Sherlock Holmes complete collection by sir arthur conan doyle

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes THE BLUE CARBUNCLE

I HAD called upon my friend Sherlock Holmes upon the second morningafter Christmas, with the intention of wishing him the compliments of theseason. He was lounging upon the sofa in a purple dressing-gown, a piperack within his reach upon the right, and a pile of crumpled morningpapers, evidently newly studied, near at hand. Beside the couch was awooden chair, and on the angle of the back hung a very seedy anddisreputable hard-felt hat, much the worse for wear, and cracked inseveral places. A lens and a forceps lying upon the seat of the chairsuggested that the hat had been suspended in this manner for the purposeof examination."You are engaged," said I; "perhaps I interrupt you.""Not at all. I am glad to have a friend with whom I can discuss myresults. The matter is a perfectly trivial one"-he jerked his thumb in thedirection of the old [245] hat-"but there are points in connection with itwhich are not entirely devoid of interest and even of instruction."I seated myself in his armchair and warmed my hands before hiscrackling fire, for a sharp frost had set in, and the windows were thickwith 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 whichwill guide you in the solution of some mystery and the punishment ofsome crime." "No, no. No crime," said Sherlock Holmes, laughing. "Only one ofthose whimsical little incidents which will happen when you have fourmillion human beings all jostling each other within the space of a fewsquare miles. Amid the action and reaction of so dense a swarm ofhumanity, every possible combination of events may be expected to takeplace, and many a little problem will be presented which may be strikingand bizarre without being criminal. We have already had experience ofsuch.""So much so," I remarked, "that of the last six cases which I haveadded 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 theman with the twisted lip. Well, I have no doubt that this small matter willfall into the same innocent category. You know Peterson, thecommissionaire?""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 lookupon it not as a battered billycock but as an intellectual problem. And,first, as to how it came here. It arrived upon Christmas morning, incompany with a good fat goose, which is, I have no doubt, roasting at thismoment in front of Peterson's fire. The facts are these: about four o'clockon Christmas morning, Peterson, who, as you know, is a very honestfellow, was returning from some small jollification and was making hisway homeward down Tottenham Court Road. In front of him he saw, inthe gaslight, a tallish man, walking with a slight stagger, and carrying awhite goose slung over his shoulder. As he reached the corner of GoodgeStreet, 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 stickto defend himself and, swinging it over his head, smashed the shopwindow behind him. Peterson had rushed forward to protect the strangerfrom 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 ofsmall streets which lie at the back of Tottenham Court Road. The roughshad also fled at the appearance of Peterson, so that he was left inpossession of the field of battle, and also of the spoils of victory in theshape 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. HenryBaker' 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 thishat; but as there are some thousands of Bakers, and some hundreds ofHenry Bakers in this city of ours, it is not easy to restore lost property toany one of them.""What, then, did Peterson do?"[246] "He brought round both hat and goose to me on Christmasmorning, knowing that even the smallest problems are of interest to me.The goose we retained until this morning, when there were signs that, inspite of the slight frost, it would be well that it should be eaten withoutunnecessary delay. Its finder has carried it off, therefore, to fulfil theultimate destiny of a goose, while I continue to retain the hat of theunknown 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 gatheryourself 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 muchthe worse for wear. The lining had been of red silk, but was a good dealdiscoloured. 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 wascracked, exceedingly dusty, and spotted in several places, although thereseemed to have been some attempt to hide the discoloured patches bysmearing 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 yourinferences.""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 fashionwhich was characteristic of him. "It is perhaps less suggestive than itmight have been," he remarked, "and yet there are a few inferences whichare very distinct, and a few others which represent at least a strongbalance of probability. That the man was highly intellectual is of courseobvious upon the face of it, and also that he was fairly well-to-do withinthe last three years, although he has now fallen upon evil days. He hadforesight, but has less now than formerly, pointing to a moralretrogression, which, when taken with the decline of his fortunes, seemsto indicate some evil influence, probably drink, at work upon him. Thismay account also for the obvious fact that his wife has ceased to lovehim.""