"Good God! What a week she must have spent!"
"The police have watched this Lascar," said Inspector Bradstreet,"and I can quite understand that he might find it difficult topost a letter unobserved. Probably he handed it to some sailorcustomer of his, who forgot all about it for some days."
"That was it," said Holmes, nodding approvingly; "I have no doubtof it. But have you never been prosecuted for begging?"
"Many times; but what was a fine to me?"
"It must stop here, however," said Bradstreet. "If the police areto hush this thing up, there must be no more of Hugh Boone."
"I have sworn it by the most solemn oaths which a man can take."
"In that case I think that it is probable that no further stepsmay be taken. But if you are found again, then all must come out.I am sure, Mr. Holmes, that we are very much indebted to you forhaving cleared the matter up. I wish I knew how you reach yourresults."
"I reached this one," said my friend, "by sitting upon fivepillows and consuming an ounce of shag. I think, Watson, that ifwe drive to Baker Street we shall just be in time for breakfast."
VII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE BLUE CARBUNCLE
I had called upon my friend Sherlock Holmes upon the secondmorning after Christmas, with the intention of wishing him thecompliments of the season. He was lounging upon the sofa in apurple dressing-gown, a pipe-rack within his reach upon theright, and a pile of crumpled morning papers, evidently newlystudied, near at hand. Beside the couch was a wooden chair, andon the angle of the back hung a very seedy and disreputablehard-felt hat, much the worse for wear, and cracked in severalplaces. A lens and a forceps lying upon the seat of the chairsuggested that the hat had been suspended in this manner for thepurpose 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 discussmy results. The matter is a perfectly trivial one"--he jerked histhumb in the direction of the old hat--"but there are points inconnection with it which are not entirely devoid of interest andeven of instruction."
I seated myself in his armchair and warmed my hands before hiscrackling fire, for a sharp frost had set in, and the windowswere thick with the ice crystals. "I suppose," I remarked, "that,homely as it looks, this thing has some deadly story linked on toit--that it is the clue which will guide you in the solution ofsome mystery and the punishment of some crime."
"No, no. No crime," said Sherlock Holmes, laughing. "Only one ofthose whimsical little incidents which will happen when you havefour million human beings all jostling each other within thespace of a few square miles. Amid the action and reaction of sodense a swarm of humanity, every possible combination of eventsmay be expected to take place, and many a little problem will bepresented which may be striking and bizarre without beingcriminal. We have already had experience of such."
"So much so," I remarked, "that of the last six cases which Ihave added to my notes, three have been entirely free of anylegal crime."
"Precisely. You allude to my attempt to recover the Irene Adlerpapers, to the singular case of Miss Mary Sutherland, and to theadventure of the man with the twisted lip. Well, I have no doubtthat 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 willlook upon it not as a battered billycock but as an intellectualproblem. And, first, as to how it came here. It arrived uponChristmas morning, in company with a good fat goose, which is, Ihave no doubt, roasting at this moment in front of Peterson'sfire. The facts are these: about four o'clock on Christmasmorning, Peterson, who, as you know, is a very honest fellow, wasreturning from some small jollification and was making his wayhomeward down Tottenham Court Road. In front of him he saw, inthe gaslight, a tallish man, walking with a slight stagger, andcarrying a white goose slung over his shoulder. As he reached thecorner of Goodge Street, a row broke out between this strangerand a little knot of roughs. One of the latter knocked off theman'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 hisassailants; but the man, shocked at having broken the window, andseeing an official-looking person in uniform rushing towards him,dropped his goose, took to his heels, and vanished amid thelabyrinth of small streets which lie at the back of TottenhamCourt Road. The roughs had also fled at the appearance ofPeterson, so that he was left in possession of the field ofbattle, and also of the spoils of victory in the shape of thisbattered 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 'ForMrs. Henry Baker' was printed upon a small card which was tied tothe 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 aresome thousands of Bakers, and some hundreds of Henry Bakers inthis city of ours, it is not easy to restore lost property to anyone 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 signsthat, in spite of the slight frost, it would be well that itshould be eaten without unnecessary delay. Its finder has carriedit off, therefore, to fulfil the ultimate destiny of a goose,while I continue to retain the hat of the unknown gentleman wholost 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."