THE ADVENTURE OF THE BLUE CARBUNCLE FROM THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOMES by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. I had called upon my friend Sherlock Holmes upon the second morning after Christmas with the intention of wishing him the compliments of the season. He was lounging upon the sofa in a purple dressing gown, a pipe rack within his reach upon the right, and a pile of crumpled morning papers, evidently newly studied, near at hand. Beside the couch was a wooden chair, and on the angle of the back hung a very seedy and disreputable hard-felt hat, much the worse for wear and cracked in several places. A lens and forceps lying upon the seat of the chair suggested that the hat had been suspended in this manner for the purpose of examination. You are engaged, said I. Perhaps I interrupt you. Not at all. I am glad to have a friend with whom I can discuss my results. The matter is a perfectly trivial one. He jerked his thumb in the direction of the old hat, but there are points in connection with it which are not entirely devoid of interest and even of instruction. I seated myself in his armchair and warmed my hands before his crackling fire, for a sharp frost had set in and the windows were thick with the ice-crystals. I suppose, I remarked, that only as it looks this thing has some deadly story linked to it, that it is the clue which will guide you in the solution of some mystery and the punishment of some crime. No, no, no crime," said Sherlock Holmes, laughing, only one of those whimsical little incidents which will happen when you have four million human beings all jostling each other within the space of a few square miles. Amid the action and reaction of so dense a swarm of humanity, every possible combination of events may be expected to take place and many a little problem will be presented which may be striking and bizarre without being criminal. We have already had experience of such. So much so, I remarked, that of the last six cases which I have added to my notes, three have been entirely free of any legal crime. Precisely. You allude to my attempt to recover the Irene Adler papers to the singular case of Miss Mary Sutherland and to the adventure of the man with the twisted lip. Well, I have no doubt that this small matter will fall into the same innocent category. You know Peterson, the Commissioner? Yes. It is to him that this trophy belongs. It is his hat? No, no, he found it. Its owner is unknown. I beg that you will look upon it not as a battered billy-cock, but as an intellectual problem, and first as to how it came here. It arrived upon Christmas morning in company with a good fat goose, which is, I have no doubt, roasting at this moment in front of Peterson's fire. The facts are these. About four o'clock on Christmas morning, Peterson, who as you know is a very honest fellow, was returning from some small jollification and was making his way homeward down Tottenham Court Road. In front of him he saw in the gaslight a tallish man walking with a slight stagger and carrying a white goose slung over his shoulder. As he reached the corner of Goode Street, a row broke out between this stranger and a little knot of ruffs. One of the latter knocked off the man's hat, on which he raised his stick to defend himself and, swinging it over his head, smashed the sharp window behind him. Peterson had rushed forward to protect the stranger from his assailants, but the man, shocked at having broken the window and seeing an official-looking person in uniform rushing towards him, dropped his goose, took to his heels, and vanished amid the labyrinth of small streets which lie at the back of Tottenham Court Road. The ruffs had also fled at the appearance of Peterson so that he was left in possession of the field of battle and also of the spoils of victory in the shape of this battered hat at a most unimpeachable Christmas goose. With surely he restored to the owner. My dear fellow there lies the problem. It is true that for Mrs. Henry Baker was printed upon a small card which was tied to the bird's left leg. It is also true that the initials H, B are legible upon the lining of this hat, but as there are some thousands of bakers and some hundreds of Henry Bakers in this city of ours, it is not easy to restore lost property to any one of them. What then did Peterson do? He brought round both hat and goose to me on Christmas morning, knowing that even the smallest problems are of interest to me. The goose we retained until this morning when there were signs that in spite of the slight frost it would be well that it should be eaten by delay. Its finder has carried it off therefore to fulfil the ultimate destiny of a goose while I continue to retain the hat of the unknown gentleman who lost his Christmas dinner. Did he not advertise? No. Then what clue could you have as to his identity? Only as much as we can deduce from his hat precisely. But