 The Five Orange Pips by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle When I glance over my notes and records of the Sherlock Holmes cases between the years 82 and 90, I am faced by so many which present strange and interesting features that it is no easy matter to know which to choose and which to leave. Some, however, have already gained publicity through the papers, and others have not offered a field for those peculiar qualities which my friend possessed in so higher degree, and which it is the object of these papers to illustrate. Some, too, have baffled his analytical skill, and would be, as narratives, beginnings without an ending, while others have been but partially cleared up, and have their explanations founded rather upon conjecture and surmise than on that absolute logical proof which was so dear to him. There is, however, one of these last which was so remarkable in its details and so starkling in its results, that I am tempted to give some account of it, in spite of the fact that there are points in connection with it which have never been, and probably never will be, entirely cleared up. The year 87 furnished us with a long series of cases of greater or less interest, of which I retain the records. Among my headings under this one twelve months I find an account of the adventures of the Paradol Chamber of the Amateur Mendicant Society, who held a luxurious club in the lower vault of a furniture warehouse, of the facts connected with the loss of the British bark Sophie Anderson, of the singular adventures of the Grice Patersons in the island of Uffa, and, finally, of the Camberwell poisoning case. In the latter, as may be remembered, Sherlock Holmes was able, while winding up the dead's man's watch, to prove that it had been wound up two hours before, and that therefore the deceased had gone to bed within that time, a deduction which was of the greatest importance in clearing up the case. All these I may sketch out at some future date, but none of them present such singular features as the strange strain of circumstances which I have now taken up my pen to describe. It was in the latter days of September, and the equinoctial gales had set in with exceptional violence. All day the wind had screamed, and the rain had beaten against the windows, so that even here, at the heart of grand, handmade London, we were forced to raise our minds for the instant from the routine of life, and to recognise the presence of those great elemental forces which shriek at mankind through the bars of his civilisation like untamed beasts in a cage. As evening drew in, the storm grew higher and louder, and the wind cried and sobbed like a child in the chimney. Sherlock Holmes sat moodyly at one side of the fireplace, cross-indexing his records of crime, while I, at the other, was deep in one of Clark Russell's fine sea-stories, until the howl of the gale from without seemed to blend with the text, and the splash of the rain to lengthen out into the long swash of the sea waves. My wife was on a visit to her mother's, and for a few days I was a dweller once more in my old quarters at Baker Street. "'Why?' said I, glancing up at my companion. "'That was surely the bell. Who could come to-night, some friend of yours, perhaps?' "'Except yourselves, I have none,' he answered. I do not encourage visitors.' "'A-a-a client, then?' "'If so it is a serious case, nothing less would bring a man out on such a day, and at such an hour. But I take it that he is more likely to be some crony of the landlady's.'" Sherlock Holmes was wrong in his conjecture, however, for there came a step in the passage and a tapping of the door. He stretched out his long arm to turn the lamp away from himself, and towards the vacant chair upon which a newcomer must sit. "'Come in,' said he. The man who entered was young, some two and twenty at the outside, well groomed and trimly clad, with something of refinement and delicacy in his bearing. The streaming umbrella which he held in his hand, and his long shining waterproof, told of the fierce weather through which he had come. He looked about him anxiously in the glare of the lamp, and I could see that his face was pale and his eyes heavy, like those of a man who is weighed down with some great anxiety. I owe you an apology," he said, raising his golden parsnay to his eyes. I trust that I am not intruding. I fear that I have brought some traces of the storm and rain into your snug chamber. Now, give me your coat and umbrella," said Holmes. They may rest here on the hook and will be dry presently. You have come up from the south-west, I see. Yes, from Horsham. That clay and chalk mixture which I see upon your toe-caps is quite distinctive. I have come for advice. That is easy to got, and help. That is not always so easy. I have heard of you, Mr. Holmes. I heard from Major Prendergast how you saved him in the Tankerville Club scandal. Now, of course, he was wrongly accused of cheating at cards. He said that you could solve anything. He said too much. That you are never beaten. I have been beaten four times, three times by men, and once by a woman. But what is that compared with the number of your successes? It is true that I have been generally successful. Then you may be so with me. I beg that you will draw your chair up to the fire and favour me with some details as to your case. It is no ordinary one. None of those which come to me are. I am the last court of appeal. And yet I question, sir, whether in all your experience you have listened to a more mysterious and inexplicable chain of events than those which have happened in my own family. Hmm! You fill me with interest, said Holmes. Play give us your central facts from the Commencement so that I can afterwards question you as to those details which seem to me to be most important. The young man pulled up his chair and pushed his wet feet out towards the blaze. My name, said he, is John Openshore. But my own affairs have, as far as I can understand, little to do with this awful business. It is a hereditary matter. But in order to give you any idea of the facts, I must go back to the Commencement of the affair. He must know that my grandfather had two sons, my uncle Elias and my father Joseph. My father had a small factory at Coventry which he enlarged at the time of the invention of bicycling. He was a plate and tea of the Openshore unbreakable tar, and his business met with such success that he was able to sell it and to retire upon a handsome competence. My uncle Elias emigrated to America when he was a young man and became a planter in Florida where he was reported to have done very well. At the time of the war he fought in Jackson's army and afterwards under Hood where he rose to be a colonel. When Lee laid down his arms my uncle returned to his plantation where he remained for three or four years. About 1869 or 1870 he came back to Europe and took a small estate in Sussex near Horsham. He had made a very considerable fortune in the States and his reason for leaving them was his aversion to the Negroes and his dislike of the public and policy in extending the franchise to them. He was a singular man, fierce and quick tempered, very foul mouth when he was angry, and of a most retiring disposition. During all the years that he lived at Horsham I doubt if he ever set foot in the town. He had a garden and two or three fields round his house and there he would take his exercise though very often for weeks on end he would never leave his room. He drank a great deal of brandy and smoked very heavily but he would see no society and did not want any friends, not even his own brother. He didn't mind me, in fact he took a fancy to me for at the time when he saw me first I was a youngster of twelve or so. This would be the year 1878 after he had been eight or nine years in England. He begged my father to let me live with him and he was very kind to me in his way. When he was sober he used to be fond of playing black gammon and drafts with me and he would make his representative both with the servants and with the tradespeople so that by the time I was sixteen I was quite master of the house. I kept all the keys and could go where I liked and do what I liked so long as I did not disturb him in his privacy. There was one singular exception however for he had a single room, a lumber room up among the attics which was invariably locked and which he would never permit either me or anyone else to enter. With a boy's curiosity I had peeped through the keyhole but I was never able to see more than such a collection of old trunks and bundles as would be expected in such a room. One day he was in March 1883, a letter with a foreign stamp lay upon the table in front of the colonel's plate. It was not a common thing for him to receive letters for his bills were all paid in ready money and he had no friends of any sort. From India said he as he took it up, Pondicherry Postmark, what could this be? Opening it hurriedly out there jumped five little dried orange pips which patted down upon his plate. I began to laugh at this, but the laugh was struck from my lips at the sight of his face. His lip had fallen, his eyes were protruding, his skin the colour of putty, and he glared at the envelope which he still held in his trembling hand. K. K. K. he shrieked, and then, my God, my God, my sins have overtaken me! What is it, Uncle? I cried. Death! said he, and rising from the table he retired to his room, leaving me palpitating with horror. I took up the envelope and saw scrawled in red ink upon the end of flap just above the gum, the letter K, three times repeated. There was nothing else save the five dried pips. What could be the reason of his overpowering terror? I left the breakfast-table, and as I ascended the stair I met him coming down with an old rusty key which must have belonged to the attic, in one hand, and a small brass box, like a cash-box, in the other. They may do what they like, but I'll checkmate them still, said he with an ooth. Tell Mary that I shall want a fire in my room to-day, and send out to Fordham the Horsham Lawyer. I did as he ordered, and when the Lawyer arrived I was asked to step up to the room. The fire was burning brightly, and in the grate there was a mass of black, fluffy ashes as of burned paper, while the brass box stood open and empty beside it. As I glanced at the box I noticed, with a start, that upon the lid was printed the treble K, which I read in the morning upon the envelope. I wish you, John, said my uncle, to witness my will. I leave my estate with all its advantages and all its disadvantages to my brother, my father, whence it will no doubt descend to you. If you can enjoy it in peace, well and good. If you find you cannot, take my advice, my boy, and leave it to your deadliest enemy. I'm sorry to give you such a two-edged thing, but I can't say what turn things are going to take. Kindly sign the paper where Mr. Fordham shows you. I signed the paper as directed, and the Lawyer took it away with him. The singular incident made, as you may think, the deepest impression upon me, and I pondered over it and turned it every way in my mind without being able to make anything of it. Yet I could not shake off the vague feeling of dread which it left behind, though the sensation grew less keen as the weeks passed, and nothing happened to disturb the usual routine of our lives. I could see a change in my uncle, however. He drank more than ever, and he was less inclined for any sort of society. Most of his time he would spend in his room, with the door locked upon the inside, but sometimes he would emerge in a sort of drunken frenzy, and would burst