The Blue Carbuncle Adventure

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.

I visited my friend Sherlock Holmes on the second morning after Christmas to wish him the season’s greetings. He was lounging on the sofa in a purple dressing gown. A pipe rack was within reach on his right. Nearby was a pile of crumpled morning newspapers, which he had evidently just studied. Beside the sofa was a wooden chair. A shabby, disreputable hard felt hat hung from one corner of its back. The hat was badly worn and cracked in several places. A magnifying glass and a pair of forceps lay on the seat. They suggested that the hat had been hung there for examination.

“You are engaged,” said I; “perhaps I interrupt you.”

“You’re busy,” I said. “Perhaps I’m interrupting 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.”

“Not at all. I am glad to have a friend to discuss my results with. The matter is quite trivial.” He jerked his thumb toward the old hat. “But some aspects of it are interesting and even instructive.”

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.”

I sat in his armchair and warmed my hands by his crackling fire. A sharp frost had set in, and the windows were thick with ice crystals. “I suppose,” I said, “that despite its ordinary appearance, this thing has some deadly story attached to it. It is the clue that will guide you in solving some mystery and punishing 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.”

“No, no. No crime,” said Sherlock Holmes, laughing. “Just one of those odd little incidents that happen when four million people crowd together in a few square miles. With so many people interacting, every possible combination of events may be expected. Many little puzzles will arise that may be striking and bizarre without involving a crime. We have encountered such puzzles before.”

“So much so,” I remarked, “that of the last six cases which I have added to my notes, three have been entirely free of any legal crime.”

“So much so,” I said, “that three of the last six cases I added to my notes involved no crime at all.”

“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?”

“Exactly. You mean my attempt to recover the Irene Adler papers, the unusual case of Miss Mary Sutherland, and the adventure of the man with the twisted lip. Well, I have no doubt this small matter will prove just as harmless. You know Peterson, the commissionaire?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“It is to him that this trophy belongs.”

“This trophy belongs to him.”

“It is his hat.”

“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 morning, 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.”

“No, no, he found it. Its owner is unknown. Please think of it not as a battered bowler hat but as an intellectual problem. First, let me explain how it came here. It arrived on Christmas morning, along with a fine fat goose. No doubt the goose is roasting in front of Peterson’s fire at this very moment. “These are the facts. At about four o’clock on Christmas morning, Peterson was returning home from a small celebration. As you know, he is a very honest fellow. He was walking down Tottenham Court Road when he saw a rather tall man ahead of him in the gaslight. The man was walking with a slight stagger and carrying a white goose over his shoulder. When he reached the corner of Goodge Street, a fight broke out between him and a small group of ruffians. One of them knocked off his hat. He raised his walking stick to defend himself and swung it over his head, smashing the shop window behind him. “Peterson rushed forward to protect the stranger from his attackers. But the man was shocked at having broken the window. He saw an official-looking person in uniform rushing toward him, so he dropped his goose and ran. He vanished among the maze of small streets behind Tottenham Court Road. The ruffians also fled when Peterson appeared. So he was left in possession of the battlefield and the spoils of victory: this battered hat and a most respectable Christmas goose.”

“Which surely he restored to their owner?”

“Surely he returned them 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.”

“My dear fellow, that is the problem. It is true that a small card tied to the bird’s left leg read ‘For Mrs. Henry Baker’. It is also true that the initials ‘H. B.’ can be read on the lining of this hat. But there are thousands of Bakers and hundreds of Henry Bakers in our city. So it is not easy to return the lost property to any one of them.”

“What, then, did Peterson do?”

“So, what 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.”

“He brought me both the hat and the goose on Christmas morning, knowing that even the smallest problems interest me. We kept the goose until this morning. Then, despite the light frost, it showed signs that it should be eaten soon. So the man who found it has taken it away to meet the ultimate fate of a goose. Meanwhile, I still have the hat belonging to the unknown gentleman who lost his Christmas dinner.”

“Did he not advertise?”

“Didn't he advertise?”

“No.”

“No.”

“Then, what clue could you have as to his identity?”

“Then, what clue could you have about who he was?”

“Only as much as we can deduce.”

“Only what we can figure out.”

“From his hat?”

“From his hat?”

“Precisely.”

“Exactly.”

“But you are joking. What can you gather from this old battered felt?”

“But you must be joking. What can you tell from this old, battered felt hat?”

“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?”

“Here is my magnifying glass. You know my methods. What can you tell about the man who wore this item?”

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 took the battered object in my hands and turned it over with some disappointment. It was a very ordinary black hat, round and stiff, and badly worn. Its red silk lining was badly discolored. There was no maker’s name, but as Holmes had noted, the initials “H. B.” were scrawled on one side. The brim had a hole for a hat-securer, but the elastic was missing. The hat was also cracked, extremely dusty, and spotted in several places. Someone seemed to have tried to hide the discolored patches by smearing ink over them.

“I can see nothing,” said I, handing it back to my friend.

“I can’t see anything,” I said, 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.”

“On the contrary, Watson, you can see everything. But you fail to reason from what you see. You are too cautious about drawing conclusions.”

“Then, pray tell me what it is that you can infer from this hat?”

