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THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES by
SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
Adventure VII.
THE ADVENTURE OF THE BLUE CARBUNCLE
I had called upon my friend Sherlock Holmes
upon the second morning after Christmas,
with the intention of wishing him the
compliments of the season.
He was lounging upon the sofa in a purple
dressing-gown, a pipe-rack within his reach
upon the right, and a pile of crumpled
morning papers, evidently newly studied,
near at hand.
Beside the couch was a wooden chair, and on
the angle of the back hung a very seedy and
disreputable hard-felt hat, much the worse
for wear, and cracked in several places.
A lens and a forceps lying upon the seat of
the chair suggested that the hat had been
suspended in this manner for the purpose of
examination.
"You are engaged," said I; "perhaps I
interrupt you."
"Not at all.
I am glad to have a friend with whom I can
discuss my results.
The matter is a perfectly trivial one"--he
*** his thumb in the direction of the
old hat--"but there are points in
connection with it which are not entirely
devoid of interest and even of
instruction."
I seated myself in his armchair and warmed
my hands before his crackling fire, for a
sharp frost had set in, and the windows
were thick with the ice crystals.
"I suppose," I remarked, "that, homely as
it looks, this thing has some deadly story
linked on to it--that it is the clue which
will guide you in the solution of some
mystery and the punishment of some crime."
"No, no.
No crime," said Sherlock Holmes, laughing.
"Only one of those whimsical little
incidents which will happen when you have
four million human beings all jostling each
other within the space of a few square
miles.
Amid the action and reaction of so dense a
swarm of humanity, every possible
combination of events may be expected to
take place, and many a little problem will
be presented which may be striking and
bizarre without being criminal.
We have already had experience of such."
"So much so," I remarked, "that of the last
six cases which I have added to my notes,
three have been entirely free of any legal
crime."
"Precisely.
You allude to my attempt to recover the
Irene Adler papers, to the singular case of
Miss Mary Sutherland, and to the adventure
of the man with the twisted lip.
Well, I have no doubt that this small
matter will fall into the same innocent
category.
You know Peterson, the commissionaire?"
"Yes."
"It is to him that this trophy belongs."
"It is his hat."
"No, no, he found it.
Its owner is unknown.
I beg that you will look upon it not as a
battered billycock but as an intellectual
problem.
And, first, as to how it came here.
It arrived upon Christmas morning, in
company with a good fat goose, which is, I
have no doubt, roasting at this moment in
front of Peterson's fire.
The facts are these: about four o'clock on
Christmas 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."
"Which surely he restored to their owner?"
"My dear fellow, there lies the problem.
It is true that 'For Mrs. Henry Baker' was
printed upon a small card which was tied to
the bird's left leg, and it is also true
that the initials 'H. B.' are legible upon
the lining of this hat, but as there are
some thousands of Bakers, and some hundreds
of Henry Bakers in this city of ours, it is
not easy to restore lost property to any
one of them."
"What, then, did Peterson do?"
"He brought round both hat and goose to me
on Christmas morning, knowing that even the
smallest problems are of interest to me.
The goose we retained until this morning,
when there were signs that, in spite of the
slight frost, it would be well that it
should be eaten without unnecessary delay.
Its finder has carried it off, therefore,
to fulfil the ultimate destiny of a goose,
while I continue to retain the hat of the
unknown gentleman who lost his Christmas
dinner."
"Did he not advertise?"
"No."
"Then, what clue could you have as to his
identity?"
"Only as much as we can deduce."
"From his hat?"
"Precisely."
"But you are joking.
What can you gather from this old battered
felt?"
"Here is my lens.
You know my methods.
What can you gather yourself as to the
individuality of the man who has worn this
article?"
I took the tattered object in my hands and
turned it over rather ruefully.
It was a very ordinary black hat of the
usual round shape, hard and much the worse
for wear.
The lining had been of red silk, but was a
good deal discoloured.
There was no maker's name; but, as Holmes
had remarked, the initials "H. B." were
scrawled upon one side.
