Speaker 1: The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
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 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. I
seated myself in his arm chair 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 only 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 gas light a
tallish man walking with a slight stagger and carrying a
white goose slung over his shoulder. As he reached the
corner of Good Street, a row broke out between this
stranger and a little knot of ruffs. One of the
latter knocked off the man's hat, on which he raised
his stick to defend himself and swing it over his
head smashed the shop window behind. 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 Street 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 shortly he restored to their owner, My
dear fellow, there lies the problem. It is true that
for missus 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 fulfill 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 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 discolored. 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 secure,
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 discolored 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 is it 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, but
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 retrogress? Sherlock Holmes laughed.
Here is the foresight, said he, putting his finger upon
the little disk 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 endeavored 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 lenbs
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 odor of lime cream. This
dust you will observe is not the gritty gray 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. 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 effect. 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 up stairs at night, probably with his hat in
one hand and a guttering candle in the other. Anyhow,
he never got tallestains from a gas jet. Are you satisfied? Well,
it is very ingenious, said I, laughing. But since 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, mister Holmes, the goose, sir,
He gasped, Eh, what of it? Then, as it returned
to life and flapped off through the kitchen window, Holmes
twisted himself round about 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 center 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
Joe 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 ejaculated 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 one thousand 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
them 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 twenty second, 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 Assaus. 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, twenty
six plumber was brought up upon the charge of having,
upon the twenty second instant, abstracted from the jewel case
of the Countess of Morcar the valuable gem known as
the blue Carbuncle. James Rider, up 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 keeper jewel, was
lying empty upon the dressing table. Rider 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 made to the Countess deposed to
having heard Rider's cry of dismay on discovering the robbery,
and to having rushed into the gloom 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 offense, but referred it to the assas. 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 mister
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 Good Street, a goose and a
black felt hat. Mister Henry Baker can have the same
by applying at six thirty this evening at two twenty
one B 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 every one 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,
Saint James 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 victreal throwing, a suicide,
and several robberies brought about for the sake of this
forty grain weight of crystalized 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 missus 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 fan light.
Just as I the door was opened and we were
shown up together to Holmes's room. Mister Henry Baker, I believe,
said he, rising from his arm chair and greeting his
visitor with the easy air of geniality which he could
so readily assume. Pray, take this chair by the fire,
mister 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, mister 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 brow, a touch of
red in nose and cheeks, with a slight tremor of
his extended hand recalled Holmes's 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 kaff 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 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 ruffs 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 any one 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 mister 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 disjective member of my late acquaintance are going
to be to me. No, sir, I think that, with
your permission, I will confine my attack ncience 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 foul 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 Windegot 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. 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 mister
Henry Baker, said Holmes, when he had closed the door
behind him. It is quite certain that he knows nothing
whatsoever 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 rapped cravats about her 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 quarter Wimpole Street,
Harley Street, and so threw 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 mister Henry Baker, who
was a member of your Goose club. Ah, yes, I see,
but you see, sir, them's not our geese. Indeed, who's 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 Breckinridge he continued, buttoning up his coat
as we came out in 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 Endal 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 tomorrow 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 in his arms, A kimbal.
What are you driving at? Let's have it straight now
it is strait 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 has 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 onion on a
matter of fowls, and I have a fiver on it
that the bird I ate is country bread. Well, then
you've lost your fiver, for it's town bread, snapped the salesman.
It's nothing of the kind I say it is. I
don't believe it. Do 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 book's 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,
mister Cockshaw, said 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, do 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 to me,
missus Oakshot one mon seven Brixton Road, two for nine,
Red Holmes. Quite so, now turn that up in the ledger.
Holmes turned to the page indicated here you are, missus
Oakshot one one seven Brixton Road, Egg and Poultry supplier.
Now then what's the last entry? December twenty second, twenty
four geese at seven shilling sixpence. Quite so, there you are,
and underneath so to mister Windiket of the Alpha at
twelve shillings. 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. Would you see a man with
whiskers of that cut and the pinkin protruding out of
his pocket, you can always draw him by a bet,
said he. I dare say that if I had put
one hundred 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 missus oakshot to night, or whether we
should reserve it for tomorrow. 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 center 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's together. If you come pestering me
any more with your silly talk, I'll set the dog
at you. You bring Missus Oakshot 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 Missus Oakshot for it. She told me to
ask you. Well, you can ask the King of Prussia
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 missus Oakshot
of Brixton Road to a salesman named Breckinridge, by him
in turn to mister Windegott of the Alpha, and by
him to his club, of which mister 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 the matter. Sherlock Holmes
hailed a four wheeler which was passing. In that case,
we had better discuss it in a cozy room rather
than in this wind swept market place, said he. But
pray tell me before we go farther. Who is it
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 he said, my real name is James Rider. 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 office 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're a cold, mister, Rider. 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 geefe 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. Rider 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
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. Rider stood glaring with a drawn face,
uncertain whether to claim it or to disown it. The
game's up, rider, 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, Wrider,
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 welt 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 Rider, 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 manage 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 Rider threw himself down
suddenly upon the rug and clutched at my companion's knees. Oh,
for heaven's sake, have mercy, he shrinked. Think of my father,
my mother. It would break their hearts. I never went
wrong before, I never will again. I swear it. I
swear it on a bible. Oh don't bring me into court,
for heaven'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 mister Holmes, I will leave the country, sir,
then the charge against him will break down. Hum. We
will talk about that. And now I'll 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. Rider passed his tongue over
his part's 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
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 Oakshot 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
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 had
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 in 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, jam said she, Well said I
you said you'd give me one for Christmas, And I
was feeling which was the fattest, Oh, said she. We've
set yours aside for you. Jim'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 take
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, mister 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 too.
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. Oh,
where are they all? Maggie, I cried, gone to the
dealers jam which dealers a Breckinridge of Covent Garden. But
was there another with a barred tale? 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 thal and and now I'm myself
a branded thief, without ever having touched the wealth for
which I sold my character. Heaven help me, Heaven 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 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. And of the Adventure of
the Blue Carbuncle by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle