Thomas Godfrey (Ed) Read Online Free PDF Page B

goose slung
over his shoulder. As he reached the corner of Goodge Street, a row broke out
between this stranger and a little knot of roughs. One of the latter knocked
off the man’s hat, on which he raised his stick to defend himself, and swinging
it over his head, smashed the shop window behind him. Peterson had rushed
forward to protect the stranger from his assailants; but the man, shocked at
having broken the window, and seeing an official-looking person in uniform
rushing towards him, dropped his goose, took to his heels, and vanished amid
the labyrinth of small streets which lie at the back of Tottenham Court Road.
The roughs had also fled at the appearance of Peterson, so that he was left in
possession of the field of battle, and also of the spoils of victory in the
shape of this battered hat and a most unimpeachable Christmas goose.”
    “Which surely he restored to their owner?”
    “My dear fellow, there lies the
problem. It is true that ‘For Mrs. Henry Baker’ was printed upon a small card
which was tied to the bird’s left leg, and it is also true that the initials ‘H.
B.’ are legible upon the lining of this hat; but as there are some thousands of
Bakers, and some hundreds of Henry Bakers in this city of ours, it is not easy
to restore lost property to any of them.”
    “What, then, did Peterson do?”
    “He brought round both hat and goose
to me on Christmas morning, knowing that even the smallest problems are of
interest to me. The goose we retained until this morning, when there were signs
that, in spite of the slight frost, it would be well that it should be eaten
without unnecessary delay. Its finder has carried it off, therefore, to fulfil
the ultimate destiny of a goose, while I continue to retain the hat of the
unknown gentleman who lost his Christmas dinner.”
    “Did he not advertise?”
    “No.”
    “Then, what clue could you have as
to his identity?”
    “Only as much as we can deduce.”
    “From his hat?”
    “Precisely.”
    “But you are joking. What can you
gather from this old battered felt?”
    “Here is my lens. You know my
methods. What can you gather yourself as to the individuality of the man who
has worn this article?”
    I took the tattered object in my
hands and turned it over rather ruefully. It was a very ordinary black hat of
the usual round shape, hard and much the worse for wear. The lining had been of
red silk, but was a good deal discoloured. There was no maker’s name; but. as
Holmes had remarked, the initials “H. B.” were scrawled upon one side. It was
pierced in the brim for a hat-securer, but the elastic was missing. For the
rest, it was cracked, exceedingly dusty, and spotted in several places,
although there seemed to have been some attempt to hide the discoloured patches
by smearing them with ink.
    “I can see nothing,” said I, handing
it back to my friend.
    “On the contrary, Watson, you can
see everything. You fail, however, to reason from what you see. You are too
timid in drawing your inferences.”
    “Then, 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. “It is
perhaps less suggestive than it might have been,” he remarked, “and 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.”
    “My dear Holmes!”
    “He has, however, retained some
degree of self-respect,” he