第 22 页

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 l; "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 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," l 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 morn-

ing, 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, 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 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 gasjet. 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 ejaculated.

"Precisely so. l 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 conjec-

tured, 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 commis-

sionaire 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 in-

duce 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 Cosmopoli-

tan," I remarked.

"Precisely so, on December 22d, 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 22d 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 evi-

dence to the effect that he had shown Horner up to the

dressing-room of the Countess of Morcar upon the day of