“Then please tell me what 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.”

He picked it up and studied it in the thoughtful, inward-looking way that was characteristic of him. “It perhaps tells us less than it might have,” he remarked, “and yet a few conclusions are very clear. A few others are at least highly probable. It is of course obvious that the man was highly intelligent. He was also fairly well-off within the last three years, although he has now fallen on hard times. He had foresight, but has less now than he once did. This points to a decline in his character. Taken together with the decline in his fortunes, it seems to indicate that some bad influence, probably drink, is affecting him. This may also explain the obvious fact that his wife has stopped loving him.”

“My dear Holmes!”

“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.”

“He has, however, kept some self-respect,” he continued, ignoring my protest. “He lives a sedentary life, rarely goes out, and is completely out of shape. He is middle-aged, and his graying hair was cut within the last few days. He also puts lime-cream on it. These are the more obvious facts we can deduce from his hat. Also, by the way, it is extremely unlikely that his house has gas lighting.”

“You are certainly joking, Holmes.”

“You must be 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?”

“Not at all. Even now that I’ve given you these results, can’t you see how I arrived at them?”

“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?”

“I have no doubt that I'm very stupid, but I have to admit I can't follow you. For example, how did you deduce that this man was intelligent?”

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.”

In answer, Holmes put the hat on his head. It came down over his forehead and settled on the bridge of his nose. “It’s a question of volume,” he said. “A man with such a large brain must have something in it.”

“The decline of his fortunes, then?”

“His finances were declining, 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.”

“This hat is three years old. Flat brims with curled edges came into fashion then. It is a top-quality hat. Look at the ribbed silk band and the excellent lining. If this man could afford such an expensive hat three years ago and has had no new hat since, he has certainly fallen on hard times.”

“Well, that is clear enough, certainly. But how about the foresight and the moral retrogression?”

“Well, that’s certainly clear enough. But what about the foresight and the decline in morals?”

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.”

Sherlock Holmes laughed. “Here is the foresight,” he said, placing his finger on the small disc and loop of the hat-securer. “Hats are never sold with these attached. If this man ordered one, it shows some foresight. He went out of his way to protect his hat against the wind. But the elastic has broken, and he has not bothered to replace it. Clearly, he has less foresight now than he used to. That is definite proof that his character is weakening. On the other hand, he has tried to hide some stains on the felt by daubing them with ink. This shows that he has not entirely lost his self-respect.”

“Your reasoning is certainly plausible.”

“Your reasoning certainly makes sense.”

“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, grey 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.”

“Other details can all be learned by closely examining the lower part of the lining. He is middle-aged, his hair is graying, it has been recently cut, and he uses lime-cream. The magnifying glass reveals many hair ends, cleanly cut by a barber’s scissors. They all seem sticky, and there is a distinct smell of lime-cream. You will notice that the dust is not the gritty gray dust of the street. It is the fluffy brown dust found in a house. This shows that the hat has been hung up indoors most of the time. The moisture marks inside are definite proof that the wearer sweated very freely. He could therefore hardly be in the best physical condition.”

“But his wife—you said that she had ceased to love him.”

“But his wife, you said she had stopped loving 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.”

“This hat hasn't been brushed for weeks. My dear Watson, if I see you with a week's dust on your hat, I shall worry. If your wife lets you go out like that, I shall fear that you too have lost her affection.”

“But he might be a bachelor.”

“But he might be unmarried.”

“Nay, he was bringing home the goose as a peace-offering to his wife. Remember the card upon the bird’s leg.”

“No, he was bringing the goose home as a peace offering to his wife. Remember the card on 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?”

“You have an answer for everything. But how on earth do you know his house isn’t connected to the gas supply?”

“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 gas-jet. Are you satisfied?”

“One or even two tallow stains might happen by chance. But when I see at least five, I have little doubt that the man often comes into contact with burning tallow. He probably walks upstairs at night with his hat in one hand and a flickering candle in the other. In any case, he never got tallow stains from a gas flame. 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.”

“Well, that’s very clever,” I said, laughing. “But as you just said, no crime has been committed. No harm has been done except the loss of a goose. So all this seems like a rather pointless 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.

Sherlock Holmes opened his mouth to reply, but the door flew open. Peterson, the commissionaire, rushed into the apartment. His cheeks were flushed, and he looked dazed with astonishment.

“The goose, Mr. Holmes! The goose, sir!” he gasped.

“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.

“Eh? What about it, then? Has it come back to life and flown out the kitchen window?” Holmes turned on the sofa to get a better look at 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.

“Look here, sir! Look what my wife found in its crop!” He held out his hand, displaying a brilliant, sparkling blue stone in the center of his palm. It was slightly smaller than a bean, but so pure and radiant that it twinkled like an electric light 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?”

Sherlock Holmes sat up and whistled. “Wow, Peterson!” he said. “This really is a treasure. I suppose you know what you've got?”

“A diamond, sir? A precious stone. It cuts into glass as though it were putty.”

“A diamond, sir? A precious stone. It cuts into glass as if it were putty.”

“It’s more than a precious stone. It is the precious stone.”

“It’s more than a precious stone. It’s the precious stone.”

