That， however， I shall determine by a very simple test if we havean answer to our advertisement.”
“And you can do nothing until then？”
“Nothing.”
“In that case I shall continue my professional round. But I shallcome back in the evening at the hour you have mentioned， for Ishould like to see the solution of so tangled a business.”
“Very glad to see you. I dine at seven. There is a woodcock， Ibelieve. By the way， in view of recent occurrences， perhaps I oughtto ask Mrs. Hudson to examine its crop.”
I had been delayed at a case， and it was a little after half-past sixwhen I found myself in Baker Street once more. As I approachedthe house I saw a tall man in a Scotch bonnet with a coatwhich was buttoned up to his chin waiting outside in the brightsemicircle which was thrown from the fanlight. Just as I arrivedthe door was opened， and we were shown up together to Holmes’
room.
“Mr. Henry Baker， I believe，” said he， rising from his armchairand greeting his visitor with the easy air of geniality which hecould so readily assume. “Pray take this chair by the fire， Mr.
Baker. It is a cold night， and I observe that your circulation ismore adapted for summer than for winter. Ah， Watson， you havejust 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 ofgrizzled brown. A touch of red in nose and cheeks， with a slighttremor of his extended hand， recalled Holmes’ surmise as to hishabits. His rusty black frock-coat was buttoned right up in front，with the collar turned up， and his lank wrists protruded from hissleeves without a sign of cuff or shirt. He spoke in a slow staccatofashion， choosing his words with care， and gave the impressiongenerally of a man of learning and letters who had had ill-usage atthe hands of fortune.
“We have retained these things for some days，” said Holmes，“because we expected to see an advertisement from you giving youraddress. I am at a loss to know now why you did not advertise.”
Our visitor gave a rather shamefaced laugh. “Shillings have notbeen so plentiful with me as they once were，” he remarked. “I hadno doubt that the gang of roughs who assaulted me had carried offboth my hat and the bird. I did not care to spend more money in ahopeless attempt at recovering them.”
“Very naturally. By the way， about the bird， we were compelledto 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 doneso. But I presume that this other goose upon the sideboard， whichis about the same weight and perfectly fresh， will answer yourpurpose equally well？”
“Oh， certainly， certainly，” answered Mr. Baker with a sigh ofrelief.
“Of course， we still have the feathers， legs， crop， and so on ofyour own bird， so if you wish——”
The man burst into a hearty laugh. “They might be useful tome as relics of my adventure，” said he， “but beyond that I canhardly see what use the disjecta membra of my late acquaintanceare going to be to me. No， sir， I think that， with your permission，I will confine my attentions to the excellent bird which I perceiveupon the sideboard.”
Sherlock Holmes glanced sharply across at me with a slightshrug of his shoulders.
“There is your hat， then， and there your bird，” said he. “By theway， would it bore you to tell me where you got the other onefrom？ I am somewhat of a fowl fancier， and I have seldom seen abetter grown goose.”
“Certainly， sir，” said Baker， who had risen and tucked hisnewly gained property under his arm. “There are a few of us whofrequent the Alpha Inn， near the Museum—we are to be foundin the Museum itself during the day， you understand. This yearour good host， Windigate by name， instituted a goose club， bywhich， on consideration of some few pence every week， we wereeach to receive a bird at Christmas. My pence were duly paid， andthe rest is familiar to you. I am much indebted to you， sir， for aScotch bonnet is fitted neither to my years nor my gravity.” Witha comical pomposity of manner he bowed solemnly to both of usand strode off upon his way.
“So much for Mr. Henry Baker，” said Holmes when he hadclosed the door behind him. “It is quite certain that he knowsnothing whatever about the matter. Are you hungry， Watson？”
“Not particularly.”
“Then I suggest that we turn our dinner into a supper andfollow up this clue while it is still hot.”
“By all means.”
It was a bitter night， so we drew on our ulsters and wrappedcravats about our throats. Outside， the stars were shining coldlyin a cloudless sky， and the breath of the passers-by blew out intosmoke like so many pistol shots. Our footfalls rang out crisply andloudly as we swung through the doctors’ quarter， Wimpole Street，Harley Street， and so through Wigmore Street into Oxford Street.
In a quarter of an hour we were in Bloomsbury at the Alpha Inn，which is a small public-house at the corner of one of the streetswhich runs down into Holborn. Holmes pushed open the door ofthe private bar and ordered two glasses of beer from the ruddyfaced，white-aproned landlord.
“Your beer should be excellent if it is as good as your geese，”
said he.
“My geese！” The man seemed surprised.
“Yes. I was speaking only half an hour ago to Mr. Henry Baker，who was a member of your goose club.”
“Ah！ yes， I see. But you see， sir， them’s not our geese.”
“Indeed！ Whose， then？”
“Well， I got the two dozen from a salesman in Covent Garden.”
“Indeed？ I know some of them. Which was it？”
“Breckinridge is his name.”
“Ah！ I don’t know him. Well， here’s your good health landlord，and prosperity to your house. Good-night.”