out of the house and tear about the garden with a revolver in his hand, screaming out that he was afraid of no man, and that he was not to be cooped up like a sheep in a pen by man or devil. When these hot fits were over, however, he would rush too multiously in at the door and lock and bar it behind him, like a man who can brace it out no longer against the terror which lies at the roots of his soul. At such times I have seen his face, even on a cold day, glisten with moisture, as though when you raised from a basin. Well, to come to an end of the matter, Mr. Holmes, and not to abuse your patience, there came a night when he made one of those drunken satties from which he never came back. We found him, when we went to search for him, faced downward in a little green-scummed pool which lay at the foot of the garden. There was no sign of any violence, and the water was but two feet deep, so that the jury, having regard to his known eccentricity, brought in a verdict of suicide. But I, who knew how he winced from the very thought of death, have much adieu to persuade myself that he had gone out of his way to meet it. The matter passed, however, and my father entered into possession of the estate and of some fourteen thousand pounds which lay to his credit at the bank. At one moment, Holmes interposed, your statement is, I foresee, one of the most remarkable to which I have ever listened. Let me have the date at the reception by your uncle of the letter, and the date of his supposed suicide." The letter arrived on March 10th, 1883. His death was seven weeks later, upon the night of May 2nd. Thank you. Pray proceed. When my father took over the horseship property, he, at my request, made a careful examination of the attic which had always been locked up. We found the brass box there, although its contents had been destroyed. On the inside of the cover was a paper label with the initials of K, K, K repeated upon it, and letters, memoranda, receipts, and a register, written beneath. These, we presume, indicated the nature of the papers which had been destroyed by Colonel Openshore. For the rest, there was nothing much important in the attic save a great many scattered papers and notebooks bearing upon my uncle's life in America. Some of them were of the wartime, and showed that he had done his duty well, and had borne the repute of a brave soldier. Others were of a date during the reconstruction of the southern states, and were mostly concerned with politics, for he had evidently taken a strong part in opposing the carpet-bag politicians who had been sent down from the north. Well, it was the beginning of 84 when my father came to live at Horsham, and all went as well as possible with us until the January of 85. On the fourth day after the New Year I heard my father give a sharp cry of surprise as we sat together at the breakfast-table. There he was, sitting with a newly opened envelope in one hand, and five dried orange-pips in the outstretched palm of the other. He had always laughed at what he called my cock-and-bool story about the Colonel, but he looked very scared and puzzled now that the same thing had come upon himself. What on earth does this mean, John? He stammered. My heart had turned to lead. It is KKK," said I. He looked inside the envelope. So it is he cried. Here are the very letters. What is this written above them? Put the papers on the sundial. I read, peeping over his shoulder. What papers? What sundial? He asked. The sundial and the garden. There is no other, said I. But the papers must be those that are destroyed. Pah! said he, gripping hard at his courage. We are in a civilised land here, and we can't have tomfoolery of this kind. Where does the thing come from? From Dundee I answered, glancing at the postmark. Some preposterous practical joke, said he. What have I to do with sundials and papers? I shall take no notice of such nonsense. I should certainly speak to the police, I said, and be laughed up for my pains. Nothing of the sort. Then let me do so. No, I forbid you. You won't have a fuss made about such nonsense. It was in vain to argue with him, for he was a very obstinate man. I went about her with a heart which was full of forebodings. On the third day after the coming of the latter, my father went from home to visit an old friend of his, made to free body, who is in command of one of the forts upon Portstown Hill. I was glad that he should go, for it seemed to me that he was father from danger when he was away from home. In that, however, I was in error. Upon the second day of his absence I received a telegram from the major imploring me to come at once. My father had fallen over one of the deep chalk pits which were bound in the neighbourhood, and was lying senseless with a shattered skull. I hurried to him, but he passed away without ever having recovered his consciousness. He had, as has appeared, been returning from Ferrum in the twilight, and as the country was unknown to him and the chalk pit unfenced, the jury had no hesitation in bringing a verdict of death from accidental causes. Carefully as I examined every fact connected with his death, I was unable to find anything which could suggest the idea of murder. There was no signs of violence, no footmarks, no robbery, no record of strangers having been seen upon the roads. And yet I need not tell you that my mind was far from at ease, that I was well my certain that some foul plot had been woven round him. In this sinister way I came into my inheritance. You will ask me why I did not dispose of it. I answer because I was well convinced that our troubles were in some way dependent upon an incident in my uncle's life, that the danger would be as pressing in one house as in another. It was in January 1985 that my poor father met his end, and two years and eight months have elapsed since then. During that time I have lived happily at Horsham when I had begun to hope that this curse had passed away from the family and that it had ended with the last generation. I had begun to take comfort too soon, however. Yesterday morning the blow fell in the very shape in which it had come upon my father. The young man took from his waistcoat a crumpled envelope and turned it to the table. He shook out upon it five little dried orange pips. This is the envelope. He continued. The post-market is in London, eastern division, within the very words which were upon my father's last message. KKK, and then put the papers on the sundial. What have you done? Asked Holmes. Nothing. Nothing! To tell the truth, he sank his face into his thin, white hands. I have felt helpless. I have felt like one of those poor rabbits when the snake is writhing towards it. I seem to be in the grasp of some resistless, inexorable evil which no foresight and no precautions can guard against. Oh, ta-ta, cried Sherlock Holmes, you must act, man, or you are lost. Nothing but energy can save you. There is no time for despair. I have seen the police. Ah! They listened to my story with a smile. I am convinced that the inspector has formed the opinion that the letters are all practical jokes, and that the deaths of my relations were really accidents, as the jury stated, and were not to be connected with the warnings. Holmes shook his clenched hands in the air. Incredible imbecility! he cried. They have, however, allowed me a policeman who may remain in the house with me. Has he come with you to-night? No, his orders were to stay in the house. Again Holmes raved in the air. Why did you come to me? he cried, and above all, why did you not come at once? I did not know. It was only to-day that I spoke to made-apprenticast about my troubles, and was advised by him to come to you. It is really two days since you have the letter. We should have acted upon this. You have no further evidence, I suppose, than that which you have placed before us, no suggestive detail which might help us. There is one thing, said John Openshaw. He rummaged in his coat-pocket, and drawing out a piece of discoloured blue-tinted paper, he laid it upon the table. I have some remembrance, said he, that on the day when my uncle burned the papers, I observed that the small unburned margins which lay amid the ashes were of this particular colour. I found this single sheet upon the floor of his room, and I am inclined to think that it may be one of the papers which had perhaps fluttered out from among the others, and in that way has escaped destruction. Beyond the mention of pips, I do not see that it helps as much. I think myself that it is a page from some private diary. The writing is undoubtedly my uncle's. Holmes moved the lamp, and we both bent over the sheet of paper which showed by its ragged edge that it had indeed been torn from a book. It was headed March 1869, and beneath, with the following enigmatic notices. Fourth, Hudson came, same old platform. Seventh, set the pips on Macaulay, Paramore, and John Swain of St. Augustine. Ninth, Macaulay cleared. Tenth, John Swain cleared. Twelfth, visited Paramore all well. Thank you, said Holmes, folding up the paper and returning it to our visitor. And now you must on no account lose another instant. We cannot spare time even to discuss what you've told me. You must get home instantly and act. What shall I do? And there is but one thing to do. You must be done at once. You must put this piece of paper which you've shown us into the brass box which you've described. You must also put in it a note to say that all the other papers were burned by your uncle, and that this is the only one which remains. You must assert that in such words as will carry conviction with them. Having done this, you must at once put the boss out upon the sundial as directed. Do you understand? Entirely. Do not think of revenge or anything of the sort at present. I think that we may gain that by means of the law, but we have our way but to weave while theirs is already woven. The first consideration is to remove the pressing danger which threatens you. The second is to clear up the mystery and to punish the guilty parties. I thank you, said the young man, rising and pulling on his overcoat. You have given me fresh life and hope. I shall certainly do as you advise. Do not lose an instant. And above all, take care of yourself in the meanwhile, for I do not think that there can be a doubt that you are threatened by very real and imminent danger. How do you go back? By train from Waterloo. It is not yet nine. The streets will be crowded, so I trust that you may be in safety, and yet you cannot guard yourself too closely. I am armed. That is well. Tomorrow I shall set to work upon your case. I shall see you at Horsham, then. No, no, your secret lies in London. It is there that I shall seek it. Then I shall call upon you in a day, or in two days, with news as to the box and the papers. I shall take your advice in every particular. He shook hands with us, and took his leave. Outside the wind still screamed, and the rain splashed and patted against the windows. This strange, wild story seemed to have come to us from amid the mad elements, blown in upon us like a sheet of seaweed in a gale, and now to be reabsorbed by them once more. Sherlock Holmes sat for some time in silence, with his head sunk forward, and his eyes bent upon the red glow of the fire. Then he lit his pipe, and leaning back in his chair, he watched the blue smoke rings as they chased each other up to the ceiling. I think, Watson, he remarked at last, that of all our cases we have had none more fantastic than this. Save perhaps the sign of four? Well, yes, save perhaps that. And yet this John open shop seemed to me to be walking amid even greater perils than did the Shaltoes. But have you, I asked, formed any definite conception as to what these perils are? Oh, there can be no questions to their nature, he answered. Then what are they? Who is this KKK? And why does he pursue this unhappy family? Sherlock Holmes closed his eyes, and placed his elbows upon the arm of his chair with his fingertips together. The ideal reasoner, he remarked, would, when he had once been shown a single fact in all its bearings, deduce from it not only all the chain of events which led up to it, but also all of the results which would follow from it. As Cuvier could correctly describe a whole animal by the contemplation of a single bone, so the observer who has thoroughly understood one link in a series of incidents should be able to accurately state all the other ones, both before and after. We have not yet grasped the results which the reasoner alone can attain to. Problems may be solved in the study which have baffled all those to which was sought a solution by the aid of their senses. To carry the art however to its highest pitch, it is necessary that the reasoner should be able to utilize all the facts which have come to his knowledge. And this in itself implies, as you will readily see, a possession of all knowledge, which even in these days of free education and encyclopedias, is a somewhat rare accomplishment. It is not so impossible, however, that a man should possess all knowledge which is likely to be useful to him in his work. And this I have endeavored in my case to do. If I remember rightly, you on one occasion in the early days of our friendship defined my limits in a very precise fashion. Yes, I answered, laughing. It was a singular document, philosophy, astronomy, and politics from arch to zero. I remember botany, variable, geology, profound as regards the mud stains when it reached within 50 miles of town, chemistry, eccentric, anatomy, unsystematic, sensational literature and crime records, unique, violin player, boxer, swordsman, lawyer, and self-poisoner by cocaine and tobacco. Those, I think, were the main points of my analysis. James Grind at the last item. Well, he said, I say now, as I said then, that a man should keep his little brain attic stocked with all the furniture that he is likely to use. And the rest he can put away in the lumber room of his library, where he can get it if he wants it. Now, for such a case as the one which has been submitted to us tonight, we need certainly to muster all our resources. Kindly hand me down the letter K of the American Encyclopedia, which stands upon the shelf beside you. Thank you. Now, let us consider the situation and see what may be deduced from it. In the first place, we may start with a strong presumption that Colonel Openshore had some very strong reason for leaving America. Men at his time of life do not change all their habits and exchange willingly the charming climate of Florida for the lonely life of an English provincial town. His extreme love of solitude in England suggests the idea that he was in fear of someone or something. So we may assume as a working hypothesis that it was fear of someone or something which drove him from America. As to what it was, he feared, we can only deduce that by that by considering the formidable letters which were received by himself and his successor. Did you remark the postmarks of those letters? The first was from Pondicherry, the second from Dundee, and the third from London. From East London. What did you deduce from that? They're all seaports. That the writer was on board a ship? Excellent. We have already a clue. There could be no doubt that the probability, that the strong probability, is that the writer was on board a ship. And now let us consider another point. In the case of Pondicherry, seven weeks elapsed between the threat and its fulfillment. In Dundee, it was only some three or four days. Does that suggest anything? A greater distance to travel. But the letter had also a greater distance to come. Then I do not see the point. There is at least a presumption that the vessel in which the man or men are, is a sailing ship. It looks as though they always sent their singular warnings or token before them when starting upon their mission. You see how quickly the deed followed the sign when it came from Dundee. If they'd come from Pondicherry in a steamer, they would have arrived almost as soon as their letter. But as a matter of fact, seven weeks elapsed. I think that those seven weeks represented the difference between the mailboat, which brought the letter, and the sailing vessel, which brought the writer. It is possible. More than that, it is probable. And now you see the deadly urgency of this new case and why I urged young Open Short a caution, that blow has already fallen at the end of the time when it should have taken the senders to travel the distance. But this one comes from London, and therefore we cannot count upon delay. For God I cried, what can it mean this relentless persecution? The papers which Open Short carried are obviously of vital importance to the person or persons in the sailing ship. I think that it is quite clear that there must be more than one of them. A single man could not have carried out two deaths in such a way as to deceive a coroner's jury. There must have been several in it, and there must have been men of resource and determination. Their papers they mean to have, to be the old holder of them who it may. In this way, you see, KKK ceases to be the initials of an individual and becomes the badge of a society. But of what society? Have you never, said Sherlock Holmes, bending forward and singing his voice, have you never heard of the Ku Klux Klan? I never have." Holmes turned over the leaves of the book upon his knee. Here it is, said he presently. Ku Klux Klan, a name derived from the fanciful resemblance to the sound produced by cocking a rifle. This terrible secret society was formed by some ex-Confederate soldiers in the southern states after the Civil War, and it rapidly formed local branches in different parts of the country, notably in Tennessee, Louisiana, the Carolinas, Georgia and Florida. Its power was used for political purposes, principally for the terrorizing of the Negro voters, and the murdering and driving for the country of those who were opposed to its views. Its outrages were used to precede by a warning sent to the marked man in some fantastic but generally recognized shape. A sprig of oak leaves in some parts, melon seeds or orange-pips in others. On receiving this the victim might either openly abjure his former ways, or might fly from the country. If he braved the matter out, death would unfailingly come upon him and usually in some strange and unforeseen manner. So perfect was the organization of the society and so systematic its methods that there's hardly a case upon record where any man succeeded in braving it with impunity or in which any of its outrages were traced home to the perpetrators. For some years the organization flourished in spite of the efforts of the United States government and of the better classes of the community in the South. Eventually in the year 1869 the movement rather suddenly collapsed, although there have been sporadic outbreaks of the same sort since that date. "'A you'll observe,' said Holmes, laying down the volume, that the sudden breaking up of the society was coincident with the disappearance of open shore from America with their papers. It may well have been cause and effect. It is no wonder that he and his family have some of the more implacable spirits upon their track. You can understand that this register and diary may implicate some of the first men in the South, that there may be many who will not sleep easy at night until it is recovered. "'Then the page we have seen is such as we might expect it ran, as if I remember right, sent the pips to A, B and C, that is sent the society's warning to them. Then there are successive entries that A and B cleared, all of the country, and finally that C was visited, with I fear, a sinister result for C. "'Well, I think, doctor, that we may let some light into this dark place, and I believe that the only chance young open shore has in the meantime is to do what I have told him. There is nothing more to be said or to be done tonight, so handily over my violin, and let us try to forget for half an hour the miserable weather, and the still more miserable ways of our fellow men. It had cleared in the morning, and the sun was shining with a subdued brightness through dim veil which hangs over the great city. Sherlock Holmes was already at breakfast when I came down. "'You will excuse me for not waiting for you,' said he. "'I have, I foresee, a very busier day before me in looking into this case of young open shores.' "'What steps would you take?' I asked. "'It will very much depend upon the results of my first inquiries. I may have to go down to Horsham after all.' "'You will not go down there first?' "'No, I shall commence with the city. Just ring the bell, and the maid will bring you up your coffee.' As I waited, I lifted the unopened newspaper from the table, and glanced my eye over it. "'Addressed it upon a heading which sent a chill to my heart. "'Homes,' I cried, "'you are too late.' "'Ah!' said he, laying down his cup, I feared as much. How was it done?' He spoke calmly, but I could see that he was deeply moved. My eye caught the name of open shore on the heading, Tragedy Near Waterloo Bridge. Here is the account. Between nine and ten last night, P. S. Gunsville Cook of the H. Division, on duty near Waterloo Bridge, heard a cry for help and a splash in the water. The night-hover was extremely dark and stormy, so that in spite of the help of several passers-by it was quite impossible to effect a rescue. The alarm-hover was given, and by the aid of the water- police the body was eventually recovered. It proved to be that of a young gentleman whose name, as it appears from an envelope which was found in his pocket, was John Openshore on whose residence is near Horsham, it is conjectured that he may have been hurrying down to catch the last train from Waterloo Station, and that in his haste and the extreme darkness he missed his path and walked over the edge of one of the small landing-places for river steam-boats. The body exhibited no traces of violence, and there can be no doubt that the deceased had been the victim of an unfortunate accident which should have the effect of calling the attention of the authorities to the condition of the riverside landing-stages. We sat in silence for some minutes, homes more depressed and shaken than I have ever seen him. "'That hurts my pride, Watson,' he said at last. "'It is a petty feeling, no doubt, but it hurts my pride. It becomes a personal matter with me now, and if God sends me health I shall set my hand upon this gang. That he should come to me for help, and that I should send him away to his death.' He sprang from his chair and paced about the room in uncontrollable agitation, with a flush upon his cello-cheeks and a nervous clasping and unclasping of his long, thin hands. "'They must be cunning devils,' he explained at last. "'How could they have decoyed him down there? The embankment is not on the direct line to the station. The bridge, no doubt, was too crowded even on such a night for their purpose. "'Well, Watson, we shall see who will in the long run. I am going out now.' "'To the police. No, I should be in my own police. When I have spun the web they may take the flies, but not before. All day I was engaged in my professional work, and it was late in the evening before I returned