“Not the Countess of Morcar’s blue carbuncle!” I ejaculated.

“Not the Countess of Morcar’s blue carbuncle!” I exclaimed.

“Precisely so. I 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 conjectured, but the reward offered of £ 1000 is certainly not within a twentieth part of the market price.”

“Exactly. I should know its size and shape. After all, I have read the advertisement about it in The Times every day lately. It is absolutely unique, and its value can only be guessed at. But the £1,000 reward offered is certainly less than a twentieth of its market price.”

“A thousand pounds! Great Lord of mercy!” The commissionaire plumped down into a chair and stared from one to the other of us.

“A thousand pounds! Good Lord!” The commissionaire dropped into a chair and stared from one of us to the other.

“That is the reward, and I have reason to know that there are sentimental considerations in the background which would induce the Countess to part with half her fortune if she could but recover the gem.”

“That is the reward. And I have reason to know that the gem has sentimental value for the Countess. She would part with half her fortune if she could get it back.”

“It was lost, if I remember aright, at the Hotel Cosmopolitan,” I remarked.

“If I remember correctly, it was lost at the Hotel Cosmopolitan,” I said.

“Precisely so, on December 22nd, 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:

“Exactly, on December 22nd, just five days ago. John Horner, a plumber, was accused of stealing it from the lady’s jewelry box. The evidence against him was so strong that the case has been sent to the Assizes for trial. I believe I have an account of the matter here.” He searched through his newspapers, glancing at the dates. At last, he smoothed one out, folded 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 22nd 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 evidence 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 division, gave evidence as to the arrest of Horner, who struggled 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.”

“Hotel Cosmopolitan Jewel Robbery. John Horner, a 26-year-old plumber, was brought before the court. He was charged with stealing the valuable gem known as the blue carbuncle from the Countess of Morcar’s jewel case on the 22nd of this month. James Ryder, the hotel’s head attendant, gave evidence. He said he had taken Horner to the Countess of Morcar’s dressing room on the day of the robbery. Horner was to solder the second bar of the fireplace grate, which was loose. Ryder stayed with Horner for a while, but was eventually called away. When he returned, Horner was gone and the writing desk had been forced open. A small leather casket lay empty on the dressing table. It later emerged that the Countess usually kept her jewel in the casket. Ryder immediately raised the alarm, and Horner was arrested that evening. But the stone was not found on him or in his rooms. Catherine Cusack, the Countess’s maid, testified that she heard Ryder cry out in dismay when he discovered the robbery. She rushed into the room and found everything as Ryder had described. Inspector Bradstreet of B division gave evidence about Horner’s arrest. Horner had struggled frantically and protested his innocence in the strongest terms. Evidence was presented of Horner’s previous conviction for robbery. The magistrate therefore refused to deal with the offence summarily and referred it to the Assizes. Horner had shown signs of intense emotion during the proceedings. At the end, he fainted 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 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 ascertaining 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.”

“Hmm! So much for the police court,” said Holmes thoughtfully, tossing the paper aside. “Now we must work out the sequence of events. How did the jewel get from a robbed jewel case to the crop of a goose in Tottenham Court Road? You see, Watson, our little deductions have suddenly become much more important and less innocent. Here is the stone. It came from the goose, and the goose came from Mr. Henry Baker. He is the gentleman with the bad hat and all the other characteristics I have bored you with. So now we must make a serious effort to find him and discover his part in this little mystery. First, we must try the simplest approach. That is certainly an advertisement in all the evening papers. If that fails, I shall use other methods.”

“What will you say?”

“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.”

“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 collect them at 221B, Baker Street, at 6:30 this evening.’ That is clear and concise.”

“Very. But will he see it?”

“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 advertising agency and have this put in the evening papers.”

“Well, he is sure to watch the newspapers, since the loss was serious for a poor man. He was clearly frightened by breaking the window and seeing Peterson approach. He could think of nothing but running away. But since then, he must have bitterly regretted dropping his bird on impulse. And including his name will make sure he sees the notice. Everyone who knows him will point it out to him. Here you are, Peterson. Run down to the advertising agency and have this put in the evening papers.”

“In which, sir?”

“Which one, sir?”

“Oh, in the Globe, Star, Pall Mall, St. James’s Gazette, Evening News, Standard, Echo, and any others that occur to you.”

“Oh, in the Globe, Star, Pall Mall, St. James’s Gazette, Evening News, Standard, Echo, and any others you can think of.”

“Very well, sir. And this stone?”

“All right, sir. And what about 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.”

“Ah, yes, I’ll keep the stone. Thank you. And, Peterson, please buy a goose on your way back and leave it here with me. We need one to give this gentleman in place of the goose your family is now eating.”

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 southern 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 crystallised 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.”

When the commissionaire had gone, Holmes picked up the stone and held it against the light. “It’s a beautiful thing,” he said. “Just look at how it glints and sparkles. Of course it attracts and concentrates crime. Every fine stone does. They are the devil’s favorite bait. In larger, 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 southern China. It has every characteristic of a carbuncle, except that it is blue instead of ruby red. Despite its youth, it already has a sinister history. This forty-grain piece of crystallized charcoal has prompted two murders, an acid attack, a suicide, and several robberies. Who would think that such a pretty toy could send people to the gallows and to prison? I’ll lock it in my strongbox now and write a note to the Countess to say we have it.”

