The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

stalls bore the name of Breckinridge upon it, and the proprietor

  a horsy-looking man, with a sharp face and trim side-whiskers was

  helping a boy to put up the shutters.

  "Good-evening. It's a cold night," said Holmes.

  The salesman nodded and shot a questioning glance at my

  companion.

  "Sold out of geese, I see," continued Holmes, pointing at the

  bare slabs of marble.

  "Let you have five hundred to-morrow morning."

  "That's no good."

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

  "Ah, but I was recommended to you."

  "Who by?"

  "The landlord of the Alpha."

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

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

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

  salesman.

  "Now, then, mister," said he, with his head cocked and his arms

  akimbo, "what are you driving at? Let's have it straight, now."

  "It is straight enough. I should like to know who sold you the

  geese which you supplied to the Alpha."

  "Well then, I shan't tell you. So now!"

  "Oh, it is a matter of no importance; but I don't know why you

  should be so warm over such a trifle."

  "Warm! You'd be as warm, maybe, if you were as pestered as I am.

  When I pay good money for a good article there should be an end

  of the business; but it's 'Where are the geese?' and 'Who did you

  sell the geese to?' and 'What will you take for the geese?' One

  would think they were the only geese in the world, to hear the

  fuss that is made over them."

  "Well, I have no connection with any other people who have been

  making inquiries," said Holmes carelessly. "If you won't tell us

  the bet is off, that is all. But I'm always ready to back my

  opinion on a matter of fowls, and I have a fiver on it that the

  bird I ate is country bred."

  "Well, then, you've lost your fiver, for it's town bred," snapped

  the salesman.

  "It's nothing of the kind."

  "I say it is."

  "I don't believe it."

  "D'you think you know more about fowls than I, who have handled

  them ever since I was a nipper? I tell you, all those birds that

  went to the Alpha were town bred."

  "You'll never persuade me to believe that."

  "Will you bet, then?"

  "It's merely taking your money, for I know that I am right. But

  I'll have a sovereign on with you, just to teach you not to be

  obstinate."

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

  he.

  The small boy brought round a small thin volume and a great

  greasy-backed one, laying them out together beneath the hanging

  lamp.

  "Now then, Mr. Cocksure," said the salesman, "I thought that I

  was out of geese, but before I finish you'll find that there is

  still one left in my shop. You see this little book?"

  "Well?"

  "That's the list of the folk from whom I buy. D'you see? Well,

  then, here on this page are the country folk, and the numbers

  after their names are where their accounts are in the big ledger.

  Now, then! You see this other page in red ink? Well, that is a

  list of my town suppliers. Now, look at that third name. Just

  read it out to me."

  "Mrs. Oakshott, 117, Brixton Road--249," read Holmes.

  "Quite so. Now turn that up in the ledger."

  Holmes turned to the page indicated. "Here you are, 'Mrs.

  Oakshott, 117, Brixton Road, egg and poultry supplier."

  "Now, then, what's the last entry?"

  "'December 22d. Twenty-four geese at 7s. 6d.'"

  "Quite so. There you are. And underneath?"

  "'Sold to Mr. Windigate of the Alpha, at 12s.'"

  "What have you to say now?"

  Sherlock Holmes looked deeply chagrined. He drew a 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

  color 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 endeavoring 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 outs
tretched 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 color 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 hotel. Then I went

  into the back yard and smoked a pipe and wondered what it would

  be best to do.

  "I had a friend once called Maudsley, who went to the bad, and

  has just been serving his time in Pentonville. One day he had met

  me, and fell into talk about the ways of thieves, and how they

  could get rid of what they stole. I knew that he would be true to

  me, for I knew one or two things about him; so I made up my mind

  to go right on to Kilburn, where he lived, and take him into my

  confidence. He would show me how to turn the stone into money.

  But how to get to him in safety? I thought of the agonies I had

  gone through in coming from the hotel. I might at any moment be

  seized and searched, and there would be the stone in my waistcoat

  pocket. I was leaning against the wall at the time and looking at

  the geese which were waddling about round my feet, and suddenly

  an idea came into my head which showed me how I could beat the

  best detective that ever lived.

  "My sister had told me some weeks before that I might have the

  pick of her geese for a Christmas present, and I knew that she

  was always as good as her w
ord. 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's finger-tips upon the

  edge of the table. Then my friend rose and threw open the door.

  "Get out!" said he.

  "What, sir! Oh, Heaven bless you!"

  "No more words. Get out!"

  And no more words were needed. There was a rush, a clatter upon

  the stairs, the bang of a door, and the crisp rattle of running

  footfalls from the street.

  "After all, Watson," said Holmes, reaching up his hand for his

  clay pipe, "I am not retained by the police to supply their

  deficiencies. If Horner were in danger it would be another thing;

  but this fellow will not appear against him, and the case must

  collapse. I suppose that I am commuting a felony, but it is just

  possible that I am saving a soul. This fellow will not go wrong

  again; he is too terribly frightened. Send him to jail now, and

  you make him a jail-bird for life. Besides, it is the season of