5 The Assistant Manager

Chapter 5 The Assistant Manager "We have much to discuss," Sherlock Holmes said to the little man, "and I think we would be more comfortable talking in a warm room than a windswept marketplace, don't you?" He hailed a passing four-wheeler, but did not immediately climb aboard. "Before we go any farther," he said, "perhaps you could tell me your name." The man hesitated, glancing furtively from side to side. "My name is John Robinson," he muttered. "No, I mean your real name," said Holmes with a polite smile.

"Well that's between you and Mrs. Oakshott then, isn't it? It's got nothing to do with me." "She told me to ask you." "You can ask the King of Prussia for all I care," growled Breckinridge. "Now get out of here!" He rushed at the little man, who fled into the darkness. "Well, well!" said Holmes. "This may save us a visit to Brixton Road. Let's find out what this little fellow can tell us." We strode after him through Covent Garden Market. Knots of customers browsed the various stalls lit by the flare of gas jets. Eventually, Holmes drew close to the man and tapped him on the shoulder, causing him to spin

around in fright. In the gaslight, I could see all the blood had drained from his face. "Who are you?" he gasped. "What do you want?" "Forgive me," said Holmes, "but I couldn't help overhearing your conversation with the shopkeeper just now. I think I may be able to help you." "You?" spluttered the little man. "Who are you? How could you know anything of this matter?" "My name is Sherlock Holmes, and it is my business to know what other people don't." "But you can know nothing about this." "I know everything about it," insisted Holmes. "I know you are trying to trace some geese that were sold by Mrs.

A flush appeared on the stranger's pale cheeks. "All right," he said. "My real name is James Ryder." "As I thought," said Holmes. "You are the assistant manager of the Hotel Cosmopolitan. Now please step into the cab and I shall soon tell you everything you wish to know." Ryder looked at us both with half-frightened, half- hopeful eyes. Then he climbed aboard, and in half an hour we were back in the sitting room in Baker Street. The journey there was silent except for the nervous breathing of our new companion as he clasped and unclasped his hands. "Come in, come in," said Holmes, ushering us into the room. "You look cold, Mr. Ryder. Please, take a seat by the fire. Good man! Now then, you want to know what became of those geese. Or rather, I should say, of that goose. It was one bird, I believe, that you were interested in—a white one with a black tail?"

Ryder trembled with emotion. "Oh yes, sir. That's the one. Can you tell me what became of it?" "It came here." "Here?" "Yes, and what a remarkable bird it proved to be," said Holmes. "It laid an egg after it was dead—the prettiest little blue egg you ever did see! I have it right here." Holmes unlocked his strongbox and held up the blue carbuncle. It gleamed with a cold radiance, like one of those stars I saw in the winter sky.

Ryder staggered to his feet and clutched the mantelpiece. He stared wide-eyed at the stone. I could see he was desperate to grab hold of it, yet he feared revealing his desire. "The game's up, Ryder," said Holmes quietly. "I know it was you who stole the gem." Ryder looked ready to faint. His eyes lost their focus and his legs started wobbling. "Hold up, man, or you'll fall into the fire!" said Holmes in alarm. I grabbed the little man's arm before he collapsed