“Do you think that this man Horner is innocent?”

“Do you think Horner is innocent?”

“I cannot tell.”

“I can't tell.”

“Well, then, do you imagine that this other one, Henry Baker, had anything to do with the matter?”

“Well, then, do you think this other man, 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.”

“I think it is much more likely that Henry Baker is completely innocent. He had no idea the bird he was carrying was worth far more than if it were made of solid gold. But if someone answers our advertisement, I can find out with a very simple test.”

“And you can do nothing until then?”

“And you can't do anything until then?”

“Nothing.”

“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.”

“In that case, I’ll continue my rounds. But I’ll come back this evening at the time you mentioned. I’d like to see how such a tangled case is solved.”

“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.”

“Very glad to see you. I have dinner at seven. I believe we’re having woodcock. By the way, after recent events, perhaps I should ask Mrs. Hudson to examine the bird’s 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 I arrived the door was opened, and we were shown up together to Holmes’ room.

I had been delayed by a case, and it was just after six thirty when I returned to Baker Street. As I approached the house, I saw a tall man waiting outside in the bright semicircle of light from the window above the door. He wore a Scottish bonnet and a coat buttoned up to his chin. Just as I arrived, the door opened, and we were shown upstairs together to Holmes’ 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?”

“Mr. Henry Baker, I believe,” he said, rising from his armchair. He greeted his visitor with the easy warmth he could so readily put on. “Please take this chair by the fire, Mr. Baker. It’s a cold night, and I see your circulation is better suited to summer than winter. Ah, Watson, you’ve arrived at just the right time. Is that your hat, Mr. Baker?”

“Yes, sir, that is undoubtedly my hat.”

“Yes, sir, that is definitely 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’ 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.

He was a large man with rounded shoulders and a massive head. His broad, intelligent face narrowed to a pointed beard streaked with gray. His nose and cheeks were slightly red, and his outstretched hand trembled a little. Both recalled Holmes’ guess about his habits. His worn black frock coat was buttoned all the way up, and its collar was turned up. His thin wrists stuck out from his sleeves, with no sign of a shirt or cuffs. He spoke slowly in short bursts, choosing his words carefully. Overall, he seemed to be a learned man of letters who had suffered 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.”

“We’ve kept these things for a few days,” said Holmes, “because we expected you to advertise your address. I don’t know why you didn’t.”

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.”

Our visitor laughed rather sheepishly. “I don’t have as many shillings as I once did,” he said. “I was sure the gang of thugs who attacked me had taken both my hat and the bird. I didn’t want to spend more money on a hopeless attempt to get them back.”

“Very naturally. By the way, about the bird, we were compelled to eat it.”

“Quite naturally. By the way, we had to eat the bird.”

“To eat it!” Our visitor half rose from his chair in his excitement.

“To eat it!” Our visitor half rose from his chair, excited.

“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?”

“Yes, it would have been no use to anyone if we hadn’t done so. But I assume the other goose on the sideboard will serve your purpose just as well? It weighs about the same and is perfectly fresh.”

“Oh, certainly, certainly,” answered Mr. Baker with a sigh of relief.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Mr. Baker replied 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—”

“Of course, we still have the feathers, legs, crop, and other parts of your bird, so if you want to...”

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 permission, I will confine my attentions to the excellent bird which I perceive upon the sideboard.”

The man burst into a hearty laugh. “They might be useful to me as souvenirs of my adventure,” he said. “But beyond that, I can hardly see what use the scattered remains of my late acquaintance would be to me. No, sir, with your permission, I think I’ll turn my attention to the excellent bird I see on the sideboard.”

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

Sherlock Holmes glanced sharply at me and shrugged slightly.

“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.”

“There is your hat, then, and there is your bird,” he said. “By the way, would you mind telling me where you got the other one? I’m something of a poultry enthusiast, and I’ve rarely 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 solemnly to both of us and strode off upon his way.

“Certainly, sir,” said Baker, who had stood up and tucked his newly acquired property under his arm. “A few of us often visit the Alpha Inn, near the Museum. You see, we spend our days in the Museum itself. This year our good host, Windigate, started a goose club. We each paid a few pence every week to receive a bird at Christmas. I paid my pence as promised, and you know the rest. I am very grateful to you, sir. A Scotch bonnet suits neither my age nor my dignity.” With a comically pompous manner, he bowed solemnly to both of us and strode off.

“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?”

“That takes care of Mr. Henry Baker,” said Holmes after he closed the door behind him. “He certainly knows nothing at all about the matter. Are you hungry, Watson?”

“Not particularly.”

“Not particularly.”

“Then I suggest that we turn our dinner into a supper and follow up this clue while it is still hot.”

“Then I suggest we eat dinner later and follow up on this clue while it’s still fresh.”

“By all means.”

“Of course.”

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 Oxford 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.