It was pierced in the brim for a hat-
securer, but the elastic was missing.
For the rest, it was cracked, exceedingly
dusty, and spotted in several places,
although there seemed to have been some
attempt to hide the discoloured patches by
smearing them with ink.
"I can see nothing," said I, handing it
back to my friend.
"On the contrary, Watson, you can see
everything.
You fail, however, to reason from what you
see.
You are too timid in drawing your
inferences."
"Then, pray tell me what it is that you can
infer from this hat?"
He picked it up and gazed at it in the
peculiar introspective fashion which was
characteristic of him.
"It is perhaps less suggestive than it
might have been," he remarked, "and yet
there are a few inferences which are very
distinct, and a few others which represent
at least a strong balance of probability.
That the man was highly intellectual is of
course obvious upon the face of it, and
also that he was fairly well-to-do within
the last three years, although he has now
fallen upon evil days.
He had foresight, but has less now than
formerly, pointing to a moral
retrogression, which, when taken with the
decline of his fortunes, seems to indicate
some evil influence, probably drink, at
work upon him.
This may account also for the obvious fact
that his wife has ceased to love him."
"My dear Holmes!"
"He has, however, retained some degree of
self-respect," he continued, disregarding
my remonstrance.
"He is a man who leads a sedentary life,
goes out little, is out of training
entirely, is middle-aged, has grizzled hair
which he has had cut within the last few
days, and which he anoints with lime-cream.
These are the more patent facts which are
to be deduced from his hat.
Also, by the way, that it is extremely
improbable that he has gas laid on in his
house."
"You are certainly joking, Holmes."
"Not in the least.
Is it possible that even now, when I give
you these results, you are unable to see
how they are attained?"
"I have no doubt that I am very stupid, but
I must confess that I am unable to follow
you.
For example, how did you deduce that this
man was intellectual?"
For answer Holmes clapped the hat upon his
head.
It came right over the forehead and settled
upon the bridge of his nose.
"It is a question of cubic capacity," said
he; "a man with so large a brain must have
something in it."
"The decline of his fortunes, then?"
"This hat is three years old.
These flat brims curled at the edge came in
then.
It is a hat of the very best quality.
Look at the band of ribbed silk and the
excellent lining.
If this man could afford to buy so
expensive a hat three years ago, and has
had no hat since, then he has assuredly
gone down in the world."
"Well, that is clear enough, certainly.
But how about the foresight and the moral
retrogression?"
Sherlock Holmes laughed.
"Here is the foresight," said he putting
his finger upon the little disc and loop of
the hat-securer.
"They are never sold upon hats.
If this man ordered one, it is a sign of a
certain amount of foresight, since he went
out of his way to take this precaution
against the wind.
But since we see that he has broken the
elastic and has not troubled to replace it,
it is obvious that he has less foresight
now than formerly, which is a distinct
proof of a weakening nature.
On the other hand, he has endeavoured to
conceal some of these stains upon the felt
by daubing them with ink, which is a sign
that he has not entirely lost his self-
respect."
"Your reasoning is certainly plausible."
"The further points, that he is middle-
aged, that his hair is grizzled, that it
has been recently cut, and that he uses
lime-cream, are all to be gathered from a
close examination of the lower part of the
lining.
The lens discloses a large number of hair-
ends, clean cut by the scissors of the
barber.
They all appear to be adhesive, and there
is a distinct odour of lime-cream.
This dust, you will observe, is not the
gritty, 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
"But his wife--you said that she had ceased
to love him."
"This hat has not been brushed for weeks.
When I see you, my dear Watson, with a
week's accumulation of dust upon your hat,
and when your wife allows you to go out in
such a state, I shall fear that you also
have been unfortunate enough to lose your
wife's affection."
"But he might be a bachelor."
"Nay, he was bringing home the goose as a
peace-offering to his wife.
Remember the card upon the bird's leg."
"You have an answer to everything.
