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was the matter, and why I was so pale; but I told her that I had been
upset by the jewel robbery at the hotel. Then I went into the back yard
and smoked a pipe and wondered what it would be best to do.
“I had a friend once called Maudsley, who went to the bad, and has just
been serving his time in Pentonville. One day he had met me, and fell
into 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 on to Kilburn, where
he lived, and take him into my confidence. He would show me how to turn
the stone into money. But how to get to him in safety? I thought of the
agonies I had gone through in coming from the hotel. I might at any
moment be seized and searched, and there would be the stone in my
waistcoat pocket. I was leaning against the wall at the time and
looking at the geese which were waddling 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 would take my goose now, and in it I would carry my
stone to Kilburn. There was a little shed in the yard, and behind this
I drove one of the birds—a fine big one, white, with a barred tail. I
caught it, and prying its bill open, 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, Jem?’ says she.
“‘Well,’ said I, ‘you said you’d give me one for Christmas, and I was
feeling which was the fattest.’
“‘Oh,’ says she, ‘we’ve set yours aside for you—Jem’s bird, we call it.
It’s 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 is all the same to you, I’d
rather have that one I was handling just now.’
“‘The other is a good three pound heavier,’ said she, ‘and we fattened
it expressly for you.’
“‘Never mind. I’ll have the other, and I’ll take it now,’ said I.
“‘Oh, just as you like,’ said 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 had done, for he was a man that it
was easy to tell a thing like that to. He laughed until he choked, and
we got a knife and opened the goose. My heart 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 sister’s, and hurried
into the back yard. There was not a bird to be seen there.
“‘Where are they all, Maggie?’ I cried.
“‘Gone to the dealer’s, Jem.’
“‘Which dealer’s?’
“‘Breckinridge, of Covent Garden.’
“‘But was there another with a barred tail?’ I asked, ‘the same as the
one I chose?’
“‘Yes, Jem; there were two barred-tailed 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 Breckinridge; but he had sold the lot at
once, and not one word would he tell me as to where they had gone. You
heard him yourselves to-night. Well, he has always answered me like
that. My sister thinks that I am 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.
There was a long silence, broken only by his heavy breathing and by the
measured tapping of Sherlock Holmes’ finger-tips upon the edge of the
table. Then my friend rose and threw open the door.
“Get out! said he.
“What, sir! Oh, Heaven bless you!
“No more words. Get out!
And 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.