It was a bitterly cold night, so we put on our overcoats and wrapped scarves around our necks. Outside, stars shone coldly in a cloudless sky. The breath of passersby puffed out like smoke from pistol shots. Our footsteps rang out sharply and loudly as we strode through the doctors’ quarter. We passed along Wimpole Street, Harley Street, and Wigmore Street into Oxford Street. Within fifteen minutes, we reached the Alpha Inn in Bloomsbury. It was a small pub on the corner of a street leading down to Holborn. Holmes pushed open the door of the private bar and ordered two glasses of beer from the red-faced landlord, who wore a white apron.

“Your beer should be excellent if it is as good as your geese,” said he.

“Your beer should be excellent if it is as good as your geese,” he said.

“My geese!” The man seemed surprised.

“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.”

“Yes. I spoke to Mr. Henry Baker just half an hour ago. He was a member of your goose club.”

“Ah! yes, I see. But you see, sir, them’s not our geese.”

“Ah! Yes, I see. But you see, sir, those aren't our geese.”

“Indeed! Whose, then?”

“Really? Then whose?”

“Well, I got the two dozen from a salesman in Covent Garden.”

“Well, I got the two dozen from a salesman in Covent Garden.”

“Indeed? I know some of them. Which was it?”

“Really? I know some of them. Which one was it?”

“Breckinridge is his name.”

“His name is Breckinridge.”

“Ah! I don’t know him. Well, here’s your good health landlord, and prosperity to your house. Good-night.”

“Ah! I don’t know him. Well, here’s to your health, landlord, and to the success of your business. 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 innocence. 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!”

“Now for Mr. Breckinridge,” he continued, buttoning his coat as we stepped into the freezing air. “Remember, Watson, we have an ordinary goose at one end of this chain. But at the other end is a man who will certainly get seven years of hard labor unless we can prove him innocent. Our investigation may only confirm his guilt. But in any case, we have a lead the police missed, and a strange chance has put it in our hands. Let us follow it through to the bitter end. Face 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 horsey-looking man, with a sharp face and trim side-whiskers was helping a boy to put up the shutters.

We crossed Holborn, went down Endell Street, and wound through the slums to Covent Garden Market. One of the largest stalls had the name Breckinridge on it. The owner had a horsey look, a sharp face, and neatly trimmed sideburns. He was helping a boy put up the shutters.

“Good-evening. It’s a cold night,” said Holmes.

“Good evening. It’s a cold night,” said Holmes.

The salesman nodded and shot a questioning glance at my companion.

The salesman nodded and gave my companion a questioning look.

“Sold out of geese, I see,” continued Holmes, pointing at the bare slabs of marble.

“I see you’re sold out of geese,” Holmes continued, pointing at the bare marble slabs.

“Let you have five hundred to-morrow morning.”

“I’ll give you five hundred tomorrow morning.”

“That’s no good.”

“That’s no good.”

“Well, there are some on the stall with the gas-flare.”

“Well, there are some on the stall with the gas lamp.”

“Ah, but I was recommended to you.”

“Ah, but someone recommended me to you.”

“Who by?”

“By whom?”

“The landlord of the Alpha.”

“The person who runs the Alpha.”

“Oh, yes; I sent him a couple of dozen.”

“Oh, yes, I sent him a couple of dozen.”

“Fine birds they were, too. Now where did you get them from?”

“They were fine birds, too. Now, where did you get them?”

To my surprise the question provoked a burst of anger from the salesman.

To my surprise, the question made the salesman burst out in anger.

“Now, then, mister,” said he, with his head cocked and his arms akimbo, “what are you driving at? Let’s have it straight, now.”

“All right, mister,” he said, tilting his head and putting his hands on his hips. “What are you getting at? Tell me straight.”

“It is straight enough. I should like to know who sold you the geese which you supplied to the Alpha.”

“It’s simple enough. I’d like to know who sold you the geese you supplied to the Alpha.”

“Well then, I shan’t tell you. So now!”

“Well then, I won’t tell you. So there!”

“Oh, it is a matter of no importance; but I don’t know why you should be so warm over such a trifle.”

“Oh, it’s not important. But I don’t know why you’re so upset over such a small thing.”

“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.”

“Angry! You might be just as angry if you were bothered as much as I am. When I pay good money for a good product, that should be the end of it. But it’s ‘Where are the geese?’ and ‘Who did you sell the geese to?’ and ‘What will you take for the geese?’ Hearing all the fuss, you’d think they were the only geese in the world.”

“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, I have no connection with anyone else who has been asking questions,” said Holmes casually. “If you won’t tell us, the bet is off. That’s all. But I’m always ready to bet on my judgment about poultry. I’ll bet five pounds that the bird I ate was raised in the country.”

“Well, then, you’ve lost your fiver, for it’s town bred,” snapped the salesman.

“Well, then, you’ve lost your five pounds, because it was bred in town,” snapped the salesman.

“It’s nothing of the kind.”

“It’s nothing like that.”

“I say it is.”

“I say it is.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“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.”

“Do you think you know more about birds than I do? I’ve handled them ever since I was a kid. I tell you, all those birds that went to the Alpha were raised in town.”

“You’ll never persuade me to believe that.”

“You’ll never convince me to believe that.”

“Will you bet, then?”

“So, will you bet?”

“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.”

“It would just be taking your money, because I know I’m right. But I’ll bet you a sovereign, just to teach you not to be stubborn.”