But how on earth do you deduce that the gas
is not laid on in his house?"
"One tallow stain, or even two, might come
by chance; but when I see no less than
five, I think that there can be little
doubt that the individual must be brought
into frequent contact with burning tallow--
walks upstairs at night probably with his
hat in one hand and a guttering candle in
the other.
Anyhow, he never got tallow-stains from a
gas-jet.
Are you satisfied?"
"Well, it is very ingenious," said I,
laughing; "but since, as you said just now,
there has been no crime committed, and no
harm done save the loss of a goose, all
this seems to be rather a waste of energy."
Sherlock Holmes had opened his mouth to
reply, when the door flew open, and
Peterson, the commissionaire, rushed into
the apartment with flushed cheeks and the
face of a man who is dazed with
astonishment.
"The goose, Mr. Holmes!
The goose, sir!" he gasped.
"Eh?
What of it, then?
Has it returned to life and flapped off
through the kitchen window?"
Holmes twisted himself round upon the sofa
to get a fairer view of the man's excited
face.
"See here, sir!
See what my wife found in its crop!"
He held out his hand and displayed upon the
centre of the palm a brilliantly
scintillating blue stone, rather smaller
than a bean in size, but of such purity and
radiance that it twinkled like an electric
point in the dark hollow of his hand.
Sherlock Holmes sat up with a whistle.
"By Jove, Peterson!" said he, "this is
treasure trove indeed.
I suppose you know what you have got?"
"A diamond, sir?
A precious stone.
It cuts into glass as though it were
putty."
"It's more than a precious stone.
It is the precious stone."
"Not the Countess of Morcar's blue
carbuncle!"
I ***.
"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 pounds is certainly not within a
twentieth part of the 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.
"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."
"It was lost, if I remember aright, at the
Hotel Cosmopolitan," I remarked.
"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:
"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."
"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."
"What will you say?"
"Give me a pencil and that slip of paper.
Now, then: 'Found at the corner of Goodge
Street, a goose and a black felt hat.
Mr. Henry Baker can have the same by
applying at 6:30 this evening at 221B,
Baker Street.'
That is clear and concise."
"Very.
But will he see it?"
"Well, he is sure to keep an eye on the
papers, since, to a poor man, the loss was
a heavy one.
He was clearly so scared by his mischance
in breaking the window and by the approach
of Peterson that he thought of nothing but
flight, but since then he must have
bitterly regretted the impulse which caused
him to drop his bird.
Then, again, the introduction of his name
will cause him to see it, for everyone who
knows him will direct his attention to it.
Here you are, Peterson, run down to the
advertising agency and have this put in the
evening papers."
"In which, sir?"
"Oh, in the Globe, Star, Pall Mall, St.
James's, Evening News, Standard, Echo, and
any others that occur to you."
"Very well, sir.
And this stone?"
"Ah, yes, I shall keep the stone.
Thank you.
And, I say, Peterson, just buy a goose on
your way back and leave it here with me,
for we must have one to give to this
gentleman in place of the one which your
family is now devouring."
When the commissionaire had gone, Holmes
took up the stone and held it against the
light.
"It's a bonny thing," said he.
"Just see how it glints and sparkles.
Of course it is a nucleus and focus of
crime.
Every good stone is.
They are the devil's pet baits.
In the larger and older jewels every facet
may stand for a bloody deed.
This stone is not yet twenty years old.
It was found in the banks of the Amoy River
in 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."
"Do you think that this man Horner is
innocent?"
"I cannot tell."
"Well, then, do you imagine that this other
one, Henry Baker, had anything to do with
the matter?"
"It is, I think, much more likely that
Henry Baker is an absolutely innocent man,
who had no idea that the bird which he was
carrying was of considerably more value
than if it were made of solid gold.
That, however, I shall determine by a very
simple test if we have an answer to our
advertisement."
"And you can do nothing until then?"
"Nothing."
"In that case I shall continue my
professional round.