you're joking. What can you gather from this old battered felt? Here is my lens. You know my methods. What can you gather yourself as to the individuality of the man who has won this article? I took the tattered object in my hands and turned it over rather ruefully. It was a very ordinary black hat of the usual round shape, hard and much the worse for wear. The lining had been of red silk but was a good deal discoloured. There was no maker's name, but as Holmes had remarked, the initials H.B. were scrolled upon one side. It was pierced in the brim for a hat secureer that the plastic was missing. For the rest, it was cracked, exceedingly dusty and spotted in several places although there seemed to have been some attempt to hide the discoloured patches by smearing them or with ink. I can see nothing, said I, handing it back to my friend. On the contrary Watson, you can see everything. You fail, however, to reason from what you see.  Then pray tell me, what you can infer from this hat? He picked it up and gazed at it in the particular introspective fashion which was characteristic of him. It is perhaps less suggestive than it might have been, he remarked, and yet there are a few inferences which are very distinct and a few others which represent at least a strong balance of probability. That the man was highly intellectual is, of course, obvious upon the face of it and also that he was fairly well to do within the last three years 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 a decline of his fortunes seems to indicate some evil influence probably drink at work upon him. This may account also for the obvious fact that his wife has ceased to love him. My dear Holmes! He has, however, retained some degree of self-respect, he continued disregarding my remonstrance. He is a man who leads a sedentary life, goes out little, is out of training entirely, is middle-aged, has grizzled hair which he has had cut within the last few days and which he anoints with lime-cream. These are the more patent facts which can be deduced from his hat. Also, by the way, that it is extremely improbable that he has had gas laid on in his house. You are certainly joking, Holmes. Not in the least. Is it possible that even now when I give you these results you are unable to see how they are attained? I have no doubt that I am very stupid, but I must confess that I am unable to follow you. For example, how did you deduce that this man was intellectual? For answer, Holmes clapped the hat upon his head. It came right over the forehead and settled upon the bridge of his nose. It is a question of cubic capacity, said he. The decline of his fortunes, then? This hat is three years old. These flat brims curled at the edge came in, then. It is a hat of the very best quality. Look at the band of ribbed silk and the excellent lining. If this man could afford to buy 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 the foresight and the moral retrogression? Sherlock Holmes laughed. Here is the foresight, he said, putting his finger upon the little disc and loop of the hat secure. These are never sold upon hats. If this man ordered one, it is a sign of a certain amount of foresight, since he went out of his way to take his precaution against the wind. But since we see that he has broken the elastic and not trouble to replace it, it is obvious that he has less foresight now than formerly, which is a distinct proof of a weakening nature. On the other hand, he has gone up on the felt by daubing them with ink, which is a sign that he has not entirely lost his self-respect. Your reasoning is certainly plausible. The further points that he is middle-aged, that his hair is grizzled, that it has been recently cut and that he uses lime cream are all to be gathered from a close examination of the lower part of the lining. The lens discloses a large number of hair ends, clean cut by the scissors of the barber. They all appear to be adhesive with a distinct odour of lime-green. This dust, you will observe, is not the gritty grey dust of the street but the fluffy brown dust of the house, showing that it has been hung up indoors most of the time, while the marks of moisture upon the inside are proof positive that the wearer perspired very freely and could 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.  But he might be a bachelor. Nay, he was bringing home the goose as a piece offering to his wife. Remember the card upon the bird's leg. You have an answer to everything. But how on earth do you deduce that gas is not laid on in his house? One tallow-stain or even two might come by chance, but when I see no less than five, I think that there can be little doubt that the individual must be brought into frequent contact with burning tallow. Walks upstairs at night, probably, with his hat in one hand and a guttering candle in the other. Anyhow, he never got tallow-stains from a gas-jet. Are you satisfied? Well, it is very ingenious, said I, laughing. But since, as you said just now, there has been no crime committed to 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! Huh? 