to Baker Street. Shallow combs had not come back yet. It was nearly ten o'clock before he entered, looking pale and worn. He walked up to the side-board, and, tearing a piece from the loaf, he divide it for-ratiously, washing it down with a long draught of water. "'You are hungry,' I remarked. Starving, it had escaped my memory. I have had nothing since breakfast. "'Nothing? Not a bite. I had no time to think of it. And how have you succeeded?' "'Well, you have a clue? I have them in the hollow of my hand. Young open shore shall not long remain unavenged. Why, Watson, let us put that own devilish trademark upon them. It is well thought of. What do you mean?' He took an orange from the cupboard, and, tearing it to pieces, he squeezed out the pips upon the table. Of these he took five and thrust them into an envelope. On the inside of the flap he wrote, S.H., for J.O. Then he sealed it, and addressed it to Captain James Calhoun, Bach, Lone Star, Savannah, Georgia. "'That will await him when he enters port,' said he, chuckling. It may give him a sleepless night. He find it as sure a precursor of his fate as open shore did before him. "'And who is this Captain Calhoun?' "'The leader of the gang. I shall have the others, but he first.' "'How did you trace it, then?' He took a large sheet of paper from his pocket all covered with dates and names. I spent the whole day,' said he, over Lloyd's registers and files of the old papers, following the future career of every vessel which touched a pondicherry in January and February in 83. There were thirty-six ships of fair tonnage which were reported there during those months. Of these, one, the Lone Star, instantly attracted my attention since, although it was reported as having cleared from London, the name is that which is given to one of the states of the Union. "'Texas, I think.' I was not, and I am not sure which, but I knew that the ship must have an American origin.' "'What then?' I searched the Dundee records, and when I found that the Bark Lone Star was there in January 85, my suspicion became a certainty. I then inquired as to the vessels which lay at present in the port of London. "'Yes?' The Lone Star had arrived here last week. I went down to the Albert Dock and found that you had been taken down the river by the early tide this morning, homeward bound to Savannah. I wired to Graves End and learned that she had passed some time ago, and as the wind is easterly I have no doubt that she has now passed the Good Winds, and not very far from the Isle of Wight. "'What would you do then?' "'Oh, I have my hand upon him. He and the two mates are, as I learned, the only native-born Americans in the ship, the others of Thins and Germans. I know also that they were all three away from the ship last night. I hid it from the stevedore who has been loading their cargo. By the time that their sailing ship reaches Savannah the mailboat will have carried this letter and the caber will have informed the police of Savannah that these three gentlemen are badly wanted here upon a charge of murder. There is ever a floor-hover in the best laid of human plans, and the murderers of John Openshaw were never to receive the orange pips which would show them that another, as a cunning and as resolute as themselves, was upon their tracks. Very long and very severe were the equinoctial gales at here. Rated long for news of the lone star of Savannah, but none ever reached us. We did at last hear that somewhere far out in the Atlantic a shattered stern post of the boat was seen swinging in the trough of a wave with the letters L, S, carved upon it, and that is all which we shall ever know of the fate of the lone star. End of The Five Orange Pips. Recording by Simon Evers. Problem of the Crystal Gazer by Jacques Foutrelle. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Alan Winterout. Problem of the Crystal Gazer by Jacques Foutrelle. With hideous, goggling eyes, the great god Bud set cross-legged on a pedestal and stared stolidly into the semi-darkness. He saw by the wavering light of a peacock lamp which swooped down from the ceiling with wings outstretched. What might have been a nook in a palace of East India? Draperies hung here, there, everywhere. Richly embroidered divans sprawled about. Fierce tiger rugs glared up from the floor. Grotesque idols grinned mirthlessly in unexpected corners. Strange arms were grouped on the walls. Outside the trolley cars clanged blatantly. The single human figure with a distinct contradiction of all else. It was that of a man in evening dress smoking. He was 50, perhaps 60 years old, with a ruddy color of one who has lived a great deal out of doors. There was only a touch of gray in his abundant hair and moustache. His eyes were steady and clear and indolent. For a long time he sat, then the draperies to his right parted and a girl entered. She was a part of the picture of which the man was a contradiction. Her lustrous black hair flowed about her shoulders. Lambent mysteries lay in her eyes. Her dress was the dress of the East. For a moment she stood looking at the man and then entered with light tread. Varek Saheb, she said timidly as if it were a greeting. Do I intrude? Her voice was softly guttural with the accent of her native tongue. Oh no, Jada, come in, said the man. She smiled frankly and sat down on a hassak near him. My brother, she asked, he is in the cabinet. Varek had merely glanced at her and then continued his thoughtful gaze into vacancy. From time to time she looked up at him shyly with a touch of eagerness, but there was no answering interest in his manner. His thoughts were far away. May I ask what brings you this time, Saheb? She inquired at last. A little deal in the market responded Varek carelessly. It seems to have puzzled Adhem as much as it did me. He has been in the cabinet for half an hour. He stared on musingly as he smoked, then dropped his eyes to the slender, graceful figure of Jada. With knees clashed in her hands she leaned back on the hassak deeply thoughtful. Her head was tilted upward and the flickering light fell full on her face. It crossed Varek's mind that she was pretty and he was about to say so as he would have said to any other woman when the curtains behind them were thrown apart and they both glanced around. Another man, an East Indian, entered. This man was Adhem Singh, the crystal-gazer in the ostentatious robes of his seer. He too was part of the picture. There was an expression of apprehension mingled with some other impopable quality on his strong face. Well, of Adhem, inquired Varek. I assume strange things, Saheb, replied the seer solemnly. The crystal tells me of danger. Danger? Repeated Varek with a slight lifting of his brows. Oh, well, in that case I shall keep out of it. Not danger to your business, Saheb. The crystal-gazer went on with troubled face. But danger in another way. The girl Jada looked at him with quick startled eyes and asked some question in her native tongue. He answered in the same language and she rose suddenly with terror-stricken face to fling herself at Varek's feet weeping. Varek seemed to understand too and looked at the seer in apprehension. Death, he exclaimed. What do you mean? Adhem was silent for a moment and bowed his head respectfully before the steady, inquiring gaze of the white man. Pardon, Saheb, he said at last. I did not remember that you understood my language. What is it? insisted Varek abruptly. Tell me. I cannot, Saheb. You must! He had arisen commandingly. You must! The crystal-gazer crossed to him and stood for an instant with his hand on the white man's shoulder and his eyes studying the fear he found in the white man's face. The crystal, Saheb, he began. It tells me that that no, no, brother pleaded the girl. Go on, Varek commanded. It grieves me to say that which will pain one whom I love as I do you, Saheb, said the seer slowly. Perhaps you would rather see for yourself. Well, let me see then, said Varek. Is it in the crystal? Yes, by the grace of the gods. But I can't see anything there, Varek remembered. I've tried scores of times. I believe this will be different, Saheb, said Adhem quietly. Can you stand a shock? Varek shook himself a little impatiently. Of course, he replied, yes, yes. A very serious shock. Again there was an impatient twist of Varek's shoulders. Yes, I can stand anything, he exclaimed shortly. What is it? Let me see. He strode toward that point in the draperies where Adhem had entered while the girl on her knees sought within treating hands to stop him. No, no, no, she pleaded. No. Don't do that. Varek expostulated in annoyance, but gently he stooped and lifted her to her feet. I am not a child or a fool. He threw aside the curtains. As they fell softly behind him, he heard a pitiful little cry of grief from Jada and said his teeth together hard. He stood in the crystal cabinet. It was somewhat larger than an ordinary closet and had been made impenetrable to the light by hangs of black velvet. For a while he stood still so that his eyes might become accustomed to the utter blackness, and gradually the sinister, fascinating crystal ball appeared, faintly visible by its own mystic luminosity. It rested on a pedestal of black velvet. Varek was accustomed to his surroundings. He had been in the cabinet many times. Now he dropped down onto a stool in front of the table where on the crystal lay and leaned forward on his arms staring into its limpid depths. Then blinking for one, two, three minutes he sat there with his thoughts in chaos. After a while there came a change in the ball. It seemed to glow with a growing light other than its own. Suddenly it darkened completely and out of this utter darkness grew shadowy, vague forms to which he could give no name. Finally a veil seemed lifted for the glow grew brighter and he leaned forward eagerly, fearfully. Another veil melted away and a still brighter light loomed the ball. Now Varek was able to make out objects. He was a table littered with books and papers, their chair, yonder a shadowy mantle. Gradually the light grew until his tensely fixed eyes pained him, but he stared steadily on. Another quick brightness came and the objects all became clear. He studied them incredulously for a few seconds and then he recognized what he saw. It was a room, his study, miles away in his apartments. A sudden numb chilliness seized him, but he closed his teeth hard and gazed on. The outlines of the crystal were disappearing. Now they were gone and he saw more. A door opened and a man entered the room into which he was looking. Varek gave a little gasp as he recognized the man. It was himself. He watched the man, himself, as he moved about the study aimlessly for a time as if deeply troubled, then as he dropped into a chair at the desk. Varek read clearly on the vision face those emotions which he was suffering in person. As he looked the man made some hopeless gesture with his hands, his hands, and leaned forward on the desk with his hands on his arms. Varek shuddered. For a long time it seemed the man sat motionless. Then Varek became conscious of another figure, a man in the room. This figure had come into the vision from his own viewpoint. His face was averted, Varek did not recognize the figure, but he saw something else and started in terror. A knife was in the hand of the unknown, and he was creeping stealthily toward the unconscious figure in the chair, himself with the weapon raised. And inarticulate cry burst from Varek's colorless lips, a cry of warning as he saw the unknown creep on, on, on toward himself. He saw the figure that was himself move a little and the unknown leaped. The upraised knife