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"Excuse me, I know everything of it. You are endeavouring to

trace some geese which were sold by Mrs. Oakshott, of Brixton

Road, to a salesman named Breckinridge, by him in turn to Mr.

Windigate, of the Alpha, and by him to his club, of which Mr.

Henry Baker is a member."

"Oh, sir, you are the very man whom I have longed to meet," cried

the little fellow with outstretched hands and quivering fingers.

"I can hardly explain to you how interested I am in this matter."

Sherlock Holmes hailed a four-wheeler which was passing. "In that

case we had better discuss it in a cosy room rather than in this

wind-swept market-place," said he. "But pray tell me, before we

go farther, who it is that I have the pleasure of assisting."

The man hesitated for an instant. "My name is John Robinson," he

answered with a sidelong glance.

"No, no; the real name," said Holmes sweetly. "It is always

awkward doing business with an alias."