, just five days ago. John Horner,a plumber, was accused of having abstracted it from the lady'sjewel-case. The evidence against him was so strong that the casehas been referred to the Assizes. I have some account of thematter 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, wasbrought up upon the charge of having upon the 22nd inst.,abstracted from the jewel-case of the Countess of Morcar thevaluable gem known as the blue carbuncle. James Ryder,upper-attendant at the hotel, gave his evidence to the effectthat he had shown Horner up to the dressing-room of the Countessof Morcar upon the day of the robbery in order that he mightsolder the second bar of the grate, which was loose. He hadremained with Horner some little time, but had finally beencalled away. On returning, he found that Horner had disappeared,that the bureau had been forced open, and that the small moroccocasket in which, as it afterwards transpired, the Countess wasaccustomed to keep her jewel, was lying empty upon thedressing-table. Ryder instantly gave the alarm, and Horner wasarrested the same evening; but the stone could not be foundeither upon his person or in his rooms. Catherine Cusack, maid tothe Countess, deposed to having heard Ryder's cry of dismay ondiscovering the robbery, and to having rushed into the room,where she found matters as described by the last witness.Inspector Bradstreet, B division, gave evidence as to the arrestof Horner, who struggled frantically, and protested his innocencein the strongest terms. Evidence of a previous conviction forrobbery having been given against the prisoner, the magistraterefused to deal summarily with the offence, but referred it tothe Assizes. Horner, who had shown signs of intense emotionduring the proceedings, fainted away at the conclusion and wascarried out of court."

  "Hum! So much for the police-court," said Holmes thoughtfully,tossing aside the paper. "The question for us now to solve is thesequence of events leading from a rifled jewel-case at one end tothe crop of a goose in Tottenham Court Road at the other. Yousee, Watson, our little deductions have suddenly assumed a muchmore important and less innocent aspect. Here is the stone; thestone came from the goose, and the goose came from Mr. HenryBaker, the gentleman with the bad hat and all the othercharacteristics with which I have bored you. So now we must setourselves very seriously to finding this gentleman andascertaining what part he has played in this little mystery. Todo this, we must try the simplest means first, and these lieundoubtedly in an advertisement in all the evening papers. Ifthis fail, I shall have recourse to other methods."

  "What will you say?"

  "Give me a pencil and that slip of paper. Now, then: 'Found atthe 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 at221B, 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 poorman, the loss was a heavy one. He was clearly so scared by hismischance in breaking the window and by the approach of Petersonthat he thought of nothing but flight, but since then he musthave bitterly regretted the impulse which caused him to drop hisbird. Then, again, the introduction of his name will cause him tosee it, for everyone who knows him will direct his attention toit. Here you are, Peterson, run down to the advertising agencyand have this put in the evening papers."

  "In which, sir?"

  "Oh, in the Globe, 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 herewith me, for we must have one to give to this gentleman in placeof the one which your family is now devouring."

  When the commissionaire
had gone, Holmes took up the stone andheld it against the light. "It's a bonny thing," said he. "Justsee how it glints and sparkles. Of course it is a nucleus andfocus of crime. Every good stone is. They are the devil's petbaits. In the larger and older jewels every facet may stand for abloody deed. This stone is not yet twenty years old. It was foundin the banks of the Amoy River in southern China and is remarkablein having every characteristic of the carbuncle, save that it isblue in shade instead of ruby red. In spite of its youth, it hasalready a sinister history. There have been two murders, avitriol-throwing, a suicide, and several robberies brought aboutfor the sake of this forty-grain weight of crystallised charcoal.Who would think that so pretty a toy would be a purveyor to thegallows and the prison? I'll lock it up in my strong box now anddrop 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, hadanything to do with the matter?"

  "It is, I think, much more likely that Henry Baker is anabsolutely innocent man, who had no idea that the bird which hewas carrying was of considerably more value than if it were madeof solid gold. That, however, I shall determine by a very simpletest 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 shallcome back in the evening at the hour you have mentioned, for Ishould like to see the solution of so tangled a business."