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 hairwhich he has had cut within the last few days, and which he anoints withlime-cream. These are the more patent facts which are to be deduced fromhis hat. Also, by the way, that it is extremely improbable that he has gaslaid on in his house.""You are certainly joking, Holmes.""Not in the least. Is it possible that even now, when I give you theseresults, you are unable to see how they are attained?""I have no doubt that I am very stupid, but I must confess that I amunable to follow you. For example, how did you deduce that this man wasintellectual?"[247] For answer Holmes clapped the hat upon his head. It came rightover the forehead and settled upon the bridge of his nose. "It is a questionof cubic capacity," said he; "a man with so large a brain must havesomething in it.""The decline of his fortunes, then?""This hat is three years old. These flat brims curled at the edge came inthen. It is a hat of the very best quality. Look at the band of ribbed silkand the excellent lining. If this man could afford to buy so expensive a hatthree years ago, and has had no hat since, then he has assuredly gonedown in the world.""Well, that is clear enough, certainly. But how about the foresight andthe moral retrogression?"Sherlock Holmes laughed. "Here is the foresight," said he, putting hisfinger 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 offoresight, since he went out of his way to take this precaution against thewind. But since we see that he has broken the elastic and has not troubledto 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 hasendeavoured to conceal some of these stains upon the felt by daubingthem with ink, which is a sign that he has not entirely lost his selfrespect.""Your reasoning is certainly plausible.""The further points, that he is middle-aged, that his hair is grizzled, thatit has been recently cut, and that he uses lime-cream, are all to begathered from a close examination of the lower part of the lining. Thelens discloses a large number of hair-ends, clean cut by the scissors of thebarber. They all appear to be adhesive, and there is a distinct odour oflime-cream. This dust, you will observe, is not the gritty, gray dust of thestreet but the fluffy brown dust of the house, showing that it has beenhung up indoors most of the time; while the marks of moisture upon theinside are proof positive that the wearer perspired very freely, and couldtherefore, 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 dearWatson, with a week's accumulation of dust upon your hat, and whenyour wife allows you to go out in such a state, I shall fear that you alsohave 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 deducethat the gas is not laid on in his house?""One tallow stain, or even two, might come by chance; but when I seeno less than five, I think that there can be little doubt that the individualmust be brought into frequent contact with burning tallow-walks upstairsat night probably with his hat in one hand and a guttering candle in theother. Anyhow, he never got tallow-stains from a gas-jet. Are yousatisfied?""Well, it is very ingenious," said I, laughing; "but since, as you saidjust now, there has been no crime committed, and no harm done save theloss of a goose, all this seems to be rather a waste of energy."Sherlock Holmes had opened his mouth to reply, when the door flewopen, and [248] 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 off throughthe kitchen window?" Holmes twisted himself round upon the sofa to geta fairer view of the man's excited face."See here, sir! See what my wife found in its crop!" He held out hishand and displayed upon the centre of the palm a brilliantly scintillatingblue stone, rather smaller than a bean in size, but of such purity andradiance that it twinkled like an electric point in the dark hollow of hishand.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 wereputty.""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 I haveread the advertisement about it in The Times every day lately. It isabsolutely unique, and its value can only be conjectured, but the rewardoffered of £1000 is certainly not within a twentieth part of the marketprice.""