But I shall come back in the evening at the
hour you have mentioned, for I should like
to see the solution of so tangled a
business."
"Very glad to see you.
I dine at seven.
There is a woodcock, I believe.
By the way, in view of recent occurrences,
perhaps I ought to ask Mrs. Hudson to
examine its crop."
I had been delayed at a case, and it was a
little after half-past six when I found
myself in Baker Street once more.
As I approached the house I saw a tall man
in a Scotch bonnet with a coat which was
buttoned up to his chin waiting outside in
the bright semicircle which was thrown from
the fanlight.
Just as I arrived the door was opened, and
we were shown up 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?"
"Yes, sir, that is undoubtedly my hat."
He was a large man with rounded shoulders,
a massive head, and a broad, intelligent
face, sloping down to a pointed beard of
grizzled brown.
A touch of red in nose and cheeks, with a
slight tremor of his extended hand,
recalled Holmes' surmise as to his habits.
His rusty black frock-coat was buttoned
right up in front, with the collar turned
up, and his lank wrists protruded from his
sleeves without a sign of cuff or shirt.
He spoke in a slow staccato fashion,
choosing his words with care, and gave the
impression generally of a man of learning
and letters who had had ill-usage at the
hands of fortune.
"We have retained these things for some
days," said Holmes, "because we expected to
see an advertisement from you giving your
address.
I am at a loss to know now why you did not
advertise."
Our visitor gave a rather shamefaced laugh.
"Shillings have not been so plentiful with
me as they once were," he remarked.
"I had no doubt that the gang of roughs who
assaulted me had carried off both my hat
and the bird.
I did not care to spend more money in a
hopeless attempt at recovering them."
"Very naturally.
By the way, about the bird, we were
compelled to eat it."
"To eat it!"
Our visitor half rose from his chair in his
excitement.
"Yes, it would have been of no use to
anyone had we not done so.
But I presume that this other goose upon
the sideboard, which is about the same
weight and perfectly fresh, will answer
your purpose equally well?"
"Oh, certainly, certainly," answered Mr.
Baker with a sigh of relief.
"Of course, we still have the feathers,
legs, crop, and so on of your own bird, so
if you wish--"
The man burst into a hearty laugh.
"They might be useful to me as relics of my
adventure," said he, "but beyond that I can
hardly see what use the disjecta membra of
my late acquaintance are going to be to me.
No, sir, I think that, with your
permission, I will confine my attentions to
the excellent bird which I perceive upon
the sideboard."
Sherlock Holmes glanced sharply across at
me with a slight shrug of his shoulders.
"There is your hat, then, and there your
bird," said he.
"By the way, would it bore you to tell me
where you got the other one from?
I am somewhat of a fowl fancier, and I have
seldom seen a better grown goose."
"Certainly, sir," said Baker, who had risen
and tucked his newly gained property under
his arm.
"There are a few of us who frequent the
Alpha Inn, near the Museum--we are to be
found in the Museum itself during the day,
you understand.
This year our good host, Windigate by name,
instituted a goose club, by which, on
consideration of some few pence every week,
we were each to receive a bird at
Christmas.
My pence were duly paid, and the rest is
familiar to you.
I am much indebted to you, sir, for a
Scotch bonnet is fitted neither to my years
nor my gravity."
With a comical pomposity of manner he bowed
solemnly to both of us and strode off upon
his way.
"So much for Mr. Henry Baker," said Holmes
when he had closed the door behind him.
"It is quite certain that he knows nothing
whatever about the matter.
Are you hungry, Watson?"
"Not particularly."
"Then I suggest that we turn our dinner
into a supper and follow up this clue while
it is still hot."
"By all means."
It was a bitter night, so we drew on our
ulsters and wrapped cravats about our
throats.
Outside, the stars were shining coldly in a
cloudless sky, and the breath of the
passers-by blew out into smoke like so many
pistol shots.
Our footfalls rang out crisply and loudly
as we swung through the doctors' quarter,
Wimpole Street, Harley Street, and so
through Wigmore Street into 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.
