Read The Adventures and Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes Online
Authors: Arthur Conan Doyle
âI can see nothing,' said I, handing it back to my friend.
âOn the contrary, Watson, you can see everything. You fail,
however, to reason from what you see. You are too timid in drawing your inferences.'
âThen, 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. âIt is perhaps less suggestive than it might have been,' he remarked, âand yet there are a few inferences which are very distinct, and a few others which represent at least a strong balance of probability. That the man was highly intellectual is of course obvious upon the face of it, and also that he was fairly well-to-do within the last three years, although he has now fallen upon evil days. He had foresight, but has less now than formerly, pointing to a moral retrogression, which, when taken with the decline of his fortunes, seems to indicate some evil influence, probably drink, at work upon him. This may account also for the obvious fact that his wife has ceased to love him.'
âMy dear Holmes!'
âHe has, however, retained some degree of self-respect,' he continued, disregarding my remonstrance. âHe is a man who leads a sedentary life, goes out little, is out of training entirely, is middle-aged, has grizzled hair which he has had cut within the last few days, and which he anoints with lime-cream. These are the more patent facts which are to be deduced from his hat. Also, by the way, that it is extremely improbable that he has gas laid on in his house.'
âYou are certainly joking, Holmes.'
âNot in the least. Is it possible that even now when I give you these results you are unable to see how they are attained?'
âI have no doubt that I am very stupid; but I must confess that I am unable to follow you. For example, how did you deduce that this man was intellectual?'
For answer Holmes clapped the hat upon his head. It came right over the forehead and settled upon the bridge of his nose. âIt is a question of cubic capacity,' said he: âa man with so large a brain must have something in it.'
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âThe decline of his fortunes, then?'
âThis 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.'
âWell, that is clear enough, certainly. But how about the foresight, and the moral retrogression?'
Sherlock Holmes laughed. âHere is the foresight,' said he, putting his finger upon the little disc and loop of the hat-securer. âThey are never sold upon hats. If this man ordered one, it is a sign of a certain amount of foresight,
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since he went out of his way to take this precaution against the wind. But since we see that he has broken the elastic, and has not troubled to replace it, it is obvious that he has less foresight now than formerly, which is a distinct proof of a weakening nature. On the other hand, he has endeavoured to conceal some of these stains upon the felt by daubing them with ink, which is a sign that he has not entirely lost his self-respect.'
âYour reasoning is certainly plausible.'
âThe further points, that he is middle-aged, that his hair is grizzled, that it has been recently cut, and that he uses lime-cream, are all to be gathered from a close examination of the lower part of the lining. The lens discloses a large number of hair-ends, clean cut by the scissors of the barber. They all appear to be adhesive, and there is a distinct odour of lime-cream. This dust, you will observe, is not the gritty, 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; while the marks of moisture upon the inside are proof positive that the wearer perspired very freely, and could, therefore, hardly be in the best of training.'
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âBut his wife â you said that she had ceased to love him.'
âThis hat has not been brushed for weeks. When I see you, my dear Watson, with a week's accumulation of dust upon your hat, and when your wife allows you to go out in such a state, I shall fear that you also have been unfortunate enough to lose your wife's affection.'
âBut he might be a bachelor.'
âNay, he was bringing home the goose as a peace-offering to his wife. Remember the card upon the bird's leg.'
âYou have an answer to everything. But how on earth do you deduce that the gas is not laid on in the house?'
âOne 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 â 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 gas jet. Are you satisfied?'
âWell, it is very ingenious,' said I, laughing; âbut since, as you said just now, there has been no crime committed, and no harm done save the loss of a goose, all this seems to be rather a waste of energy.'
Sherlock Holmes had opened his mouth to reply, when the door flew open, and Peterson the commissionaire rushed into the compartment with flushed cheeks and the face of a man who is dazed with astonishment.
âThe goose, Mr Holmes! The goose, sir!' he gasped.
âEh! 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.
âSee here, sir! See what my wife found in its crop!'
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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. âBy Jove, Peterson,' said he, âthis is treasure-trove indeed! I suppose you know what you have got?'
âA diamond, sir! A precious stone! It cuts into glass as though it were putty.'
