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"Well, it is very ingenious," said I, laughing; "but since, as

you said just now, there has been no crime committed, and no harm

done save the loss of a goose, all this seems to be rather a

waste of energy."

Sherlock Holmes had opened his mouth to reply, when the door flew

open, and Peterson, the commissionaire, rushed into the apartment

with flushed cheeks and the face of a man who is dazed with

astonishment.

"The goose, Mr. Holmes! The goose, sir!" he gasped.

"Eh? What of it, then? Has it returned to life and flapped off

through the kitchen window?" Holmes twisted himself round upon

the sofa to get a fairer view of the man's excited face.

"See here, sir! See what my wife found in its crop!" He held out

his hand and displayed upon the centre of the palm a brilliantly

scintillating blue stone, rather smaller than a bean in size, but

of such purity and radiance that it twinkled like an electric

point in the dark hollow of his hand.