swept down and was buried to the handle. Again a cry, an unintelligible shriek burst from Varek's lips. His heart fluttered and perspiration poured from his face. With incoherent mutterings he sank forward helplessly. While long he remained there he didn't know, but at last he compelled himself to look again. The crystal glittered coldly on its pedestal of velvet, but that hideous thing which had been there was gone. The thought came to him to bring it back, to see more, but repulsive fear, terror seized upon him. He rose and staggered out of the cabinet. His face was pallid and his hands clasped and unclasped nervously. Varek was lying on a devan sobbing. She leaped to her feet when he entered and looking into his face she knew. Again she buried her face in her hands and wept afresh. Odd him stood with moody eyes fixed on the great God Bud. I saw, I understand, said Varek between his teeth, but I don't believe it. The crystal never lies, Sahib, said the seer sorrowfully. But it can't be that, Varek declared protestingly. Be careful Sahib, oh be careful urged the girl. Of course I shall be careful, said Varek shortly. Suddenly he turned to the crystal gazer and there was a menace in his tone. Did ever such a thing appear to you before? Only once Sahib. And did it come true? Odd him inclined his head slowly. I may see you tomorrow, exclaimed Varek suddenly. This room is stifling, I must go out. With twitching hands he drew on a light coat over his evening dress, picked up his hat, and rushed out into the world of realities. The crystal gazer stood for a moment while Jada clung to his arm tremblingly. It is as the gods will, he said sadly at last. Professor Augustus SFX Van Dusen, the thinking machine, received Howard Varek in the small reception room and invited him to a seat. Varek's face was ashen. There were dark lines under his eyes and in them there was the glitter of an ungovernable terror. Every move showed the nervousness which gripped him. The thinking machine squinted at him curiously, then dropped back into his big chair. For several minutes Varek said nothing. He seemed to be struggling to control himself. Suddenly he burst out. I'm going to die some day next week. Is there any way to prevent it? The thinking machine turned his great yellow head and looked at him in a manner which nearly indicated surprise. Of course if you've made up your mind to do it, he said irritably, I don't see what can be done. There was a trace of irony in his voice, a coldness which brought Varek around a little. Just how is it going to happen? I shall be murdered, stabbed in the back by a man whom I don't know, Varek rushed on desperately. Dear me, dear me, how unfortunate, commented the scientist. Tell me something about it, but here. He arose and went into his laboratory. After a moment he returned and handed a glass of some effervescent liquid to Varek who gulped it down. Take a minute to pull yourself together, instructed the scientist. He resumed his seat and sat silent with his long, slender fingers pressed tip to tip. Gradually Varek recovered. It was a fierce fight for the mastery of emotion. Now directed the thinking machine at last. Tell me about it. Varek told just what happened lucidly enough and the thinking machine listened with polite interest. Once or twice he turned and looked at his visitor. Do you believe in any psychic force, Varek asked once? I don't disbelieve in anything until I have proven that it cannot be was the answer. The God who hung a son up there has done other things which we will never understand. There was a little pause then. How did you meet this man? Odd him sing. I have been interested for years in the psychic, the occult, the things we don't understand, Varek replied. I have a comfortable fortune, no occupation, no dependence, and made this a sort of hobby. I have studied it superficially all over the world. I met Odd him sing in India ten years ago. Afterwards in England where he went through Oxford with some financial assistance from me and later here. Two years ago he convinced me that there was something in crystal gazing. Call it telepathy, self-hypnotism, subconscious mental action, what you will. Since then the science, I can call it nothing else, has guided me in every important act of my life. Through Odd him sing, yes. And under a pledge of secrecy I imagine, that is secrecy as to the nature of his revelations, yes. Any taint of insanity in your family? Varek wondered whether the question was in the nature of an insolent reproof or was a request for information. He construed it as the latter. No, he answered, never a touch of it. How often have you consulted Mr. Singh? Many times. There have been occasions when he would tell me nothing because, he explained, the crystal told him nothing. There have been other times when he advised me correctly. He has never given me bad advice even in intricate stock operations, therefore I have been compelled to believe him in all things. You were never able to see anything yourself in the crystal until this vision of death last Tuesday night, you say? That was the first. How do you know the murder is to take place at any given time, that is, next week, as you say? That is the information Odd him sing gave me, was their plie. He can read the visions. They mean more to him than, in other words, he makes it a profession, interrupts the scientist. Yes, go on. The horror of the thing impressed me so, both of us, that he has, at my request, twice invoked the visions since that night. He, like you, wanted to know when it would happen. There is a calendar by weeks in my study. That is, only one week is shown on it at a time. The last time the vision appeared, he noted this calendar. The week was that beginning next Sunday, the 21st of this month. The only conclusion we could reach was it would happen during that week. The thinking machine arose, and paced back and forth across the room, deeply thoughtful. At last, he stopped before his visitor. It's perfectly amazing, he commented emphatically. It approaches nearer to the unbelievable than anything I have ever heard of. Varek's response was a look that was almost grateful. You believe it impossible then? He asked eagerly. Nothing is impossible, declared the other aggressively. Now, Mr. Varek, you are firmly convinced that what you saw was prophetic, that you will die in that manner, in that place. I can't believe anything else. I can't, was the response. And you have no idea of the identity of the murderer to be, if I may use that phrase. Not the slightest. The figure was wholly unfamiliar to me. And you know, you know, that the room you saw in the crystal was yours? I know that absolutely. Rugs, furniture, mantel, books, everything was mine. The thinking machine was again silent for a time. In that event, he said at last, the affair is perfectly simple. Will you place yourself in my hands and obey my directions implicitly? Yes. It was an eager, hopeful note in Varek's voice now. I am going to try to disarrange the affairs of fate a little bit, explain the scientist gravely. I don't know what will happen, but it will be interesting to try to throw the inevitable, the preordained, I might say, out of gear, won't it? With a quizzical grim expression about his thin lips, the thinking machine went to the telephone in an unjoining room and called someone. Varek heard neither the name nor what was said, merely the mumble of the irritable voice. He glanced up as the scientist returned. Have you any servants? A valet, for instance, asked the scientist. Yes, I have an aged servant, a valet, but he is now in France. I gave him a little vacation. I really don't need one now as I live in an apartment house, almost a hotel. I don't suppose you happen to have $3,000 or $4,000 in your pocket. No, not so much as that, was the puzzle to apply. If it's your fee, I never accept fees, interrupted the scientist. I interest myself in affairs like these because I like them. They are good mental exercise. Please draw a check for, say, $4,000 to Hutchison Hatch, who is he, asked Varek. There was no reply. The check was drawn and handed over without further comment. It was 15 or 20 minutes later that a cab pulled up in front of the house. Hutchison Hatch, reporter, and another man whom he introduced as Philip Byrne were ushered in. As Hatch shook hands with Varek, the thinking machine compared them mentally. They were relatively of the same size, and he bobbed his head as if satisfied. Now Mr. Hatch, he instructed, take this check and get it cashed immediately, then return here, not a word to anybody. Hatch went out and Byrne discussed politics with Varek until he returned with the money. The thinking machine thrust the bills into Byrne's hands, and he countered it, afterwards stowing it away in a pocket. Now Mr. Varek, the keys to your apartment, please, asked the scientist. They were handed over, and he placed them in his pocket. Then he turned to Varek. From this time on, he said, your name is John Smith. You are going on a trip beginning immediately with Mr. Byrne here. You are not to send a letter, a postal, a telegram, or a package to anyone. You are to buy nothing. You are to write no checks. You are not to speak to or recognize anyone. You are not to telephone or attempt in any manner to communicate with anyone, not even me. You are to obey Mr. Byrne in everything he says. Varek's eyes had grown wider and wider as he listened. But my affairs, my business, he protested. It is a matter of your life or death, said the thinking machine shortly. For a moment, Varek wavered a little. He felt that he was being treated like a child. As you say, he said finally, now Mr. Byrne continued the scientist, you heard those instructions. It is your duty to enforce them. You must lose this man and yourself. Take him away somewhere to another place. There is enough money there for ordinary purposes. When you learn that there has been an arrest and connection with a certain threat against Mr. Varek, come back to Boston, to me, and bring him. That's all. Mr. Byrne arose with a business like air. Come on, Mr. Smith, he commanded. Varek followed him out of the room. Here was a table littered with books and papers. There a chair yonder a shadowy mantle. A door opened and a man entered the room. Moved about to study aimlessly for a time, as if deeply troubled, then dropped into a chair at a desk, made some hopeless gesture with his hands, and leaned forward on the desk with his head on his arms. Another figure in the room, knife in his hand. Creeping stealthily towards the unconscious figure in the chair with a knife raised, the unknown crept on, on, on. There was a blinding flash, a gush of flame and smoke, a sharp click, and through the fog came the unexcited voice of Hutchison Hatch, reporter. Stay right where you are, please. That ought to be a good picture, said the thinking machine. The smoke cleared, and he saw odd him sing standing watching with deep concern or a vulva in the hands of Hatch, who had suddenly arisen from the desk in Varric's room. The thinking man rubbed his hands briskly. I thought it was you, he said to the crystal-gazer. Put down the knife, please. That's right. It seems a little bold to have interfered with what was to be like this, but you wanted too much detail, Mr. Singh. You might have murdered your friend if you hadn't gone into so much trivial theatrics. I suppose I am a prisoner, asked the crystal-gazer. You are, the thinking man assured him cheerfully. You are charged with the attempted murder of Mr. Varric. Your wife will be a prisoner in another half-hour with all those who were with you in the conspiracy. He turned