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 fair review of the man's excited face. See here, sir! This is what my wife find 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. Sherlock Holmes sat up with a whistle. By Jove, Peterson, said he, treasure trove indeed. I suppose you know what it is that you've got. A diamond, sir? A precious stone? It cuts into glass as though it were putty. It's more than a precious stone. It is THE precious stone. NOT! I ejaculated the countess of more cars. BLUE CAR BUNKLE! Precisely so. I ought to know the size and shape, seeing that I have read the advertisement about it in the Times that it is absolutely unique and its value can only be conjectured, but the reward offered of one thousand pounds is certainly not within a twentieth part of the market price. A thousand pounds? Great! Lord of Mercy! The commissioner plumped down into a chair and stared from one to the other of us. That is the reward and I have reason to know that there are sentimental considerations in the background which would induce the countess to part with half her fortune if she could go to the other gem. It was lost, if I remember right, at the Hotel Cosmopolitan, I remarked. Precisely so, on December 22nd, just five days ago, John Horner, a plumber, was accused of having abstracted it from the lady's jewel case. The evidence against him was so strong that the case has been referred to the assizes. I have some account of the matter here, I believe. He rummaged to meet his newspapers, glancing over the dates, until at last he smoothed one out, pulled it over, and read the following paragraph. Hotel Cosmopolitan Jewel Robbery John Horner, 26, plumber, was brought up upon the charge of having, upon the 22nd instant, abstracted from the jewel case of the countess of Morca, the valuable gem known as the Blue Carbuncle. James Ryder, upper attendant at the hotel, gave his evidence to the effect that he had shown Horner up to the dressing room of the countess of Morca on the day of the robbery, in order that he might solder the second bar of the great, which was loose. He had remained with Horner some little time but had finally been called away. On returning he found that Horner had disappeared, that the bureau had been forced open, and that the small Morocco casket in which, as it afterwards transpired, the countess was accustomed to keep her jewel, was lying empty upon the dressing table. Ryder instantly gave the alarm and Horner was arrested the same evening. But the stone could not be found either upon his person or in his rooms. Catherine Cusack made to the countess deposed to having heard Ryder's cry of dismay on discovering the robbery and to having rushed into the room where she found matters as described by the last witness. Inspector Bradstreet B. Division gave evidence as to the arrest of Horner who struggled frantically and protested his innocence in the strongest terms. Evidence of a previous conviction for robbery having been given against the prisoner, the magistrate refused to deal summarily with the offence but referred it to their sizes. Horner, who had shown signs of intense emotion during the proceedings, fainted away at the conclusion and was carried out of court. Hmm! so much for the police court, said Holmes thoughtfully tossing aside the paper. The question for us now to solve is the sequence of events leading from a rifled jewel case at one end to the crop of a goose in Tottenham Court Road at the other. You see, Watson, our little deductions have suddenly assumed a much more important and less innocent aspect. Here is the stone. The stone came from the goose and the goose came from Mr. Henry Baker, the gentleman with the bad hat and all the other characteristics with which I have bored you. So now we must set ourselves very seriously to finding this gentleman and ascertaining what party is played in his little mystery. To do this first, and these lie undoubtedly in an advertisement in all the evening papers. If this fail I shall have recourse to other methods. What will you say? Give me a pencil and that slip of paper. Now then, found at the corner of Goode Street a goose and a black felt hat, Mr. Henry Baker can have the same by applying at 6.30 this evening a 221B Baker Street. That's clear and concise. Very. But will he see it? Well, he is sure to keep an eye on the paper since to a poor man the loss it was a heavy one. He was clearly so scared by his mischance in breaking the window and by the approach of Peterson that he thought nothing but flight. But since then he must have bitterly regretted the impulse which caused him to drop his bird. Then again the introduction of his name will cause him to see it for everyone who knows him will direct his attention to it. Here