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 induce theCountess to part with half her fortune if she could but recover the gem.""It was lost, if I remember aright, at the Hotel Cosmopolitan," Iremarked."Precisely so, on December 22d, just five days ago. John Horner, aplumber, 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 tothe Assizes. I have some account of the matter here, I believe." Herummaged amid his newspapers, glancing over the dates, until at last hesmoothed 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 thevaluable gem known as the blue carbuncle. James Ryder, upperattendant at the hotel, gave his evidence to the effect that he hadshown Horner up to the dressing-room of the Countess of Morcarupon the day of the robbery in order that he might solder thesecond bar of the grate, which was loose. He had remained withHorner some little time, but had finally been called away. Onreturning, he found that Horner had disappeared, that the bureauhad been forced open, and that the small morocco casket in which,as it afterwards transpired, the Countess was accustomed to keepher jewel, was lying empty upon the dressing-table. Ryderinstantly gave the alarm, and Horner was arrested the sameevening; but the stone could not be found either upon his person orin his rooms. Catherine Cusack, maid to the Countess, deposed tohaving heard Ryder's cry of dismay on discovering the robbery,and to having rushed into the room, where she found matters asdescribed by the last witness. Inspector Bradstreet, B division,gave evidence as to the arrest of Horner, who struggled [249]frantically, and protested his innocence in the strongest terms.Evidence of a previous conviction for robbery having been givenagainst the prisoner, the magistrate refused to deal summarily withthe offence, but referred it to the Assizes. Horner, who had shownsigns of intense emotion during the proceedings, fainted away atthe conclusion and was carried 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 the sequenceof events leading from a rifled jewel-case at one end to the crop of agoose in Tottenham Court Road at the other. You see, Watson, our littledeductions have suddenly assumed a much more important and lessinnocent aspect. Here is the stone; the stone came from the goose, and thegoose came from Mr. Henry Baker, the gentleman with the bad hat and allthe other characteristics with which I have bored you. So now we must setourselves very seriously to finding this gentleman and ascertaining whatpart he has played in this little mystery. To do this, we must try thesimplest means first, and these lie undoubtedly in an advertisement in allthe 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 felthat. Mr. Henry Baker can have the same by applying at 6:30 thisevening 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, theloss was a heavy one. He was clearly so scared by his mischance inbreaking the window and by the approach of Peterson that he thought of nothing but flight, but since then he must have bitterly regretted theimpulse which caused him to drop his bird. Then, again, the introductionof his name will cause him to see it, for everyone who knows him willdirect his attention to it. Here you are, Peterson, run down to theadvertising agency and have this put in the evening papers.""In which, sir?""Oh, in the Globe, Star, Pall Mall, St. James's, Evening NewsStandard, 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, justbuy a goose on your way back and leave it here with me, for we musthave one to give to this gentleman in place of the one which your familyis now devouring."When the commissionaire had gone, Holmes took up the stone and heldit against the light. "It's a bonny thing," said he. "Just see how it glintsand sparkles. Of course it is a nucleus and focus of crime. Every goodstone is. They are the devil's pet baits. In the larger and older jewelsevery facet may stand for a bloody deed. This stone is not yet twentyyears old. It was found in the banks of the Amoy River in southern Chinaand is remarkable in having every characteristic of the carbuncle, savethat it is blue in shade instead of ruby red. In spite of its youth, it hasalready a sinister history. There have been two murders, a vitriolthrowing, a suicide, and several robberies brought about for the sake ofthis forty-grain weight of crystallized charcoal. Who would think that sopretty a toy would [250] be a purveyor to the gallows and the prison? I'lllock it up in my strong box now and drop a line to the Countess to saythat 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 an absolutelyinnocent man, who had no idea that the bird which he was carrying was ofconsiderably 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 toour advertisement.""And you can do nothing until then?""Nothing.""In that case I shall continue my professional round. But I shall comeback in the evening at the hour you have mentioned, for I should like tosee 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 Ifound myself in Baker Street once more. As I approached the house I sawa tall man in a Scotch bonnet with a coat which was buttoned up to hischin waiting outside in the bright semicircle which was thrown from thefanlight. Just as I 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 andgreeting his visitor with the easy air of geniality which he could so readilyassume. "Pray take this chair by the fire, Mr. Baker. It is a cold night, andI observe that your circulation is more adapted for summer than forwinter. 