to Hatch, who was smiling broadly. The reporter was thinking of that wonderful flashlight photograph in the camera that the thinking man held, the only photograph in the world so far as he knew of a man in the act of attempting an assassination. Now, Mr. Hatch, the scientist went on. I will phone to Detective Mallory to come here and get this gentleman and also to send men and arrest every person to be found in Mr. Singh's home. If this man tries to run, shoot. The scientist went out and Hatch devoted his attention to his cell and prisoner. He asked half a dozen questions and receiving no answers, he gave it up as hopeless. After a while, Detective Mallory appeared in his usual state of restrained astonishment and the crystal gazer was led away. Then Hatch and the thinking machine went to the odd him Singh house. The police had preceded them and gone away with four prisoners, among them the girl Jada. They obtained an entrance through the courtesy of a policeman left in charge and sought out the crystal cabinet. Together, they bowed over the glittering globe as Hatch held a match. But I still don't see how it was done, said the reporter, after they had looked at the crystal. The thinking man lifted the ball and replaced it on its pedestal half a dozen times, apparently trying to locate a slight click. Then he fumbled all around the table, above and below. At his suggestion, Hatch lifted the ball very slowly while the scientist slid his slender fingers underneath it. Ah, he exclaimed at last. I thought so. It's clever, Mr. Hatch, clever. Just stand here a few minutes in the dark and I'll see if I can operate it for you. He disappeared and Hatch stood staring at the crystal until he was developing a severe case of the creeps himself. Just then a light flashed in the crystal, which had been only dimly visible and he found himself looking into the room in Howard Verrick's apartment, miles away. As he looked startled, he saw the thinking machine appear in the crystal and wave his arms. The creepiness passed instantly in the face of this obvious attempt to attract his attention. It was later that afternoon that the thinking machine turned the light of his analytical genius on the problem for the benefit of Hatch and Detective Mallory. Charltonism is a luxury which cost the peoples of the world incredible sums, he began. It had its beginnings, of course, in the dark ages when man's mind grasped at some tangible evidence of an infinite power and through its very eagerness was easily satisfied. Then quacks began to prey upon men and due to this day under many guises and under many names. This condition will continue until enlightenment has become so general that man will realize the absurdity of such a thing as nature or the other world's forces going out of its way to tell him whether a certain stock will go up or down. A sense of humor ought to convince him that disembodied spirits do not come back and wrap on tables and answer to asinine questions. These things are merely prostitutions of the divine revelations. Hatch smiled a little at the lecture platform tone and Detective Mallory chewed his cigar uncomfortably. He was there to find out something about crime. This thing was over his head. This is merely preliminary the thinking machine went on after a moment. Now as to this crystal gazing affair, a little reason, a little logic. When Mr. Varick came to me, I saw he was an intelligent man who had devoted years to a study of the so-called occult. Being intelligent, he was not easily hoodwinked, yet he had been hoodwinked for years. Therefore I could see that the man who did it must be far beyond the blundering fool usually found in these affairs. Now Mr. Varick personally had never seen anything in any crystal, remember that, until the vision of death. When I knew this, I knew the vision was stamped as quackery. The mere fact of him seeing it proved that, but the quackery was so circumstantial that he was convinced. Thus we have quackery, why, for a fee? I can imagine successful guesses on the stock market bringing fees to odd him sing, but the vision of a man's death is not the way to his pocketbook. If not for a fee, then what? A deep motive was instantly apparent. Mr. Varick was wealthy. He had known sing and had been friendly with him for years, had supplied him with funds to go through Oxford, and had no family or dependents. Therefore it seemed probable that a will, or perhaps in another way, sing would benefit by Mr. Varick's death. There was a motive for the vision, which might have been at first an effort to scare him to death because he had a bad heart. I saw all these things when Mr. Varick talked to me first, several days after he saw the vision, but did not suggest them to him. Had I done so, he would not have believed so sordid a thing, for he believed in sing, and would probably have gone his way to be murdered or to die a fright, as sing intended. Knowing these things, there was only the labor of trapping a clever man. Now the Hindu mind works in strange channels. It loves the mystic, the theatric, and I imagined that having gone so far, sing would attempt to bring the vision to a reality. He presumed, of course, that Mr. Varick would keep the matter to himself. The question of saving Varick's life was trifling. If he was to die at a given time in a given room, the thing to do was to place him beyond possible reach of that room at that time. I phoned to you, Mr. Hatch, and asked you to bring me a private detective who would obey orders, and you brought me Mr. Byrne. You heard my instructions to him. It was necessary to hide Mr. Varick's identity, and my elaborate directions were to prevent anyone getting the slightest clue as to him having gone, or as to where he was. I don't know where he is now. Immediately Mr. Varick was off my hands. I had Martha, my housekeeper, write a note to sing explaining that Mr. Varick was ill and confined to his room, and for the present was unable to see anyone. In this note, a date was specified when he would call on sing. Martha wrote, of course, as a trained nurse who was in attendance merely on daytime. All these points were made perfectly clear to sing. That done, it was only a matter of patience. Mr. Hatch and I went to Mr. Varick's apartment each night. I had Martha there in daytime to answer questions and waited in hiding. Mr. Hatch is about Varick's size and a wig helped us along. What happened then, you know, I may add that when Mr. Varick told me the story, I commented on it as being almost unbelievable. He understood, as I meant he should, that I refer to the vision. I really meant that the elaborate scheme which sing had evolved was unbelievable. He might have killed him just as well with a drop of poison or something equally pleasant. The thinking machine stopped as if that were all. But the crystal, asked Hatch, how did that work? How was it I saw you? That was a little ingenious and rather expensive, said the thinking machine. So expensive that sing must have expected to get a large sum from success. I can best describe the manufacture of the vision as a variation of the principle of the camera obscura. It was done with lenses of various sorts and a multitude of mirrors and required the assistance of two other men, those who were taken from sing's house with jada. First, the room in Mr. Varick's apartments was duplicated in the basement of sing's house, even to rugs, books, and wall decorations. There, two men rehearsed the murder scene that Mr. Varick saw. They were disguised, of course. You have looked through the wrong end of a telescope, of course, while the original reduction of the murder scene to a size where all of it would appear in a small mirror was accomplished that way. From this small mirror, there end pipes with a series of mirrors and lenses through the house, carrying the reflection of what was happening below, so vaguely, though, that features were barely distinguishable. The pipe ran up inside one of the legs of the table on which the crystal rested, and then by reflection to the pedestal. You, Mr. Hatch, saw me lift that crystal several times, and each time you might have noticed the click. I was trying to find them, how the reflection reached it. When you lifted it slowly and I put my fingers under, I knew. There was a small trap in the pedestal covered with velvet. This closed automatically and presented a solid surface when the crystal was lifted and opened when the crystal was replaced. Thus, the reflection reached the crystal which reversed it that last time and made it appear right side up through the watcher. The apparent growth of the light in the crystal was caused below. Someone simply removed several sheets of gauze one at a time from in front of the first lens. Well, exclaimed Detective Mallory, that's the most elaborate affair I ever heard of. Quite right, commented the scientist, but we don't know how many victims Singh had. Of course, any vision was possible with a change of scene in the basement. I imagine it was a profitable investment because there are many fools in this world. What did the girl have to do with it, asked Hatch. That I don't know, replied the scientist. She was pretty. Perhaps she was used as a sort of bait to attract a certain class of men. She was really Singh's wife, I imagine, not his sister. She was a prominent figure in the mummery with Varik, of course. With her age, Singh was able to lend great effectiveness to the general scheme. A couple of days later, Howard Varik returned to the city in tow of Philip Byrne. The thinking machine asked Mr. Varik only one question of consequence. How much money did you intend to leave Singh? About $250,000 was the reply. It was to be used under his direction in furthering an investigation into the psychic. He and I had planned just how it was to be spent. Personally, Mr. Varik is no longer interested in the occult. End of Problem of the Crystal Gazer. Recording by Alan Winteroud. BoomCoach.blogspot.com The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle by Sir Arthur Cernan Doyle. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Simon Evers. The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle by Sir Arthur Cernan Doyle. I had called upon my friend Sherlock Holmes upon the second morning after Christmas with the intention of wishing him the compliments of the season. He was lounging upon the sofa in a purple dressing-gown, a pipe-rack within his reach upon the right, and a pile of crumpled morning papers evidently newly studied near at hand. Beside the couch was a wooden chair, and on the angle of the back hung a very seedy and disreptable hard-felt hat, much the worse for wear, and cracked 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 I. 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 arm-chair 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 onto 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, 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, I 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 playpapers 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 will enter the same innocent category. You know Peterson, the comissionaire? Yes. It is to him that this trophy belongs. It is his hat? No, 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 morning Peterson, who as you know is a very honest fellow was returning from some small vacation and was making his way homeward down Tottenham Court Road. In front of him he saw in the gas light a tallish man walking with a slight stagger and carrying a white goose slung over his shoulder. As he reached the corner of Gooch Street a round broke out between this stranger and a little knot of ruffs. 