  "Very glad to see you. I dine at seven. There is a woodcock, Ibelieve. By the way, in view of recent occurrences, perhaps Iought to ask Mrs. Hudson to examine its crop."

  I had been delayed at a case, and it was a little after half-pastsix when I found myself in Baker Street once more. As Iapproached the house I saw a tall man in a Scotch bonnet with acoat which was buttoned up to his chin waiting outside in thebright semicircle which was thrown from the fanlight. Just as Iarrived the door was opened, and we were shown up together toHolmes' room.

  "Mr. Henry Baker, I believe," said he, rising from his armchairand greeting his visitor with the easy air of geniality which hecould so readily assume. "Pray take this chair by the fire, Mr.Baker. It is a cold night, and I observe that your circulation ismore adapted for summer than for winter. Ah, Watson, you havejust 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 abroad, intelligent face, sloping down to a pointed beard ofgrizzled brown. A touch of red in nose and cheeks, with a slighttremor of his extended hand, recalled Holmes' surmise as to hishabits. His rusty black frock-coat was buttoned right up infront, with the collar turned up, and his lank wrists protrudedfrom his sleeves without a sign of cuff or shirt. He spoke in aslow staccato fashion, choosing his words with care, and gave theimpression generally of a man of learning and letters who had hadill-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 youraddress. I am at a loss to know now why you did not advertise."

  Our visitor gave a rather shamefaced laugh. "Shillings have notbeen so plentiful with me as they once were," he remarked. "I hadno doubt that the gang of roughs who assaulted me had carried offboth my hat and the bird. I did not care to spend more money in ahopeless attempt at recovering them."

  "Very naturally. By the way, about the bird, we were compelled toeat it."

  "To eat it!" Our visitor half rose from his chair in hisexcitement.

  "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 isabout the same weight and perfectly fresh, will answer yourpurpose equally well?"

  "Oh, certainly, certainly," answered Mr. Baker with a sigh ofrelief.

  "Of course, we still have the feathers, legs, crop, and so on ofyour own bird, so if you wish--"

  The man burst into a hearty laugh. "They might be useful to me asrelics of my adventure," said he, "but beyond that I can hardlysee what use the disjecta membra of my late acquaintance aregoing to be to me. No, sir, I think that, with your permission, Iwill confine my attentions to the excellent bird which I perceiveupon the sideboard."

  Sherlock Holmes glanced sharply across at me with a slight shrugof his shoulders.

  "There is your hat, then, and there your bird," said he. "By theway, would it bore you to tell me where you got the other onefrom? I am somewhat of a fowl fancier, and I have seldom seen abetter grown goose."

  "Certainly, sir," said Baker, who had risen and tucked his newlygained property under his arm. "There are a few of us whofrequent the Alpha Inn, near the Museum--we are to be found inthe Museum itself during the day, you understand. This year ourgood host, Windigate by name, instituted a goose club, by which,on consideration of some few pence every week, we were each toreceive a bird at Christmas. My pence were duly paid, and therest is familiar to you. I am much indebted to you, sir, for aScotch bonnet is fitted neither to my years nor my gravity." Witha comical pomposity of manner he bowed solemnly to both of us andstrode off upon his way.

  "So much for Mr. Henry Baker," said Holmes when he had closed thedoor behind him. "It is quite certain that he knows nothingwhatever about the matter. Are you hungry, Watson?"

  "Not particularly."

  "Then I suggest that we turn our dinner into a supper and followup this clue while it is still hot."

  "By all means."