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 abroad, 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 extendedhand, recalled Holmes's surmise as to his habits. His rusty black frockcoat was buttoned right up in front, with the collar turned up, and his lankwrists protruded from his sleeves without a sign of cuff or shirt. He spokein a slow staccato fashion, choosing his words with care, and gave theimpression generally of a man of learning and letters who had had illusage at the hands of fortune."We have retained these things for some days," said Holmes, "becausewe expected to see an advertisement from you giving your address. I amat a loss to know now why you did not advertise."Our visitor gave a rather shamefaced laugh. "Shillings have not been soplentiful with me as they once were," he remarked. "I had no doubt thatthe gang of roughs who assaulted me had carried off both my hat and thebird. I did not care to spend more money in a hopeless attempt atrecovering them.""Very naturally. By the way, about the bird, we were compelled to eatit.""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 Ipresume that this other goose upon the sideboard, which is about the sameweight and perfectly fresh, will answer your purpose equally well?"[251] "Oh, certainly, certainly," answered Mr. Baker with a sigh ofrelief."Of course, we still have the feathers, legs, crop, and so on of your ownbird, 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 hardly see whatuse the disjecta membra of my late acquaintance are going to be to me.No, sir, I think that, with your permission, I will confine my attentions tothe excellent bird which I perceive upon the sideboard."Sherlock Holmes glanced sharply across at me with a slight shrug ofhis 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 amsomewhat of a fowl fancier, and I have seldom seen a better growngoose.""Certainly, sir," said Baker, who had risen and tucked his newly gainedproperty under his arm. "There are a few of us who frequent the AlphaInn, 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 penceevery week, we were each to receive a bird at Christmas. My pence wereduly 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 acomical pomposity of manner he bowed solemnly to both of us and strodeoff 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 nothing whateverabout the matter. Are you hungry, Watson?""Not particularly.""Then I suggest that we turn our dinner into a supper and follow up thisclue while it is still hot.""By all means."It was a bitter night, so we drew on our ulsters and wrapped cravatsabout our throats. Outside, the stars were shining coldly in a cloudlesssky, and the breath of the passers-by blew out into smoke like so manypistol shots. Our footfalls rang out crisply and loudly as we swungthrough the doctors' quarter, Wimpole Street, Harley Street, and sothrough Wigmore Street into Oxford Street. In a quarter of an hour wewere in Bloomsbury at the Alpha Inn, which is a small public-house at thecorner of one of the streets which runs down into Holborn. Holmespushed open the door of the private bar and ordered two glasses of beerfrom 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, andprosperity to your house. Good-night.[252] "Now for Mr. Breckinridge," he continued, buttoning up his coatas we came out into the frosty air. "Remember, Watson, that though wehave so homely a thing as a goose at one end of this chain, we have at theother a man who will certainly get seven years' penal servitude unless wecan establish his innocence. It is possible that our inquiry may butconfirm his guilt; but, in any case, we have a line of investigation whichhas been missed by the police, and which a singular chance has placed inour 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 zigzagof slums to Covent Garden Market. One of the largest stalls bore thename 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 theshutters."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 slabsof 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 the geesewhich 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 shouldbe 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 thebusiness; but it's 'Where are the geese?' and 'Who did you sell the geeseto?' and 'What will you take for the geese?' One would think they werethe 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 isoff, that is all. But I'm always ready to back my opinion on a matter offowls, 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 thesalesman."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 that went to theAlpha were town bred.""You'll never persuade me to believe that."[253] "Will you bet, then?""It's merely taking your money, for I know that I am right. But I'llhave 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 greasybacked one, laying them out together beneath the hanging lamp."Now then, Mr. Cocksure," said the salesman, "I thought that I was outof geese, but before I finish you'll find that there is still one left in myshop. 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 namesare where their accounts are in the big ledger. Now, then! You see thisother page in red ink? Well, that is a list of my town suppliers. Now, lookat 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 sovereign fromhis pocket and threw it down upon the slab, turning away with the air of aman whose disgust is too deep for words. A few yards off he stoppedunder a lamp-post and laughed in the hearty, noiseless fashion which waspeculiar 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 down in front of him, that man would nothave given me such complete information as was drawn from him by theidea 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 bedetermined is whether we should go on to this Mrs. Oakshott to-night, orwhether we should reserve it for to-morrow. It is clear from what thatsurly fellow said that there are others besides ourselves who are anxiousabout the matter, and I should- -"His remarks were suddenly cut short by a loud hubbub which broke outfrom the stall which we had just left. Turning round we saw a little ratfaced fellow standing in the centre of the circle of yellow light which wasthrown by the swinging lamp, while Breckinridge, the salesman, framedin 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 wereall at the devil together. If you come pestering me any more with yoursilly talk I'll set the dog at you. You bring Mrs. Oakshott here and I'llanswer 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."[254] "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, and the inquirerflitted 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 theflaring stalls, my companion speedily overtook the little man and touchedhim upon the shoulder. He sprang round, and I could see in the gas-lightthat every vestige of colour 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 thinkthat 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 tracesome geese which were sold by Mrs. Oakshott, of Brixton Road, to asalesman named Breckinridge, by him in turn to Mr. Windigate, of theAlpha, 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 thelittle fellow with outstretched hands and quivering fingers. "I can hardlyexplain 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 this wind-sweptmarket-place," said he. "But pray tell me, before we go farther, who it isthat 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 always awkwarddoing business with an alias."A flush sprang to the white cheeks of the stranger. "Well, then," saidhe, "my real name is James Ryder.""Precisely so. Head attendant at the Hotel Cosmopolitan. Pray step intothe cab, and I shall soon be able to tell you everything which you wouldwish to know."The little man stood glancing from one to the other of us with halffrightened, half-hopeful eyes, as one who is not sure whether he is on theverge of a windfall or of a catastrophe. Then he stepped into the cab, andin 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 newcompanion, and the claspings and unclaspings of his hands, spoke of thenervous tension within him."Here we are!" said Holmes cheerily as we filed into the room. "Thefire looks very seasonable in this weather. You look cold, Mr. Ryder.Pray take the basket-chair. I will just put on my slippers before we settlethis little matter of yours. Now, then! You want to know what became ofthose geese?""Yes, sir.""Or rather, I fancy, of that goose. It was one bird, I imagine, in whichyou were interested-white, with a black bar across the tail."[255] Ryder quivered with emotion. "Oh, sir," he cried, "can you tell mewhere it went to?""It came here.""Here?""Yes, and a most remarkable bird it proved. I don't wonder that youshould 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 hisright hand. Holmes unlocked his strong-box and held up the bluecarbuncle, which shone out like a star, with a cold, brilliant, many-pointedradiance. Ryder stood glaring with a drawn face, uncertain whether toclaim or to disown it."The game's up, Ryder," said Holmes quietly. "Hold up, man, or you'llbe into the fire! Give him an arm back into his chair, Watson. He's notgot blood enough to go in for felony with impunity. Give him a dash ofbrandy. So! Now he looks a little more human. What a shrimp it is, to besure!"For a moment he had staggered and nearly fallen, but the brandybrought a tinge of colour into his cheeks, and he sat staring withfrightened eyes at his accuser."I have almost every link in my hands, and all the proofs which I couldpossibly need, so there is little which you need tell me. Still, that littlemay 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 cracklingvoice."I see-her ladyship's waiting-maid. Well, the temptation of suddenwealth so easily acquired was too much for you, as it has been for bettermen before you; but you were not very scrupulous in the means you used.It seems to me, Ryder, that there is the making of a very pretty villain inyou. You knew that this man Horner, the plumber, had been concerned insome such matter before, and that suspicion would rest the more readilyupon him. What did you do, then? You made some small job in my lady'sroom-you and your confederate Cusack-and you managed that he shouldbe 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 mycompanion's knees. "For God's sake, have mercy!" he shrieked. "Thinkof my father! of my mother! It would break their hearts. I never wentwrong 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 tocringe and crawl now, but you thought little enough of this