"Your beer should be excellent if it is as
good as your geese," said he.
"My geese!"
The man seemed surprised.
"Yes. I was speaking only half an hour ago
to Mr. Henry Baker, who was a member of
your goose club."
"Ah! yes, I see.
But you see, sir, them's not our geese."
"Indeed!
Whose, then?"
"Well, I got the two dozen from a salesman
in Covent Garden."
"Indeed?
I know some of them.
Which was it?"
"Breckinridge is his name."
"Ah!
I don't know him.
Well, here's your good health landlord, and
prosperity to your house.
Good-night."
"Now for Mr. Breckinridge," he continued,
buttoning up his coat as we came out into
the frosty air.
"Remember, Watson that though we have so
homely a thing as a goose at one end of
this chain, we have at the other a man who
will certainly get seven years' penal
servitude unless we can establish his
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!"
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.
"Good-evening.
It's a cold night," said Holmes.
The salesman nodded and shot a questioning
glance at my companion.
"Sold out of geese, I see," continued
Holmes, pointing at the bare slabs of
marble.
"Let you have five hundred to-morrow
morning."
"That's no good."
"Well, there are some on the stall with the
gas-flare."
"Ah, but I was recommended to you."
"Who by?"
"The landlord of the Alpha."
"Oh, yes; I sent him a couple of dozen."
"Fine birds they were, too.
Now where did you get them from?"
To my surprise the question provoked a
burst of anger from the salesman.
"Now, then, mister," said he, with his head
cocked and his arms akimbo, "what are you
driving at?
Let's have it straight, now."
"It is straight enough.
I should like to know who sold you the
geese which you supplied to the Alpha."
"Well then, I shan't tell you.
So now!"
"Oh, it is a matter of no importance; but I
don't know why you should be so warm over
such a trifle."
"Warm!
You'd be as warm, maybe, if you were as
pestered as I am.
When I pay good money for a good article
there should be an end of the business; but
it's 'Where are the geese?' and 'Who did
you sell the geese to?' and 'What will you
take for the geese?'
One would think they were the only geese in
the world, to hear the fuss that is made
over them."
"Well, I have no connection with any other
people who have been making inquiries,"
said Holmes carelessly.
"If you won't tell us the bet is off, that
is all.
But I'm always ready to back my opinion on
a matter of fowls, and I have a fiver on it
that the bird I ate is country bred."
"Well, then, you've lost your fiver, for
it's town bred," snapped the salesman.
"It's nothing of the kind."
"I say it is."
"I don't believe it."
"D'you think you know more about fowls than
I, who have handled them ever since I was a
nipper?
I tell you, all those birds that went to
the Alpha were town bred."
"You'll never persuade me to believe that."
"Will you bet, then?"
"It's merely taking your money, for I know
that I am right.
But I'll have a sovereign on with you, just
to teach you not to be obstinate."
The salesman chuckled grimly.
"Bring me the books, Bill," said he.
The small boy brought round a small thin
volume and a great greasy-backed one,
laying them out together beneath the
hanging lamp.
"Now then, Mr. Cocksure," said the
salesman, "I thought that I was out of
geese, but before I finish you'll find that
there is still one left in my shop.
You see this little book?"
"Well?"
"That's the list of the folk from whom I
buy.
D'you see?
Well, then, here on this page are the
country folk, and the numbers after their
names are where their accounts are in the
big ledger.
Now, then!
You see this other page in red ink?
Well, that is a list of my town suppliers.
Now, look at that third name.
Just read it out to me."
"Mrs. Oakshott, 117, Brixton Road--249,"
read Holmes.
"Quite so.
Now turn that up in the ledger."
Holmes turned to the page indicated.
"Here you are, 'Mrs. Oakshott, 117, Brixton
Road, egg and poultry supplier.'"
"Now, then, what's the last entry?"
"'December 22nd.
Twenty-four geese at 7s.
6d.'"
"Quite so.
There you are.
And underneath?"
"'Sold to Mr. Windigate of the Alpha, at
12s.'"
"What have you to say now?"
Sherlock Holmes looked deeply chagrined.
He drew a sovereign from his pocket and
threw it down upon the slab, turning away
with the air of a man whose disgust is too
deep for words.
A few yards off he stopped under a lamp-
post and laughed in the hearty, noiseless
fashion which was peculiar to him.
"When you see a man with whiskers of that
cut and the 'Pink 'un' protruding out of
his pocket, you can always draw him by a
bet," said he.
"I daresay that if I had put 100 pounds
down in front of him, that man would not
have given me such complete information as
was drawn from him by the idea that he was
doing me on a wager.
Well, Watson, we are, I fancy, nearing the
end of our quest, and the only point which
remains to be determined is whether we
should go on to this Mrs. Oakshott to-
night, or whether we should reserve it for
to-morrow.
It is clear from what that surly fellow
said that there are others besides
ourselves who are anxious about the matter,
and I should--"
His remarks were suddenly cut short by a
loud hubbub which broke out from the stall
which we had just left.
Turning round we saw a little rat-faced
fellow standing in the centre of the circle
of yellow light which was thrown by the
swinging lamp, while Breckinridge, the
salesman, framed in the door of his stall,
was shaking his fists fiercely at the
cringing figure.
"I've had enough of you and your geese," he
shouted.
"I wish you were all at the devil together.
If you come pestering me any more with your
silly talk I'll set the dog at you.
You bring Mrs. Oakshott here and I'll
answer her, but what have you to do with
it?
Did I buy the geese off you?"
"No; but one of them was mine all the
same," whined the little man.
"Well, then, ask Mrs. Oakshott for it."
"She told me to ask you."
"Well, you can ask the King of Proosia, for
all I care.
I've had enough of it.
Get out of this!"
He rushed fiercely forward, and the
inquirer flitted away into the darkness.
"Ha! this may save us a visit to Brixton
Road," whispered Holmes.
"Come with me, and we will see what is to
be made of this fellow."
Striding through the scattered knots of
people who lounged round the flaring
stalls, my companion speedily 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.
"Who are you, then?
What do you want?" he asked in a quavering
voice.
"You will excuse me," said Holmes blandly,
"but I could not help overhearing the
questions which you put to the salesman
just now.
I think that I could be of assistance to
you."
"You?
Who are you?
How could you know anything of the matter?"
"My name is Sherlock Holmes.
It is my business to know what other people
don't know."
"But you can know nothing of this?"
"Excuse me, I know everything of it.
You are endeavouring to trace some geese
which were sold by Mrs. Oakshott, of
Brixton Road, to a salesman named
Breckinridge, by him in turn to Mr.
Windigate, of the Alpha, and by him to his
club, of which Mr. Henry Baker is a
member."
"Oh, sir, you are the very man whom I have
longed to meet," cried the little fellow
with outstretched hands and quivering
fingers.
"I can hardly explain to you how interested
I am in this matter."
Sherlock Holmes hailed a four-wheeler which
was passing.
"In that case we had better discuss it in a
cosy room rather than in this wind-swept
market-place," said he.
"But pray tell me, before we go farther,
who it is that I have the pleasure of
assisting."
The man hesitated for an instant.
"My name is John Robinson," he answered
with a sidelong glance.
"No, no; the real name," said Holmes
sweetly.
"It is always awkward doing business with
an alias."
A flush sprang to the white cheeks of the
stranger.
"Well then," said he, "my real name is
James Ryder."
"Precisely so.
Head attendant at the Hotel Cosmopolitan.
Pray step into the cab, and I shall soon be
able to tell you everything which you would
wish to know."
The little man stood glancing from one to
the other of us with half-frightened, half-
hopeful eyes, as one who is not sure
whether he is on the verge of a windfall or
of a catastrophe.
Then he stepped into the cab, and in half
an hour we were back in the sitting-room at
Baker Street.
