4 The Wild Goose Chase

Chapter 4 The Wild Goose Chase It was a bitterly cold night, so we put on our overcoats and scarves before stepping out. The stars shone like icy diamonds from a cloudless sky, and the breath of passersby blew out like the smoke of pistol shots. Our footsteps rang out loudly on the pavement as we walked from Baker Street to Bloomsbury. In a quarter of an hour, we arrived at the Alpha Inn. Behind the bar stood the inn's ruddy-faced, white-aproned landlord, Mr. Windigate. "How can I help you, sirs?" he asked. While we waited for Windigate to pour us our drinks, Holmes said: "I've heard your geese are excellent." "My geese?" said Windigate, surprised.

"Yes, I was speaking only half an hour ago to Mr. Henry Baker, who was a member of your Goose Club." "Ah yes," said Windigate, "but you see, sir, them's not my geese." "Indeed? Then whose are they?" "Well I got two dozen from a man in Covent Garden by the name of Breckinridge. He has a shop there." We finished our drinks, buttoned up our coats, and headed out once more into the frosty air. "To Mr. Breckinridge then," I smiled. We passed through Holborn and then plunged into a maze of slums that led to Covent Garden Market. One of the larger shops at the edge of the market had a sign outside bearing the name Breckinridge. The owner had a

long, sharp face and side whiskers. He was closing up for the night when we arrived. "Good evening to you," said Holmes. "Sold out of geese, I see." He pointed to the bare slabs of marble where the shopkeeper normally displayed his wares. "There are some stalls still open where you might find some," said Breckinridge. "Ah, but I was recommended to you." "Who by?" "The landlord of the Alpha Inn." "Oh yes, I sent him a couple of dozen." "Fine birds they were, too," said Holmes. "Out of interest, where did you get them?" To my surprise, Breckinridge seemed angered by the question. "Now then, mister, what's all this about?" he said,

cocking his head and putting his hands on his hips. "Why are you asking?" "My reason is simple enough," said Holmes, unflustered by the man's surliness. "I wish to know who sold you the geese that you supplied to the Alpha." "Well, I'm not telling you!" snapped Breckinridge. "Please yourself," said Holmes. "It is a matter of little importance. I have no idea why you should get so worked up about it." "Worked up?" cried Breckinridge. "You'd be worked up if you'd been pestered with as many questions as I have about those geese. Where are they? Who did you sell them to? How can I get hold of them? You'd think they were the only geese in the world to hear all the fuss that's being made over them." "Well I know nothing about any of that," said Holmes. "I'm simply curious to know if the bird I ate was country bred. I bet my friend here five pounds that it was, for I'm sure that no town-bred bird could be so delicious." "Then you lost yourself a fiver," said Breckinridge, "because all those birds that went to the Alpha were town bred." "I refuse to believe it," said Holmes. "In fact, I'm willing to bet you a sovereign that you are wrong, sir." The shopkeeper chuckled. "You've got yourself a bet then, mister." He turned to his assistant. "Bring me the accounts book, Bill. We've got a right one here! Seems like he wants to give his money away."

The assistant brought out a large, black, leatherbound book and laid it beneath the hanging lamp. "Now then, mister," said Breckinridge, licking a finger and leafing through the pages. "I thought I was all out of geese, but you're about to discover there's one still left in my shop. This book contains a list of all my purchases and all my sales. Now then, what's the last entry? Here we are. December 22nd. Twenty-four geese at 7 shillings and sixpence, bought from Mrs. Oakshott of 117 Brixton Road— a town supplier, please note! And underneath? Sold to Mr. Windigate of the Alpha Inn at 12 shillings. What do you say to that then, mister?" He beamed at Holmes in triumph.

Holmes wore an expression of deep frustration. He took a sovereign from his pocket and threw it down on the counter, then turned and stormed out of the shop. Once we were out of sight, Holmes stopped beneath a lamppost and his face broke into a giant grin. "I had a feeling that man was the type who enjoyed a bet," he said. "If I'd offered him a hundred pounds, I doubt I'd have got more information out of him than he willingly gave me just to win his wager.