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"Well, I got the two dozen from a salesman in Covent Garden."

"Indeed? I know some of them. Which was it?"

"Breckinridge is his name."

"Ah! I don't know him. Well, here's your good health landlord,

and prosperity to your house. Good-night."

"Now for Mr. Breckinridge," he continued, buttoning up his coat

as we came out into the frosty air. "Remember, Watson that though

we have so homely a thing as a goose at one end of this chain, we

have at the other a man who will certainly get seven years' penal

servitude unless we can establish his innocence. It is possible

that our inquiry may but confirm his guilt; but, in any case, we

have a line of investigation which has been missed by the police,

and which a singular chance has placed in our hands. Let us

follow it out to the bitter end. Faces to the south, then, and

quick march!"