Nothing had been said during our drive, but
the high, thin breathing of our new
companion, and the claspings and
unclaspings of his hands, spoke of the
nervous tension within him.
"Here we are!" said Holmes cheerily as we
filed into the room.
"The fire looks very 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?"
"Yes, sir."
"Or rather, I fancy, of that goose.
It was one bird, I imagine in which you
were interested--white, with a black bar
across the tail."
Ryder quivered with emotion.
"Oh, sir," he cried, "can you tell me where
it went to?"
"It came here."
"Here?"
"Yes, and a most remarkable bird it proved.
I don't wonder that you should take an
interest in it.
It laid an egg after it was dead--the
bonniest, brightest little blue egg that
ever was seen.
I have it here in my museum."
Our visitor staggered to his feet and
clutched the mantelpiece with his right
hand.
Holmes unlocked his strong-box and held up
the blue carbuncle, which shone out like a
star, with a cold, brilliant, many-pointed
radiance.
Ryder stood glaring with a drawn face,
uncertain whether to claim or to disown it.
"The game's up, Ryder," said Holmes
quietly.
"Hold up, man, or you'll be into the fire!
Give him an arm back into his chair,
Watson.
He's not got blood enough to go in for
felony with impunity.
Give him a dash of brandy.
So!
Now he looks a little more human.
What a shrimp it is, to be sure!"
For a moment he had staggered and nearly
fallen, but the brandy brought a tinge of
colour into his cheeks, and he sat staring
with frightened eyes at his accuser.
"I have almost every link in my hands, and
all the proofs which I could possibly need,
so there is little which you need tell me.
Still, that little may as well be cleared
up to make the case complete.
You had heard, Ryder, of this blue stone of
the Countess of Morcar's?"
"It was Catherine Cusack who told me of
it," said he in a crackling voice.
"I see--her ladyship's waiting-maid.
Well, the temptation of sudden wealth so
easily acquired was too much for you, as it
has been for better men before you; but you
were not very 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--"
Ryder threw himself down suddenly upon the
rug and clutched at my companion's knees.
"For God's sake, have mercy!" he shrieked.
"Think of my father!
Of my mother!
It would break their hearts.
I never went wrong before!
I never will again.
I swear it.
I'll swear it on a Bible.
Oh, don't bring it into court!
For Christ's sake, don't!"
"Get back into your chair!" said Holmes
sternly.
"It is very well to cringe and crawl now,
but you thought little enough of this poor
Horner in the dock for a crime of which he
knew nothing."
"I will fly, Mr. Holmes.
I will leave the country, sir.
Then the charge against him will break
down."
"Hum!
We will talk about that.
And now let us hear a true account of the
next act.
How came the stone into the goose, and how
came the goose into the open market?
Tell us the truth, for there lies your only
hope of safety."
Ryder passed his tongue over his parched
lips.
"I will tell you it just as it happened,
sir," said he.
"When Horner had been arrested, it seemed
to me that it would be best for me to get
away with the stone at once, for I did not
know at what moment the police might not
take it into their heads to search me and
my room.
There was no place about the hotel where it
would be safe.
I went out, as if on some commission, and I
made for my sister's house.
She had married a man named Oakshott, and
lived in Brixton Road, where she fattened
fowls for the market.
All the way there every man I met seemed to
me to be a policeman or a detective; and,
for all that it was a cold night, the sweat
was pouring down my face before I came to
the Brixton Road.
My sister asked me what was the matter, and
why I was so pale; but I told her that I
had been upset by the jewel robbery at the
Then I went into the back yard and smoked a
pipe and wondered what it would be best to
do.
"I had a friend once called Maudsley, who
went to the bad, and has just been serving
his time in Pentonville.
One day he had met me, and fell into talk
about the ways of thieves, and how they
could get rid of what they stole.
I knew that he would be true to me, for I
knew one or two things about him; so I made
up my mind to go right on to Kilburn, where
he lived, and take him into my confidence.
