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

room.


“Mr. Henry Baker, I believe,” said he, rising from his armchair and

greeting his visitor with the easy air of geniality which he could so readily

assume. “Pray take this chair by the fire, Mr. Baker. It is a cold night,

and I observe that your circulation is more adapted for summer than for winter.

Ah, Watson, you have just come at the right time. Is that your hat, Mr.

Baker?”


“Yes, sir, that is undoubtedly my hat.”


He was a large man with rounded shoulders, a massive head, and a broad,

intelligent face, sloping down to a pointed beard of grizzled brown. A touch of

red in nose and cheeks, with a slight tremor of his extended hand, recalled

Holmes’ surmise as to his habits. His rusty black frock-coat was buttoned

right up in front, with the collar turned up, and his lank wrists protruded

from his sleeves without a sign of cuff or shirt. He spoke in a slow staccato

fashion, choosing his words with care, and gave the impression generally of a

man of learning and letters who had had ill-usage at the hands of fortune.


“We have retained these things for some days,” said Holmes,

“because we expected to see an advertisement from you giving your

address. I am at a loss to know now why you did not advertise.”


Our visitor gave a rather shamefaced laugh. “Shillings have not been so

plentiful with me as they once were,” he remarked. “I had no doubt

that the gang of roughs who assaulted me had carried off both my hat and the

bird. I did not care to spend more money in a hopeless attempt at recovering

them.”


“Very naturally. By the way, about the bird, we were compelled to eat

it.”


“To eat it!” Our visitor half rose from his chair in his

excitement.


“Yes, it would have been of no use to anyone had we not done so. But I

presume that this other goose upon the sideboard, which is about the same