He picked it up and gazed at it in the peculiar introspectivefashion which was characteristic of him. “It is perhaps lesssuggestive than it might have been，” he remarked， “and yet thereare a few inferences which are very distinct， and a few otherswhich represent at least a strong balance of probability. That theman was highly intellectual is of course obvious upon the faceof it， and also that he was fairly well-to-do within the last threeyears， although he has now fallen upon evil days. He had foresight，but has less now than formerly， pointing to a moral retrogression，which， when taken with the decline of his fortunes， seems toindicate some evil influence， probably drink， at work upon him.
This may account also for the obvious fact that his wife has ceasedto love him.”
“My dear Holmes！”
“He has， however， retained some degree of self-respect，” hecontinued， disregarding my remonstrance. “He is a man wholeads a sedentary life， goes out little， is out of training entirely， ismiddle-aged， has grizzled hair which he has had cut within the lastfew days， and which he anoints with lime-cream. These are themore patent facts which are to be deduced from his hat. Also， bythe way， that it is extremely improbable that he has gas laid on inhis house.”
“You are certainly joking， Holmes.”
“Not in the least. Is it possible that even now， when I give youthese results， you are unable to see how they are attained？”
“I have no doubt that I am very stupid， but I must confess thatI am unable to follow you. For example， how did you deduce thatthis man was intellectual？”
For answer Holmes clapped the hat upon his head. It came rightover the forehead and settled upon the bridge of his nose. “It is aquestion of cubic capacity，” said he； “a man with so large a brainmust have something in it.”
“The decline of his fortunes， then？”
“This hat is three years old. These flat brims curled at the edgecame in then. It is a hat of the very best quality. Look at the bandof ribbed silk and the excellent lining. If this man could afford tobuy so expensive a hat three years ago， and has had no hat since，then he has assuredly gone down in the world.”
“Well， that is clear enough， certainly. But how about theforesight and the moral retrogression？”
Sherlock Holmes laughed. “Here is the foresight，” said heputting his finger upon the little disc and loop of the hat-securer.
“They are never sold upon hats. If this man ordered one， it is asign of a certain amount of foresight， since he went out of hisway to take this precaution against the wind. But since we seethat he has broken the elastic and has not troubled to replace it，it is obvious that he has less foresight now than formerly， whichis a distinct proof of a weakening nature. On the other hand， hehas endeavoured to conceal some of these stains upon the felt bydaubing them with ink， which is a sign that he has not entirely losthis self-respect.”
“Your reasoning is certainly plausible.”
“The further points， that he is middle-aged， that his hair isgrizzled， that it has been recently cut， and that he uses limecream，are all to be gathered from a close examination of thelower part of the lining. The lens discloses a large number of hairends，clean cut by the scissors of the barber. They all appear to beadhesive， and there is a distinct odour of lime-cream. This dust，you will observe， is not the gritty， grey dust of the street but thefluffy brown dust of the house， showing that it has been hung upindoors most of the time， while the marks of moisture upon theinside are proof positive that the wearer perspired very freely， andcould therefore， hardly be in the best of training.”
“But his wife—you said that she had ceased to love him.”
“This hat has not been brushed for weeks. When I see you， mydear Watson， with a week’s accumulation of dust upon your hat，and when your wife allows you to go out in such a state， I shall fearthat you also have been unfortunate enough to lose your wife’saffection.”
“But he might be a bachelor.”
“Nay， he was bringing home the goose as a peace-offering to hiswife. Remember the card upon the bird’s leg.”
“You have an answer to everything. But how on earth do youdeduce that the gas is not laid on in his house？”
“One tallow stain， or even two， might come by chance； but whenI see no less than five， I think that there can be little doubt thatthe individual must be brought into frequent contact with burningtallow—walks upstairs at night probably with his hat in one handand a guttering candle in the other. Anyhow， he never got tallowstainsfrom a gas-jet. Are you satisfied？”
“Well， it is very ingenious，” said I， laughing； “but since， as yousaid just now， there has been no crime committed， and no harmdone save the loss of a goose， all this seems to be rather a waste ofenergy.”
Sherlock Holmes had opened his mouth to reply， when the doorflew open， and Peterson， the commissionaire， rushed into theapartment with flushed cheeks and the face of a man who is dazedwith astonishment.
“The goose， Mr. Holmes！ The goose， sir！” he gasped.
“Eh？ What of it， then？ Has it returned to life and flapped offthrough the kitchen window？” Holmes twisted himself round uponthe 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 outhis hand and displayed upon the centre of the palm a brilliantlyscintillating blue stone， rather smaller than a bean in size， but ofsuch purity and radiance that it twinkled like an electric point inthe dark hollow of his hand.
Sherlock Holmes sat up with a whistle. “By Jove， Peterson！” saidhe， “this is treasure trove indeed. I suppose you know what youhave got？”
“A diamond， sir？ A precious stone. It cuts into glass as though itwere putty.”
“It’s more than a precious stone. It is the precious stone.”
“Not the Countess of Morcar’s blue carbuncle！” I ejaculated.
“Precisely so. I ought to know its size and shape， seeing that Ihave read the advertisement about it in The Times every day lately.