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 seasonable in this weather. You look cold, Mr.

Ryder. Pray take the basket-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 strong-box 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 into his chair,

Watson. He’s not got blood enough to go in for felony with impunity. Give

him a dash of brandy. So! 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