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âIt's more than a precious stone. It's
the
precious stone.'
âNot the Countess of Morcar's blue carbuncle?'
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I ejaculated.
âPrecisely so. I ought to know its size and shape, seeing that I have read the advertisement about it in
The Times
every day lately. It is absolutely unique, and its value can only be conjectured, but the reward offered of a thousand pounds is certainly not within a twentieth part of the market price.'
âA thousand pounds! Great Lord of mercy!' The commissionaire
plumped down into a chair, and stared from one to the other of us.
âThat is the reward, and I have reason to know that there are sentimental considerations in the background which would induce the Countess to part with half of her fortune if she could but recover the gem.'
âIt was lost, if I remember aright, at the Hotel Cosmopolitan,'
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I remarked.
âPrecisely so, on the 22nd of December, just five days ago. John Horner, a plumber, was accused of having abstracted it from the lady's jewel-case. The evidence against him was so strong that the case has been referred to the Assizes.
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I have some account of the matter here, I believe'. He rummaged amid his newspapers, glancing over the dates, until at last he smoothed one out, doubled it over, and read the following paragraph:
â “Hotel Cosmopolitan Jewel Robbery. John Horner, 26, plumber, was brought up upon the charge of having upon the 22nd inst., abstracted from the jewel-case of the Countess of Morcar the valuable gem known as the blue carbuncle. James Ryder, upper-attendant at the hotel, gave his evidence to the effect that he had shown Horner up to the dressing-room of the Countess of Morcar upon the day of the robbery, in order that he might solder the second bar of the grate, which was loose. He had remained with Horner some little time but had finally been called away. On returning he found that Horner had 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. Ryder 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, maid to the Countess, deposed to having heard Ryder's cry of dismay on discovering the robbery, and to having rushed into the room, where she found matters were as described by the last witness. Inspector Bradstreet, B Division, gave evidence as to the arrest 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 court.”
âHum! So much for the police court,' said Holmes thoughtfully, tossing aside his paper. âThe question for us now to solve is the sequence of events from a rifled jewel-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. So now we must set ourselves very seriously to finding this gentleman, and 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 recourse to other methods.'
âWhat will you say?'
âGive me a pencil, and that slip of paper. Now, then: “Found at the corner of Goodge Street, a goose and a black felt hat. Mr Henry Baker can have the same by applying at 6.30 this evening at 221B Baker Street.” That is clear and concise.'
âVery. But will he see it?'
âWell, he is sure to keep an eye on the papers, 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,
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and have this put in the evening papers.'
âIn which, sir?'
âOh, in the
Globe, Star, Pall Mall, St James's Gazette, Evening News, Standard, Echo
, and any others that occur to you.'
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âVery well sir, and this stone?'
âAh, 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, for we must have one to give to this gentleman in place of the one which your family is now devouring.'
When the commissionaire had gone, Holmes took up the stone and held it against the light. âIt's a bonny thing,' said he. âJust 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 jewels 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,
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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 has already a sinister history. There have been two murders, a vitriol-throwing, a suicide, and several robberies brought about for the sake of this forty-grain weight
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of crystallized charcoal.
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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 strong-box now, and drop a line to the Countess to say that we have it.'
âDo you think this man Horner is innocent?'
âI cannot tell.'
âWell, then, do you imagine that this other one, Henry Baker, had anything to do with the matter?'
âIt 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 advertisement.'
âAnd you can do nothing until then?'
âNothing.'
âIn that case I shall continue my professional round. But I shall come back in the evening at the hour you have mentioned, for I should like to see the solution of so tangled a business.'
âVery 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 examine its crop.'
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,
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with a coat which was buttoned up to his chin, waiting outside in the bright semicircle which was thrown from the fanlight. Just as I arrived, the door was opened, and we were shown up together to Holmes's room.
âMr Henry Baker, I believe,' said he, rising from his armchair, and greeting his visitor with the easy air of geniality which he could so readily assume. âPray take this chair by the fire, Mr Baker. It is a cold night, and I observe that your circulation is more adapted for summer than for winter. Ah, Watson, you have just come at the right time. Is that your hat, Mr Baker?'