Breckinridge 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.


“Let you have five hundred to-morrow morning.”


“That’s no good.”


“Well, there are some on the stall with the gas-flare.”


“Ah, but I was recommended to you.”


“Who by?”


“The landlord of the Alpha.”


“Oh, yes; I sent him a couple of dozen.”


“Fine birds they were, too. Now where did you get them from?”


To my surprise the question provoked a burst of anger from the salesman.


“Now, then, 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!”


“Oh, it is a matter of no importance; but I don’t know why you

should be so warm over such a trifle.”


“Warm! You’d 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 are the geese?’ and ‘Who did

you sell the geese to?’ and ‘What will you take for the

geese?’ One would 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 is all. But I’m always ready to back my opinion on a

matter of fowls, and I have a fiver on it that the bird I ate is country

bred.”


“Well, then, you’ve lost your fiver, for it’s town

bred,” snapped the salesman.


“It’s nothing of the kind.”


“I say it is.”


“I don’t believe it.”