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 rafts had also fed at the appearance of Peterson so that he was left in possession of the field of battle and also of the spoils of victory 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 car 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 candided off, therefore, to fulfill 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 he 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 roofily. 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. That, as Helmers had remarked, the initials H.B. were scrawled upon one side. It appeared in the brim for a hat secureer 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 very well to do within the last three years although he is now fallen upon evil days. He had foresight but has less now than formally pointing to a moral retrogression which when taken with the decline of his fortunes seems to indicate some evil influence, probably drink, but work upon him. This may also account 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 a 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. They are also, by the way, that it is extremely improbable that he has gas laid on in his house. You are certainly joking, Holmes! No, not in the least. It is 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 this man was intellectual? 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 and a head. 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 of aggression? Sherlock Holmes laughed. Here is the foresight, said he, put his finger upon the little disc and loop of the hat-secura. 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 formally, 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 he 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 odor of lime cream. This dust, you will observe, is not the gritty grey dust of the street, but the fluffy brown dust of the house, showing that it has been hung up indoors most of the time, or the marks of moisture upon the inside are proof positive that the wearer perspired very freely and could therefore hardly be at the best of training. But his wife, you said that she had ceased to love him. This has not been brushed for weeks. When I see you, my dear Watson, with a weak 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 goose 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 goose yet. Are you satisfied? It is very ingenious," said I, laughing. But since, as you said just now, there has been no crime committed and no harm done saved 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 commissioner, 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. 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-trave indeed. I suppose you know what you've got. Ah, darman, sir! A precious stone it cuts into glass as though a putty. It's more than a precious stone. It is THE precious stone. Not the countess of Mawkar's blue car-bunkle, I ejaculated. Precisely so! I ought to know its size and shape, seeing that I have read the advertisement upon about it in the Times every day recently. It is absolutely unique and its value can only be conjectured, but the reward offered of one thousand pounds is certainly not within a twentieth part of the market price. A thousand pounds? Great Lord of Mercy! The commissioner 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. It is the reward. There are sentimental considerations in the background, which would induce the countess to part with half her fortune as she could but recover the gem. It was lost, if I remember right, at the Hotel Cosmopolitan. I remarked. Precisely so! On December 22nd, 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 their sizes. What kind of the matter here, I believe? He rummaged to meet 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, 26th plumber, was brought up upon the charge of having upon the 22nd instance abstracted from the jewel-case of the countess of Morca, the valuable gem known as the blue carbuncle. James Rider, upper attendant of the hotel, was to the effect that he had shown Horner up to the dressing-room of the countess of Morca upon the day of the robbery, in order that he might solder the second bar of the great, which was loose. He had remained with Horner some little time, but had finally been called away. On returning, he found that Horner disappeared, that the bureau had been forced open, and that the small Morocco casket in which, as it afterwards transpired, the countess was accustomed to keep her jewel, was lying empty upon the dressing-table. Rider instantly gave the alarm and Horner was arrested the same evening, but the stone could not be found either upon his person or in his rooms. Catherine Cusack made to the countess deposed to having heard Rider's cry of dismay on discovering the robbery, and to having rushed into the room where she found matters as described by the last witness. Inspector Bradstreet, B Division, gave evidence as to the rest of Horner who struggled frantically and protested his innocence in the strongest terms. Evidence of a previous conviction for robbery having been given against the prisoner, the magistrate refused to deal summarily with the offence, but referred it to the assizes. Horner, who had shown signs of intense emotion during the proceedings, fainted away at the conclusion and was carried out of the court. Hmm. So much for the police-court, said Holmes, thoughtfully tossing aside the paper. What's important for us now to solve is the sequence of events leading from a rifled dual case at one end to the crop of a goose in Tottenham Court Road at the other. You see, Watson, our little deductions have suddenly assumed a much more important and less innocent aspect. Here is the stone. The stone came from the goose, and the goose came from Mr. Henry Baker, the gentleman with the bad hat and all the other characteristics with which I have bored you. Now, Watson, an ascertaining what part he has played in this little mystery. To do this, we must try the simplest means first, and these lie undoubtedly in an advertisement in all the evening papers. If this fails, I shall have a recourse to other methods. What would you say? Give me a pencil and that slip of paper. Now, then, found at the corner of Goode Street a goose and a black felt hat. Mr. Henry Baker can have the same look at 630 this evening at 221B Baker Street. That is clear and concise. Very, but where will he see it? Well, he is sure to keep an eye on the paper since, to a poor man, the loss was a heavy one. He was clearly so scared by his mischance in breaking the window and by the approach of Peterson that he thought of nothing but flight. But since then he must have bitterly regretted the impulse which caused him to drop his bird. Then again the introduction of his name will cause him to see it for everyone who knows him will direct his attention to it. Here you are, Peterson, run down to the advertising agency and have this put in the evening papers. In which, sir? Oh, the Globe, Star, Palmals and James' evening newsstand at Echo and any others that occur to you. Very well, sir. And this stone? Ah, yes, I shall keep the stone. Thank you. And I say, Peterson, just buy a goose on your way back and leave it here with me and you must have one to give to this gentleman in place of the one which your family is now devouring. When the commissioner had gone Holmes took up the stone and held it against the light. It's a bonny thing, said he, just see how it glints and sparkles. Of course it is a nucleus and focus of crime every good stone is. They are the devil's pet baits. In the larger and older duels every facet may stand for a bloody deed. This stone is not yet twenty years old. It was found in the banks of the Amoy River in southern China and is remarkable in having every characteristic of the carbuncle save that it is blue in shade instead of ruby red. In spite of its youth it is already a sinister history. There have been two murders, a vitriol throwing, a suicide and several robberies bought about for the sake of this forty grain weight of crystallized charcoal. Who would think that so pretty a toy would be a purveyor to the gallows and the prison? I'll lock it up in my strongbox now and drop a line to the counties to say that we have it. Do you think that this man Horner is innocent? I cannot tell. Well then do you imagine that this other one Henry Baker had anything to do with the matter? It is, I think, much more likely that Henry Baker is an absolutely innocent man who had no idea that the bird which he was carrying was of considerably more value than if it were made of solid gold. That, however, I shall determine by a very simple test if we have an answer to our advertisements. And you could do nothing until then? Nothing. In that case I shall continue my professional round, but I shall come back in the evening of the hour you have mentioned, for I should like to see the solution of so tangled a business. Very glad to see you. I dine at seven, there is a woodcock, I believe. By the way, in view of recent occurrences perhaps I ought to ask Mrs. Hudson to give me a drop. 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 semi-circle which was thrown from the fan-light. Just as I arrived the door was opened and we have shown up together to do home's room. Mr. Henry Baker, I believe, said he, rising from his arm-chair and greeting his visitor with the easy air of geniality which he could so readily assume. Pray take this chair by the far, 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? Ah, 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 home's surmise as to his habits. His rusty black frott coat was brightened 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 a advertisement from you giving your address. I am at a loss to know one hour why you did not advertise. Our visitor gave a rather shame-faced 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 no use to anyone had we not done so. But I presume that this other goose upon the side of all 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, if you wish. The man burst into a hearty laugh. Ha! they might be useful to me as relics of my venture, said he. But beyond that I can hardly see what use the disjectile member of my later acquaintance are going to be to me. I think that, with your compression, I will confine my tensions to the excellent bird which I perceive upon the sideboard. Shall at home's glance sharply across at me with a slight shrug of his shoulders. That 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 foul fancier and I have seldom seen a better-grown goose. Certainly, sir, said Baker, who had risen and tucked newly gained property under his arm. There are a few of us who frequent the Alpha Inn near the museum. We ought to be found in the museum itself during the day, you understand. This year our good host, Windy Gate 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-bon it is fitted neither to my ears 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? And not particularly. Then I suggest that we turn our dinner this too 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 doctor's quarter, Wimple Street, Hardy 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. Oh, yes, I see. But you see, sir, there was not our geese. Indeed. Oh, who's then? Well, I got the two dozen from a salesman in Covent Garden. Indeed, I know some of them. Which was it? Breckenridge is his name. I don't know him. Well, he has your good health, landlord, and prosperity to your house. Good night. 