you are, Peterson. Run down to the advertising agency and have this paper. In which, sir? Oh, in the Globe, Star, Palmal, St. James' Evening News, Standard, Echo and any others that occur to you. Very well, sir. And this stone? Ah yes, I shall keep the stone. Thank you. And I say, Peterson, just buy a goose on your way back and leave it here with me, for we must have one to give to this gentleman in place of the one which your family is now deviring. When the commissioner had gone, he held it against the light. It's a bony thing, said he. Just see how it glints and sparkles. Of course it is a nucleus and focus of crime every good stone is. They are the devil's pet baits. In the larger and older jewels every facet may stand for a bloody deed. This stone is not yet twenty years old. It was found in the banks of the Amoy River in southern China and is remarkable in having every characteristic of the carbuncle. Save that it is blue in shade instead of ruby red. In spite of its youth it has already a sinister history. There have been two murders, a vitriol throwing, a suicide and several robberies brought about for the sake of this forty grain weight of crystallized charcoal. Who would think that so pretty a toy would be a purveyor to the gallows and the prison? I'll lock it up in my strongbox now and drop a line to the countess to say that we have it. Do you think that this man, Horner, is innocent? I cannot tell. Well then, do you imagine that this other one, Mr. Henry Baker, had anything to do with the matter? It is, I think, much more likely that Henry Baker is an absolutely innocent man who had no idea that the bird which he was carrying was of considerably more value than if it were made of solid gold. That, however, I shall determine by a very simple test if we have an answer to our advertisement. And you can do nothing until then? Nothing. In that case I shall continue my professional round, but I shall come back in the evening at the hour you have mentioned, for I should like to see the solution of so tangled a business. Very glad to see you. I dine at seven, there is a woodcock, I believe. By the way, in view of recent occurrences, perhaps I ought to ask Mrs. Hudson to examine its crop. I had been delayed at a case, and it was a little after half-bust-six when I found myself in Baker Street once more. As I approached the house, I found it with a coat which was buttoned up to his chin, waiting outside in the bright semi-circle, which was thrown up from the fan-light. Just as I arrived, the door was opened, and we were shown up together to Mr. Holmes' room. Mr. Henry Baker, I believe, said he, rising from his armchair, and greeting his visitor with the very easy air of geniality which he could so readily assume. Pray take this chair by the fire, Mr. Baker. It is a cold night, and I observe that your circulation is more adapted for summer than for winter. Ah, Watson, you have just come at the right time. Is that your hat, Mr. Baker? Yes, sir, that is undoubtedly my hat. He was a large man with rounded shoulders, a massive head, and a broad, intelligent face, sloping down to a pointed beard of grizzled brown. A touch of red in nose and cheeks with a slight tremor of his extended hand recalled Holmes' surmises to his habits. His rusty black frockcoat was buttoned right up in front with the collar turned up, and his lank wrists protruded from his sleeves without sign of cuff or shirt. He spoke in a slow staccato fashion, choosing his words with care, and gave the impression generally of a man of learning and letters who had had ill usage at the hands of fortune. We have retained these things for some days, said Holmes, because we expected to see an advertisement from you giving your address. I am at a loss to know why you did not advertise. Our visitor gave a rather shame-faced laugh. Shillings have not been so plentiful with me as they once were, he remarked. I had no doubt that the gang of roughs who assaulted me had carried off both my hat and the bird. I did not care to spend more money in the hopeless attempt at recovering them. Very naturally. By the way about the bird, we were compelled to eat it. To eat it? Our visitor half rose from his chair in his excitement. Yes, it would have been no use to anyone but I presume that this other goose upon the side-board, which is about the same weight and perfectly fresh, will answer your purpose equally well? Oh, certainly, certainly, answered Mr. Baker with a sigh of relief. Of course, we still have the feathers, legs, crop, and so on of your own bird, so if you wish. The man burst into a hearty laugh. They might be useful to me as relics of my adventure, said he, but beyond that I can hardly see what use the disjector member of my late acquaintance are going to be to me. No, sir, I think that with your permission I will confine my attentions to the excellent bird which I perceive upon the side-board." Sherlock Holmes glanced