The salesman chuckled grimly. “Bring me the books, Bill,” said he.

The salesman chuckled grimly. “Bring me the books, Bill,” he said.

The small boy brought round a small thin volume and a great greasy-backed one, laying them out together beneath the hanging lamp.

The little boy brought over a small, thin book and a large one with a greasy cover. He laid them side by side 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?”

“Now, Mr. Cocksure,” said the salesman, “I thought I was out of geese. But before I’m finished, you’ll find there’s still one left in my shop. See this little book?”

“Well?”

“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.”

“That’s the list of people I buy from. Do you see? Well, on this page are the people from the country. The numbers after their names show where their accounts are in the main ledger. Now, do you see this other page in red ink? That’s a list of my suppliers in town. Now, look at the third name. Read it out to me.”

“Mrs. Oakshott, 117, Brixton Road—249,” read Holmes.

“Mrs. Oakshott, 117, Brixton Road, 249,” Holmes read.

“Quite so. Now turn that up in the ledger.”

“Exactly. Now look that up in the ledger.”

Holmes turned to the page indicated. “Here you are, ‘Mrs. Oakshott, 117, Brixton Road, egg and poultry supplier.’”

Holmes turned to the page. “Here you are, ‘Mrs. Oakshott, 117, Brixton Road, egg and poultry supplier.’”

“Now, then, what’s the last entry?”

“Now, what’s the last entry?”

“‘December 22nd. Twenty-four geese at 7s. 6d.’”

“‘December 22. Twenty-four geese at 7shillings 6pence.’”

“Quite so. There you are. And underneath?”

“Exactly. There you are. And underneath?”

“‘Sold to Mr. Windigate of the Alpha, at 12s.’”

“‘Sold to Mr. Windigate of the Alpha for 12 shillings.’”

“What have you to say now?”

“What do you have to say now?”

Sherlock Holmes looked deeply chagrined. He drew a sovereign 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.

Sherlock Holmes looked deeply upset. He took a sovereign from his pocket and tossed it onto the slab. He turned away like a man too disgusted to speak. A few yards away, he stopped under a streetlamp. He laughed heartily and silently, as he often did.

“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 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—”

“When you see a man with whiskers cut like that and the ‘Pink ’un’ sticking out of his pocket, you can always draw him out with a bet,” he said. “I doubt that even £100 would have bought me such complete information from that man. But he gave it freely because he thought he was getting the better of me in a wager. Well, Watson, I think we are nearing the end of our search. The only question left is whether we should visit this Mrs. Oakshott tonight or wait until tomorrow. From what that surly fellow said, others besides us are clearly 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.

His remarks were suddenly cut short by a loud commotion at the stall we had just left. We turned around and saw a small, rat-faced man standing in the circle of yellow light cast by the swinging lamp. Breckinridge, the salesman, stood in the doorway of his stall, shaking his fists fiercely at the cringing man.

“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?”

“I’ve had enough of you and your geese,” he shouted. “I wish you were all in hell together. If you bother me again with your silly talk, I’ll set the dog on you. Bring Mrs. Oakshott here and I’ll answer her. But what have you got to do with it? Did I buy the geese from you?”

“No; but one of them was mine all the same,” whined the little man.

“No, but one of them was still mine,” whined the little man.

“Well, then, ask Mrs. Oakshott for it.”

“Well, then, ask Mrs. Oakshott for it.”

“She told me to ask you.”

“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.

“Well, you can ask the King of Proosia, for all I care. I’ve had enough of it. Get out of here!” He rushed forward fiercely, and the questioner slipped 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 overtook 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.

“Ha! This may save us a trip to Brixton Road,” whispered Holmes. “Come with me, and we’ll see what we can learn from this fellow.” My companion strode through the scattered groups of people lingering around the brightly lit stalls. He soon caught up with the little man and touched him on the shoulder. The man spun around, and I could see in the gaslight that all the color had drained from his face.

“Who are you, then? What do you want?” he asked in a quavering voice.

“Who are you, then? What do you want?” he asked in a trembling 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.”

“Excuse me,” Holmes said calmly, “but I couldn’t help overhearing the questions you just asked the salesman. I think I could help you.”

“You? Who are you? How could you know anything of the matter?”

“You? Who are you? How could you know anything about this?”

“My name is Sherlock Holmes. It is my business to know what other people don’t know.”

“My name is Sherlock Holmes. It’s my job to know what other people don’t know.”

“But you can know nothing of this?”

“But you can’t know anything about 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.”

“Excuse me, I know all about it. You are trying to trace some geese that Mrs. Oakshott of Brixton Road sold to a salesman named Breckinridge. He sold them to Mr. Windigate of the Alpha, who sold them to his club. Mr. Henry Baker is a member of that club.”

“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.”

“Oh, sir, you’re just the man I’ve been longing to meet,” cried the little man, holding out his hands, his fingers trembling. “I can hardly explain 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.”

Sherlock Holmes hailed a passing four-wheeled cab. “In that case, we had better discuss it in a cozy room, rather than in this windy marketplace,” he said. “But before we go any further, please tell me who I have the pleasure of helping.”