He would show me how to turn the stone into
money.
But how to get to him in safety?
I thought of the agonies I had gone through
in coming from the hotel.
I might at any moment be seized and
searched, and there would be the stone in
my waistcoat pocket.
I was leaning against the wall at the time
and looking at the geese which were
waddling about round my feet, and suddenly
an idea came into my head which showed me
how I could beat the best detective that
ever lived.
"My sister had told me some weeks before
that I might have the pick of her geese for
a Christmas present, and I knew that she
was always as good as her word.
I would take my goose now, and in it I
would carry my stone to Kilburn.
There was a little shed in the yard, and
behind this I drove one of the birds--a
fine big one, white, with a barred tail.
I caught it, and prying its bill open, I
thrust the stone down its throat as far as
my finger could reach.
The bird gave a gulp, and I felt the stone
pass along its gullet and down into its
crop.
But the creature flapped and struggled, and
out came my sister to know what was the
matter.
As I turned to speak to her the brute broke
loose and fluttered off among the others.
"'Whatever were you doing with that bird,
Jem?' says she.
"'Well,' said I, 'you said you'd give me
one for Christmas, and I was feeling which
was the fattest.'
"'Oh,' says she, 'we've set yours aside for
you--Jem's bird, we call it.
It's the big white one over yonder.
There's twenty-six of them, which makes one
for you, and one for us, and two dozen for
the market.'
"'Thank you, Maggie,' says I; 'but if it is
all the same to you, I'd rather have that
one I was handling just now.'
"'The other is a good three pound heavier,'
said she, 'and we fattened it expressly for
you.'
"'Never mind.
I'll have the other, and I'll take it now,'
said I.
"'Oh, just as you like,' said she, a little
huffed.
'Which is it you want, then?'
"'That white one with the barred tail,
right in the middle of the flock.'
"'Oh, very well.
Kill it and take it with you.'
"Well, I did what she said, Mr. Holmes, and
I carried the bird all the way to Kilburn.
I told my pal what I had done, for he was a
man that it was easy to tell a thing like
that to.
He laughed until he choked, and we got a
knife and opened the goose.
My heart turned to water, for there was no
sign of the stone, and I knew that some
terrible mistake had occurred.
I left the bird, rushed back to my
sister's, and hurried into the back yard.
There was not a bird to be seen there.
"'Where are they all, Maggie?'
I cried.
"'Gone to the dealer's, Jem.'
"'Which dealer's?'
"'Breckinridge, of Covent Garden.'
"'But was there another with a barred
tail?'
I asked, 'the same as the one I chose?'
"'Yes, Jem; there were two barred-tailed
ones, and I could never tell them apart.'
"Well, then, of course I saw it all, and I
ran off as hard as my feet would carry me
to this man Breckinridge; but he had sold
the lot at once, and not one word would he
tell me as to where they had gone.
You heard him yourselves to-night.
Well, he has always answered me like that.
My sister thinks that I am going mad.
Sometimes I think that I am myself.
And now--and now I am myself a branded
thief, without ever having touched the
wealth for which I sold my character.
God help me!
God help me!"
He burst into convulsive sobbing, with his
face buried in his hands.
There was a long silence, broken only by
his heavy breathing and by the measured
tapping of Sherlock Holmes' finger-tips
upon the edge of the table.
Then my friend rose and threw open the
door.
"Get out!" said he.
"What, sir!
Oh, Heaven bless you!"
"No more words.
Get out!"
And no more words were needed.
There was a rush, a clatter upon the
stairs, the *** of a door, and the crisp
rattle of running footfalls from the
street.
"After all, Watson," said Holmes, reaching
up his hand for his clay pipe, "I am not
retained by the police to supply their
deficiencies.
If Horner were in danger it would be
another thing; but this fellow will not
appear against him, and the case must
collapse.
I suppose that I am commuting a felony, but
it is just possible that I am saving a
soul.
This fellow will not go wrong again; he is
too terribly frightened.
Send him to 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."
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