  It was a bitter night, so we drew on our ulsters and wrappedcravats about our throats. Outside, the stars were shining coldlyin a cloudless sky, and the breath of the passers-by blew outinto smoke like so many pistol shots. Our footfalls rang outcrisply and loudly as we swung through the doctors' quarter,Wimpole Street, Harley Street, and so through Wigmore Street intoOxford Street. In a quarter of an hour we were in Bloomsbury atthe Alpha Inn, which is a small public-house at the corner of oneof the streets which runs down into Holborn. Holmes pushed openthe door of the private bar and ordered two glasses of beer fromthe 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 coatas we came out into the frosty air. "Remember, Watson that thoughwe have so homely a thing as a goose at one end of this chain, wehave at the other a man who will certainly get seven years' penalservitude unless we can establish his innocence. It is possiblethat our inquiry may but confirm his guilt; but, in any case, wehave a line of investigation which has been missed by the police,and which a singular chance has placed in our hands. Let usfollow it out to the bitter end. Faces to the south, then, andquick march!"

  We passed across Holborn, down Endell Street, and so through azigzag of slums to Covent Garden Market. One of the largeststalls bore the name of Breckinridge upon it, and the proprietora horsey-looking man, with a sharp face and trim side-whiskers washelping 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 mycompanion.

  "Sold out of geese, I see," continued Holmes, pointing at thebare 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 thesalesman.

  "Now, then, mister," said he, with his head cocked and his armsakimbo, "what are you driving at? Let's have it straight, now."

  "It is straight enough. I should like to know who sold you thegeese 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 youshould 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 endof the business; but it's 'Where are the geese?' and 'Who did yousell the geese to?' and 'What will you take for the geese?' Onewould think they were the only geese in the world, to hear thefuss that is made over them."

  "Well, I have no connection with any other people who have beenmaking inquiries," said Holmes carelessly. "If you won't tell usthe bet is off, that is all. But I'm always ready to back myopinion on a matter of fowls, and I have a fiver on it that thebird I ate is country bred."

  "Well, then, you've lost your fiver, for it's town bred," snappedthe 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 handledthem ever since I was a nipper? I tell you, all those birds thatwent 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. ButI'll have a sovereign on with you, just to teach you not to beobstinate."

  The salesman chuckled grimly. "Bring me the books, Bill," saidhe.

  The small boy brought round a small thin volume and a greatgreasy-backed one, laying them out together beneath the hanginglamp.

  "Now then, Mr. Cocksure," said the salesman, "I thought that Iwas out of geese, but before I finish you'll find that there isstill 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 numbersafter their names are where their accounts are in the big ledger.Now, then! You see this other page in red ink? Well, that is alist of my town suppliers. Now, look at that third name. Justread 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 22nd. 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 sovereign fromhis pocket and threw it down upon the slab, turning away with theair of a man whose disgust is too deep for words. A few yards offhe stopped under a lamp-post and laughed in the hearty, noiselessfashion 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 100 pounds down in front ofhim, that man would not have given me such complete informationas was drawn from him by the idea that he was doing me on awager. Well, Watson, we are, I fancy, nearing the end of ourquest, and the only point which remains to be determined iswhether we should go on to this Mrs. Oakshott to-night, orwhether we should reserve it for to-morrow. It is clear from whatthat surly fellow said that there are others besides ourselveswho are anxious about the matter, and I should--"

  His remarks were suddenly cut short by a loud hubbub which brokeout from the stall which we had just left. Turning round we saw alittle rat-faced fellow standing in the centre of the circle ofyellow light which was thrown by the swinging lamp, whileBreckinridge, the salesman, framed in the door of his stall, wasshaking his fists fiercely at the cringing figure.

  "I've had enough of you and your geese," he shouted. "I wish youwere all at the devil together. If you come pestering me any morewith 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 withit? Did I buy the geese off you?"

  "No; but one of them was mine all the same," whined the littleman.

  "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 hadenough of it. Get out of this!" He rushed fiercely forward, andthe 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 thisfellow." Striding through the scattered knots of people wholounged round the flaring stalls, my companion speedily overtookthe little man and touched him upon the shoulder. He spranground, and I could see in the gas-light that every vestige ofcolour had been driven from his face.

  "Who are you, then? What do you want?" he asked in a quaveringvoice.

  "You will excuse me," said Holmes blandly, "but I could not helpoverhearing 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 otherpeople don't know."

