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 ?00 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 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 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.