The man hesitated for an instant. “My name is John Robinson,” he answered with a sidelong glance.

The man hesitated for a moment. “My name is John Robinson,” he answered, glancing sideways.

“No, no; the real name,” said Holmes sweetly. “It is always awkward doing business with an alias.”

“No, no, your real name,” Holmes said sweetly. “It’s always awkward doing business with someone using a false name.”

A flush sprang to the white cheeks of the stranger. “Well then,” said he, “my real name is James Ryder.”

The stranger’s pale cheeks flushed. “Well then,” he said, “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.”

“Exactly. Head attendant at the Hotel Cosmopolitan. Please get into the cab. I’ll soon be able to tell you everything you want 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.

The little man stood looking from one of us to the other, his eyes half frightened and half hopeful. He seemed unsure whether he was about to gain a fortune or face a disaster. Then he stepped into the cab, and half an hour later we were back in the sitting room at Baker Street. No one had spoken during the drive. But our new companion’s high, thin breathing and his repeated clasping and unclasping of his hands showed how nervous he was.

“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 my slippers before we settle this little matter of yours. Now, then! You want to know what became of those geese?”

“Here we are!” said Holmes cheerfully as we filed into the room. “The fire looks welcome in this weather. You look cold, Mr. Ryder. Please take the basket chair. I’ll put on my slippers before we settle this little matter of yours. Now, then! You want to know what happened to those geese?”

“Yes, sir.”

“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.”

“Or rather, I think, that goose. I imagine you were interested in one bird. It was white, with a black stripe across its tail.”

Ryder quivered with emotion. “Oh, sir,” he cried, “can you tell me where it went to?”

Ryder trembled with emotion. “Oh, sir,” he cried, “can you tell me where it went?”

“It came here.”

“It came here.”

“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.”

“Yes, and it turned out to be a most remarkable bird. I’m not surprised you’re interested in it. It laid an egg after it was dead. It was the prettiest, brightest little blue egg ever 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.

Our visitor staggered to his feet and grabbed the mantelpiece with his right hand. Holmes unlocked his strongbox and held up the blue carbuncle. It shone like a star, with a cold, brilliant radiance that reached out in many points. Ryder stood glaring at it, his face drawn. He seemed unsure whether to claim it or deny that it was his.

“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!”

“It’s over, Ryder,” said Holmes quietly. “Steady, man, or you’ll fall into the fire! Help him back into his chair, Watson. He hasn’t the nerve to commit a crime without suffering for it. Give him a splash of brandy. There! Now he looks a little more human. What a pathetic little man he is!”

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.

For a moment, he staggered and nearly fell. But the brandy brought some color back to his cheeks. He sat staring at his accuser with frightened eyes.

“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?”

“I have almost every link in the chain and all the proof I could possibly need. So there is little you need to tell me. Still, we might as well clear up that little to make the case complete. Ryder, had you heard of the Countess of Morcar’s blue stone?”

“It was Catherine Cusack who told me of it,” said he in a crackling voice.

“Catherine Cusack told me about it,” he said 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 scrupulous 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—”

“I see, the lady’s maid. Well, the temptation of easy, sudden wealth was too much for you, as it has been for better men before you. But you were not very careful about the methods you used. It seems to me, Ryder, that you have the makings of a very fine villain. You knew that Horner, the plumber, had been involved in something like this before. You knew that suspicion would therefore fall more readily on him. So what did you do? You and your accomplice Cusack arranged for a small job to be done in the lady’s room. You made sure Horner was sent for. Then, when he had left, you robbed the jewel case, raised the alarm, and had the 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!”

Ryder suddenly threw himself down on the rug and grabbed my companion’s knees. “For God’s sake, have mercy!” he screamed. “Think of my father! Of my mother! It would break their hearts. I’ve never done anything wrong before! I never will again. I swear it. I’ll swear it on a Bible. Oh, don’t take it to 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.”

“Get back in your chair!” Holmes said sternly. “It is easy to beg and grovel now. But you cared little about poor Horner standing trial for a crime he knew nothing about.”

“I will fly, Mr. Holmes. I will leave the country, sir. Then the charge against him will break down.”

“I will flee, Mr. Holmes. I will leave the country, sir. Then the charge against him will fall apart.”

“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.”

“Hmm! We’ll talk about that. Now tell us what really happened next. How did the stone get into the goose? And how did the goose end up for sale at the market? Tell us the truth, because that is 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.

Ryder ran his tongue over his dry lips. “I will tell you exactly what happened, sir,” he said. “After Horner was arrested, I thought I had better get away with the stone at once. I did not know when the police might decide to search me and my room. There was nowhere in the hotel where the stone would be safe. I went out as if I had an errand and headed for my sister’s house. She had married a man named Oakshott and lived on Brixton Road, where she fattened poultry for market. All the way there, every man I met seemed to be a policeman or a detective. Although the night was cold, sweat was pouring down my face before I reached Brixton Road. My sister asked what was wrong and why I was so pale. But I told her I had been upset by the jewel robbery at the hotel. Then I went into the backyard, smoked a pipe, and wondered what I should 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.