  "But you can know nothing of this?"

  "Excuse me, I know everything of it. You are endeavouring totrace some geese which were sold by Mrs. Oakshott, of BrixtonRoad, 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," criedthe 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 thatcase we had better discuss it in a cosy room rather than in thiswind-swept market-place," said he. "But pray tell me, before wego farther, who it is that I have the pleasure of assisting."

  The man hesitated for an instant. "My name is John Robinson," heanswered with a sidelong glance.

  "No, no; the real name," said Holmes sweetly. "It is alwaysawkward 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. Praystep into the cab, and I shall soon be able to tell youeverything which you would wish to know."

  The little man stood glancing from one to the other of us withhalf-frightened, half-hopeful eyes, as one who is not surewhether 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 inthe sitting-room at Baker Street. Nothing had been said duringour drive, but the high, thin breathing of our new companion, andthe claspings and unclaspings of his hands, spoke of the nervoustension within him.

  "Here we are!" said Holmes cheerily as we filed into the room."The fire looks very seasonable in this weather. You look cold,Mr. Ryder. Pray take the basket-chair. I will just put on myslippers 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 inwhich you were interested--white, with a black bar across thetail."

  Ryder quivered with emotion. "Oh, sir," he cried, "can you tellme where it went to?"

  "It came here."

  "Here?"

>   "Yes, and a most remarkable bird it proved. I don't wonder thatyou should take an interest in it. It laid an egg after it wasdead--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 mantelpiecewith his right hand. Holmes unlocked his strong-box and held upthe blue carbuncle, which shone out like a star, with a cold,brilliant, many-pointed radiance. Ryder stood glaring with adrawn face, uncertain whether to claim or to disown it.

  "The game's up, Ryder," said Holmes quietly. "Hold up, man, oryou'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 withimpunity. Give him a dash of brandy. So! Now he looks a littlemore human. What a shrimp it is, to be sure!"

  For a moment he had staggered and nearly fallen, but the brandybrought a tinge of colour into his cheeks, and he sat staringwith frightened eyes at his accuser.

  "I have almost every link in my hands, and all the proofs which Icould possibly need, so there is little which you need tell me.Still, that little may as well be cleared up to make the casecomplete. You had heard, Ryder, of this blue stone of theCountess of Morcar's?"

  "It was Catherine Cusack who told me of it," said he in acrackling voice.

  "I see--her ladyship's waiting-maid. Well, the temptation ofsudden wealth so easily acquired was too much for you, as it hasbeen for better men before you; but you were not very scrupulousin the means you used. It seems to me, Ryder, that there is themaking of a very pretty villain in you. You knew that this manHorner, the plumber, had been concerned in some such matterbefore, and that suspicion would rest the more readily upon him.What did you do, then? You made some small job in my lady'sroom--you and your confederate Cusack--and you managed that heshould be the man sent for. Then, when he had left, you rifledthe jewel-case, raised the alarm, and had this unfortunate manarrested. You then--"

  Ryder threw himself down suddenly upon the rug and clutched at mycompanion's knees. "For God's sake, have mercy!" he shrieked."Think of my father! Of my mother! It would break their hearts. Inever went wrong before! I never will again. I swear it. I'llswear it on a Bible. Oh, don't bring it into court! For Christ'ssake, don't!"

  "Get back into your chair!" said Holmes sternly. "It is very wellto cringe and crawl now, but you thought little enough of thispoor Horner in the dock for a crime of which he knew nothing."

  "I will fly, Mr. Holmes. I will leave the country, sir. Then thecharge against him will break down."

  "Hum! We will talk about that. And now let us hear a true accountof the next act. How came the stone into the goose, and how camethe goose into the open market? Tell us the truth, for there liesyour only hope of safety."

