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 fanlight. Just as l

arrived the door was opened, and we were shown up together to

Holmes's room.

"Mr. Henry Baker, I believe," said he, rising from his armchair

and greeting his visitor with the easy air of geniality which he

could so readily assume. "Pray take this chair by the fire, Mr.

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, Mr. 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 brown. 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 cuff 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 now 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 roughs 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 anyone 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 Mr. 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 disjecta membra of my late acquaintance are

going to be to me. No, sir, I think that, with your permission, I

will confine my attentions 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 fowl 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, Windigate 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, sir, for 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 Mr. Henry Baker," said Holmes when he had closed the

door behind him. "It is quite certain that he knows nothing

whatever about the matter. Are you hungry, Watson?"

"Not particularly."

"Then I suggest that we turn our dinner into a supper and follow

up this clew while it is still hot."

"By all means."

It was a bitter night, so we drew on our ulsters and wrapped

cravats about our 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 doctors' quarter,

Wimpole Street, Harley Street, and so through 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 Mr. Henry Baker,

who was a member of your goose club."

"Ah! yes, I see. But you see, sir, them's not our geese."

"Indeed! Whose, 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 Mr. Breckinridge," he continued, buttoning up his coat

as we came out into 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!"