“I once had a friend named Maudsley who turned to crime and has just served his sentence in Pentonville. One day, he met me and started talking about thieves and how they could get rid of stolen goods. I knew he would be loyal to me because I knew one or two things about him. So I decided to go straight to Kilburn, where he lived, and confide in him. He would show me how to turn the stone into money. “But how could I get to him safely? I thought of the agony I had gone through on my way from the hotel. I could be grabbed and searched at any moment, and the stone was in my waistcoat pocket. I was leaning against a wall, watching the geese waddle around my feet. Suddenly, I had an idea that showed me how to outwit the best detective who 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.

“My sister had told me some weeks earlier that I could choose one of her geese for Christmas. I knew she always kept her word. I would take my goose now and carry my stone in it to Kilburn. There was a small shed in the yard. I drove one of the birds behind it, a fine, big white goose with a striped tail. I caught it and pried its beak open. Then I pushed the stone down its throat as far as my finger could reach. The bird gulped, and I felt the stone pass down its throat into its crop. But the creature flapped and struggled, and my sister came out to see what was wrong. As I turned to speak to her, the brute broke free and fluttered off among the other geese.

“‘Whatever were you doing with that bird, Jem?’ says she.

“‘What were you doing with that bird, Jem?’ she says.

“‘Well,’ said I, ‘you said you’d give me one for Christmas, and I was feeling which was the fattest.’

“‘Well,’ I said, ‘you said you’d give me one for Christmas, and I was feeling them to see which was 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.’

“‘Oh,’ she says, ‘we’ve set yours aside for you. We call it Jem’s bird. It’s the big white one over there. There are twenty-six birds: one for you, 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 rather have that one I was handling just now.’

“‘Thank you, Maggie,’ I said, ‘but if you don’t mind, I’d rather have the one I was just handling.’

“‘The other is a good three pound heavier,’ said she, ‘and we fattened it expressly for you.’

“‘The other is a good three pounds heavier,’ she said, ‘and we fattened it especially for you.’

“‘Never mind. I’ll have the other, and I’ll take it now,’ said I.

“‘Never mind. I’ll have the other one, and I’ll take it now,’ I said.

“‘Oh, just as you like,’ said she, a little huffed. ‘Which is it you want, then?’

“‘Oh, whatever you like,’ she said, a little annoyed. ‘Which one do you want, then?’

“‘That white one with the barred tail, right in the middle of the flock.’

“‘That white one with the striped tail, right in the middle of the flock.’

“‘Oh, very well. Kill it and take it with you.’

“‘Oh, all right. 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.

“Well, I did what she said, Mr. Holmes, and I carried the bird all the way to Kilburn. I told my friend what I had done, because he was someone I could easily tell something like that. He laughed until he choked. Then we got a knife and opened the goose. My heart sank, because there was no sign of the stone. I knew that some terrible mistake had happened. I left the bird, rushed back to my sister’s, and hurried into the backyard. There wasn’t a bird in sight.

“‘Where are they all, Maggie?’ I cried.

“‘Where are they all, Maggie?’ I shouted.

“‘Gone to the dealer’s, Jem.’

“‘Gone to the dealer’s, Jem.’

“‘Which dealer’s?’

“‘Which dealer’s?’

“‘Breckinridge, of Covent Garden.’

“‘Breckinridge, of Covent Garden.’

“‘But was there another with a barred tail?’ I asked, ‘the same as the one I chose?’

“‘But was there another with a barred tail?’ I asked, ‘like the one I chose?’

“‘Yes, Jem; there were two barred-tailed ones, and I could never tell them apart.’

“‘Yes, Jem, there were two with striped tails, 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.

“Well, then, of course, I understood everything, and I ran as fast as I could to this man Breckinridge. But he had sold the whole lot at once, and he would not tell me where they had gone. You heard him yourselves tonight. Well, he has always answered me like that. My sister thinks I am going mad. Sometimes I think so myself. And now, and now I am branded a thief, without ever having touched the wealth for which I ruined my reputation. God help me! God help me!” He burst into uncontrollable sobs, 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’ finger-tips upon the edge of the table. Then my friend rose and threw open the door.

There was a long silence, broken only by his heavy breathing and Sherlock Holmes’ fingertips tapping steadily on the table’s edge. Then my friend stood up and threw the door open.

“Get out!” said he.

“Get out!” he said.

“What, sir! Oh, Heaven bless you!”

“What, sir! Oh, God bless you!”

“No more words. Get out!”

“Say no more. 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.

No more words were needed. There was a rush, a clatter on the stairs, and the bang of a door. Then came the crisp sound of footsteps running down 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 gaol now, and you make him a gaol-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.”

“After all, Watson,” said Holmes, reaching for his clay pipe, “the police do not pay me to make up for their shortcomings. If Horner were in danger, it would be another matter. But this fellow will not testify against him, and the case must collapse. I suppose I am letting a crime go unpunished, but I may just possibly be saving a soul. This fellow will not go wrong again. He is far too frightened. Send him to prison now, and you will make him a criminal for life. Besides, it is the season of forgiveness. Chance has brought us a most unusual and amusing problem, and solving it is its own reward. If you would be so good as to ring the bell, Doctor, we will begin another investigation. A bird will be the main feature of that one too.”