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 end a man who will certainly get seven years' penal servitude unless we can establish his innocence. It is possible that our inquirer 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. Then, and quick march, we pass across Holben down Endle Street and so through a zigzag of slums to Covent Garden Market. One of the largest stalls bore the name of Breckenridge upon it. And the proprietor, a horsey-looking man with a sharp face and trim side whiskers, was helping a boy to put up the shutters. Good evening. It's a cold night," said Holmes. The salesman nodded and shot a questioning glance at my companion. "'Sold out of geese, I see,' continued Holmes, pointing at the bare slabs of marble. "'You have five hundred to-morrow morning?' "'That's no good.' "'Well, there's some on the stall with the gas-flare.' "'But I was recommended to you.' "'Oh, by!' "'The landlord of the alpha.' "'Oh, yeah, I sent him a couple of dozen. "'Five birds they were, too. Now where did you get them from?' To my surprise, the question provoked to burst of anger from the salesman. "'Now there, mister,' said he, with his head cocked and his arms akimbo, "'what are you driving at? Let's have it straight now.' "'It is straight enough. I should like to know who sold you the geese which you supplied to the alpha.' "'Well, then I shan't tell you, so now.' "'It's a matter of no importance, but I don't know why you should be so warm over such a trifle.' "'Warm?' "'You be as warm, maybe, if you were as pestered as I am. When I pay good money for a good article, there should be an end of the business. But it's where the geese, and who did you sell the geese to, and what were you tight for the geese? Well, we think they were the only geese in the world to hear the fuss that is made over them.' "'Well, I have no connection with any other people who have been making inquiries,' said Holmes carelessly. "'If you won't tell us the bet is off, that's all. But I'm always ready to back my opinion on a matter of files, and I have a fiver on it that the bird I ate is country-bred.' "'Well, then you've lost your fiver for its time-bred,' snapped the salesman. "'It's nothing of the kind. Oh, I say it is. I don't believe it. Do you think you know more about Fouls and I, who found with them ever since I was a nipper? I tell you, all those birds that went to the alfalfa were town-bred.' "'You'll never persuade me to believe that.' "'Will you bet, then?' "'Oh, it's merely taking your money if I know that I'm 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. Cockshaw,' 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 a list of the folk from whom I abide. "'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 Reading? "'Well, that's a list of my town suppliers.'" Now, look at that third name. Just read it out to me. "'Mrs. Oakshott, 117 Brixton Hill, 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 the 22nd, 24 geese at seven shillings and sixpence. "'Quite so. There you are, and underneath?' "'So, to Mr. Windigate of the Alfred, 12 shillings.'" "'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 lamppost and laughed in the hearty, noiseless fashion which was peculiar to him. "'When you see a man with whiskers of that cut and the pinken protruding out of his pocket, you can always draw him into a bet,' said he. "'I dare say that if I put one hundred pounds down in front of him, that man would have not given me such complete information as was drawn from him by the idea that he was dooming on a wager. "'Well, Watson, we are, I fancy, nearing the end of our quest. "'And the only matter remaining to be determined is whether we should go on to this Mrs. Oak Shot tonight or whether we should reserve it for tomorrow.' It is clear from what that surly fellow said that there are others beside 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, 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. Oak Shot here and I'll answer her. "'But what have you to do with it? Did I buy the geese off you?' "'Nah, but one of them was mine all the same.'" Why, the little man? "'Well, then ask Mrs. Oak Shot for it.' "'She told me to ask you. "'Well, you can ask the king of Prusa for all our care. I've had enough of it. Get out of this!' He rushed fiercely forward, and the inquirer flitted away into the darkness. "'Ah, this may save us a visit to Brixton Road,' whispered Holmes. "'Come with me, and we shall see what is to be made of this fellow.'" Striding through the scattered knots of people who lounged around 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 gaslight that every vestige of colour had been driven from his face. "'Who are you there? 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 was sold by Mrs. Oakshot of Brixton Road to a salesman named Breckenridge by him, in turn, to Mr. Windygate of the Alpha, and by him to his club of which Mr. Henry Baker is a member.' "'Oh, sir, you are the very man who I have longed to meet!' cried the little fellow with outstretched hands and covering fingers. "'I can only 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 at a cosy room rather than this windswept marketplace,' said he. "'But pray tell me before we go farther. Who is it that I have the pleasure of assisting?' The man hesitated for an instant. "'My name is John Robinson,' he answered with a side-long glance. "'No, no, that 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.' "'Ah, precisely so! Head attended to 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 sizable in this weather. "'You look cold, Mr. Ryder, pray take the basket to 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 strongbox 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 to his chair, Watson.' "'He's not got blood enough to go in for felony with impunity. "'Give him a dash of brandy.' He said, "'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 to 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 Morkars?' "'It was Catherine Cousac who told me of it,' said he, in a crackling voice. "'I see, her ladyship's waiting-made. "'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 are not very scrupulous in the means you used. "'It seems to me, Ryder, that there isn't 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 them all readily upon him. "'What did you do, then? "'You made some small job in my ladies' room, you and your Confederate Cousac, and you managed that he should be the man sent for. "'Then, when he had left, you rifled the Duke's 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 screamed, "'thick of my father, of my mother. "'He would break their arms. I never went wrong before. "'I never will again. I swear it on the 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 and the Doc for a crime of which he knew nothing. "'I'll fly, Mr. Holmes. I'll leave the country, sir. "'Then the charge against him will break down.'" 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 of the truth, for there lies your only hope of safety.'" Ryder passed his tongue over his parched lips. "'I'll tell you it just as it happens, 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 in 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 married an Iron Man named Oak Shot, and lived in Brixton Road, where she'd fattened fowls for the market. All the way there every man I met seemed to me to be a policeman or a detective. For all 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'd been upset by the jewel robbery at the hotel. Then I went into the backyard and spoke to Pipe, and wondered what it would be best to do. I had a friend once called Maudsley, who went to the bad and had just been serving his time in Pentonville. One day he met me, and friended to 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 onto Kilburn, where he lived, and take him into my confidence. He would show me how to turn the stone into money. But I had to get to him in safety. I fought for the agonies I'd gone through and come in from the hotel. I might at any moment be seized and searched, and there would be the stone in my whisker pocket. I was leaning against the wall at the time and looking at the geese which were waddly 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'd take me goose now, and in it I'd carry my stone to Kilburn. There was a little shed in the yard, and behind this I'd drove the birds a fine big one white with a barred tail. I caught it and prying its billow, but 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, Gem, says she. While I said I, you said you'd give me one for Christmas and I was feeling which was the fattest. How, says she, we've set yours aside for you. Gem's bird, we call it, is 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 I, but if it's all the same to you I'd rather have that one I was handed just now. Oh, the other's a good three-pound heavier, says she, and we fatten it up expressly for you. Never mind, I'll have the other and I'll take it now, says I. Oh, just as you'd like, says she, a little huffed. Which is it you want, then? That white one with the barred tail right in the middle of the flock. Oh, very well. Kill it and take it with you. Well, I did what she said, Mr. Holmes, and I carried the bird all the way to Kilburn. I told my pal what I'd done, for he was a man that it was easy to tell a thing like that, too. He laughed at it, he choked, and we got a knife and opened the goose. The art turned to water, for there was no sign of the stone, and I knew that some terrible mistake had occurred. I left the bird, rushed back to my sisters, and hurried out into the backyard. There's not a bird to be seen there. Where they all, Maggie? I cried. Gone to the dealer's gem? Which dealer's? Breckridge of Covent Garden. Was there another with a barred tail? I asked the same as the one I chose. Oh, yes, GM, there were two barred tail ones, and I could never tell them apart. Well, then, of course, I saw it all, and I ran off as hard as my feet would carry me to this man Breckridge. But he'd sold the lot at once, and not one word would he tell me as to where they'd gone. You heard him yourselves tonight. Well, he'd always answered me like that. My sister thinks that I'm going mad. Sometimes I think that I am myself. And now, and now I am myself a branded thief without ever having touched the wealth for which I sold my character. God help me! God help me!" He burst into convulsive sobbing with his face buried in his hands. It was a long silence, broken only by his heavy breathing, and by the measured tapping of Sherlock Holmes' fingertips upon the edge of the table. Then my friend rose and threw up on the door. Get out! said he. Well, Watson, I haven't blessed you. No more words. Get out! No more words were needed. There was a rush, a clatter upon the stairs, the bang of a door, and the crisp rattle of running footfalls from the street. After all Watson, said Holmes, reaching up his hand for his clay pipe, and not retained by the police to supply their deficiencies. If Horner were in danger, it would be another thing. But this fellow will not appear against him, and the case must collapse. I suppose that I am commuting a felony, but it is just possible that I am saving a soul. This fellow will not go wrong again, for he is too terribly frightened. Send him to jail now, and you make him a jailbird for life. Besides, it is the season of forgiveness. Chance has put in our way a most singular and whimsical problem, and its solution is its own reward. If you will have the goodness to touch the bell, Doctor, we will begin another investigation, in which also a bird will be the chief feature, and of the adventure of the Blue Carbuncle. Recording by Simon Evers.