poor Horner inthe dock for a crime of which he knew nothing.""I will fly, Mr. Holmes. I will leave the country, sir. Then the chargeagainst him will break down.""Hum! We will talk about that. And now let us hear a true account ofthe next act. How came the stone into the goose, and how came the gooseinto the open market? Tell us the truth, for there lies your only hope ofsafety."Ryder passed his tongue over his parched lips. "I will tell you it just asit happened, sir," said he. "When Horner had been arrested, it seemed tome that it would be best for me to get away with the stone at once, for Idid not know at what moment the police might not take it into their headsto search me and my [256] room. There was no place about the hotelwhere it would be safe. I went out, as if on some commission, and I madefor my sister's house. She had married a man named Oakshott, and livedin Brixton Road, where she fattened fowls for the market. All the waythere 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 facebefore I came to the Brixton Road. My sister asked me what was thematter, and why I was so pale; but I told her that I had been upset by thejewel robbery at the hotel. Then I went into the back yard and smoked apipe, and wondered what it would be best to do. "I had a friend once called Maudsley, who went to the bad, and has justbeen serving his time in Pentonville. One day he had met me, and fell intotalk about the ways of thieves, and how they could get rid of what theystole. I knew that he would be true to me, for I knew one or two thingsabout him; so I made up my mind to go right on to Kilburn, where helived, and take him into my confidence. He would show me how to turnthe stone into money. But how to get to him in safety? I thought of theagonies I had gone through in coming from the hotel. I might at anymoment be seized and searched, and there would be the stone in mywaistcoat pocket. I was leaning against the wall at the time and looking atthe geese which were waddling about round my feet, and suddenly anidea came into my head which showed me how I could beat the bestdetective that ever lived."My sister had told me some weeks before that I might have the pick ofher geese for a Christmas present, and I knew that she was always as goodas her word. I would take my goose now, and in it I would carry my stoneto Kilburn. There was a little shed in the yard, and behind this I drove oneof 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 fingercould reach. The bird gave a gulp, and I felt the stone pass along its gulletand down into its crop. But the creature flapped and struggled, and outcame my sister to know what was the matter. As I turned to speak to herthe 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 wasfeeling 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, whichmakes one for you, and one for us, and two dozen for the market.'" 'Thank you, Maggie,' says I; 'but if it is all the same to you, I'd ratherhave that one I was handling just now.'" 'The other is a good three pound heavier,' said she, 'and we fattenedit 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 theway to Kilburn. I told my pal what I had done, for he was a man that itwas easy to tell a thing like that to. He laughed until he choked, and wegot a knife and opened the goose. My heart turned to water, for there wasno sign of the stone, and I knew that some terrible mistake had occurred. Ileft the bird, rushed back to my sister's, and hurried into the back yard.There was not a bird to be seen there.[257] " '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 theone I chose?'" 'Yes, Jem; there were two barred-tailed ones, and I could never tellthem apart.'"Well, then, of course I saw it all, and I ran off as hard as my feetwould 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 heardhim yourselves to-night. Well, he has always answered me like that. Mysister 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 havingtouched the wealth for which I sold my character. God help me! God helpme!" He burst into convulsive sobbing, with his face buried in his hands.There was a long silence, broken only by his heavy breathing, and bythe measured tapping of Sherlock Holmes's finger-tips upon the edge ofthe 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 thestairs, the bang of a door, and the crisp rattle of running footfalls from thestreet."After all, Watson," said Holmes, reaching up his hand for his claypipe, "I am not retained by the police to supply their deficiencies. IfHorner were in danger it would be another thing; but this fellow will notappear against him, and the case must collapse. I suppose that I amcommuting a felony, but it is just possible that I am saving a soul. Thisfellow will not go wrong again; he is too terribly frightened. Send him tojail now, and you make him a jail-bird for life. Besides, it is the season offorgiveness. Chance has put in our way a most singular and whimsicalproblem, and its solution is its own reward. If you will have the goodnessto touch the bell, Doctor, we will begin another investigation, in which,also a bird will be the chief feature.