第 24 页

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 sover-

eign 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 lOO 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 over-

took 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 Robin-

son," 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 seasonabe 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 scrupu-

lous 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.

" '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 l; 'but if it is all the same to

you, I'd rather have that one I was handling just now.'