  Ryder passed his tongue over his parched lips. "I will tell youit just as it happened, sir," said he. "When Horner had beenarrested, it seemed to me that it would be best for me to getaway with the stone at once, for I did not know at what momentthe police might not take it into their heads to search me and myroom. 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'shouse. She had married a man named Oakshott, and lived in BrixtonRoad, where she fattened fowls for the market. All the way thereevery 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 downmy face before I came to the Brixton Road. My sister asked mewhat was the matter, and why I was so pale; but I told her that Ihad been upset by the jewel robbery at the hotel. Then I wentinto the back yard and smoked a pipe and wondered what it wouldbe best to do.

  "I had a friend once called Maudsley, who went to the bad, andhas just been serving his time in Pentonville. One day he had metme, and fell into talk about the ways of thieves, and how theycould get rid of what they stole. I knew that he would be true tome, for I knew one or two things about him; so I made up my mindto go right on to Kilburn, where he lived, and take him into myconfidence. 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 hadgone through in coming from the hotel. I might at any moment beseized and searched, and there would be the stone in my waistcoatpocket. I was leaning against the wall at the time and looking atthe geese which were waddling about round my feet, and suddenlyan idea came into my head which showed me how I could beat thebest detective that ever lived.

  "My sister had told me some weeks before that I might have thepick of her geese for a Christmas present, and I knew that shewas always as good as her word. I would take my goose now, and init I would carry my stone to Kilburn. There was a little shed inthe yard, and behind this I drove one of the birds--a fine bigone, white, with a barred tail. I caught it, and prying its billopen, I thrust the stone down its throat as far as my fingercould reach. The bird gave a gulp, and I felt the stone passalong its gullet and down into its crop. But the creature flappedand struggled, and out came my sister to know what was thematter. As I turned to speak to her the brute broke loose andfluttered 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 Iwas feeling which was the fattest.'

  "'Oh,' says she, 'we've set yours aside for you--Jem's bird, wecall it. It's the big white one over yonder. There's twenty-sixof them, which makes one for you, and one for us, and two dozenfor the market.'

  "'Thank you, Maggie,' says I; '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 wefattened 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 ityou want, then?'

  "'That white one with the barred tail, right in the middle of theflock.'

  "'Oh, very well. Kill it and take it with you.'

  "Well, I did what she said, Mr. Holmes, and I carried the birdall the way to Kilburn. I told my pal what I had done, for he wasa man that it was easy to tell a thing like that to. He laugheduntil he choked, and we got a knife and opened the goose. Myheart turned to water, for there was no sign of the stone, and Iknew that some terrible mistake had occurred. I left the bird,rushed back to my sister's, and hurried into the back yard. Therewas 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 sameas the one I chose?'

  "'Yes, Jem; there were two barred-tailed ones, and I could nevertell them apart.'

  "Well, then, of course I saw it all, and I ran off as hard as myfeet would carry me to this man Breckinridge; but he had sold thelot at once, and not one word would he tell me as to where theyhad gone. You heard him yourselves to-night. Well, he has alwaysanswered me like that. My sister thinks that I am going mad.Sometimes I think that I am myself. And now--and now I am myselfa branded thief, without ever having touched the wealth for whichI sold my character. God help me! God help me!" He burst intoconvulsive sobbing, with his face buried in his hands.

  There was a long silence, broken only by his heavy breathing andby the measured tapping of Sherlock Holmes' finger-tips upon theedge 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 uponthe stairs, the bang of a door, and the crisp rattle of runningfootfalls from the street.

  "After all, Watson," said Holmes, reaching up his hand for hisclay pipe, "I am not retained by the police to supply theirdeficiencies. If Horner were in danger it would be another thing;but this fellow will not appear against him, and the case mustcollapse. I suppose that I am commuting a felony, but it is justpossible tha
t I am saving a soul. This fellow will not go wrongagain; he is too terribly frightened. Send him to gaol now, andyou make him a gaol-bird for life. Besides, it is the season offorgiveness. Chance has put in our way a most singular andwhimsical problem, and its solution is its own reward. If youwill have the goodness to touch the bell, Doctor, we will beginanother investigation, in which, also a bird will be the chieffeature."