sharply across at me with a slight shrug of his shoulders. There is your hat, then, and there your bird, said he. By the way, would it bore you to tell me where you got the other one from? I am somewhat of a fowl fancier, and I have seldom seen a better-grown goose. Certainly, sir, said Baker, who had risen and tucked his newly gained property under his arm. There are a few of us who frequent the Alpha Inn near the museum. We are to be found in the museum itself during the day you understand. This year our good host, Windegate by name, instituted a goose-club, by which, on consideration of some few pence every week, we were each to receive a bird at Christmas. My pence were duly paid, and the rest is familiar to you. I am much indebted to you, sir, neither to my years nor my gravity. With a comical pomposity of manner he bowed solemnly to both of us and strode off upon his way. So much for Mr. Henry Baker, said Holmes, when he closed the door behind him. It is quite certain that he knows nothing whatever about the matter. Are you hungry, Watson? Not particularly. Then I suggest that we turn our dinner into a supper and follow up this clue while it is still hot. By all means. It was a bitter night, so we drew on our ulsters and wrapped cravats about our throats. Outside the stars were shining coldly in a cloudless sky, and the breath of the passes by blew out into smoke like so many pistol shots. Our footfalls rang crisply and loudly as we swung through the doctor's quarter, Whimpole Street, Harley Street, and so through Wigmore Street into Oxford Street. In a quarter of an hour we were in Bloomsbury in which is a small public-house at the corner of one of the streets which runs down into Hoban. Holmes pushed open the door of the private bar and ordered two glasses of beer from the ruddy-faced white apron landlord. Your beer should be excellent if it is as good as your geese, said he. My geese? The man seemed surprised. Yes, I was speaking only half an hour ago to Mr. Henry Baker, who was a member of your goose club. Ah, yes, I see. But you see, sir, them's not how, geese. Indeed. Who's then? 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 is a singular chance for a friend. Faces to the south, then, and quick march. We passed across Hoburn, down Endle Street, and so through a zigzag of slums to Covent Garden Market. One of the largest stalls bore the name of Breckinridge upon it, and the proprietor, a horsey-looking man with a sharp face and trim side whiskers, was helping a boy to put up the shutters. Good evening. It's a cold night, said Holmes. The salesman nodded and shot at my companion. Sold out of geese, I see, continued Holmes pointing at the bare slabs of marble. Let you have five hundred tomorrow morning. That's no good. Well, there are some on the stall with the gas flare. Ah, but I was recommended to you. Oh, by the landlord of the alpha. Oh, yes, I sent him a couple of dozen fine birds they were to. Now where did you get them from? To my surprise, the question provoked a burst of anger from the salesman. Now then, Mr. said he, with his head cocked and his arms akimbo, what are you driving at? Let's have it straight now. It's straight enough. I should like to know who sold you the geese which you supplied to the alpha. Well then, I can't tell you. So now. Oh, it is a matter of no importance, but I don't know why you should be so warm over such a trifle. Warm? Who'd be as warm maybe if you were as pestered as I am? When I pay good money for a good article, there should be an end to the business. But it's where are the geese, and who did you sell the geese to, and what will you take for the geese? One would think there was the only geese in the world to hear the fuss that is made over them. Well, I have no connection with any other people who have been making inquiries, said Holmes carelessly.  But I'm always ready to back my opinion on a matter of fouls, and I have a fiver on it that the bird I ate is country bread. Well then, you lost your fiver for its town bread, snapped the salesman. It's nothing of the kind. I say it is. I don't believe it. Do you think you know more about fouls than I who have handled them ever since I were a nipper? I'll tell you, all those birds that went to the alpha were town bread. You'll never persuade me to believe that. Will you bet then?  The salesman chuckled grimly. Bring me the books, Bill, said he. The small boy brought round a small thin volume and a great greasy backed one, laying them out together beneath the hanging lamp. Now then, Mr. Cockshaw, said the salesman. I thought I was out of geese, but before I finish you'll find that there is still one left in my shop. You see this little book? Well, that's the list of the folk from whom I buy. Just see. Well then, here on this page are the country folk, and the numbers after their names are where their accounts are in the big ledger. Now then, you see this other page in red ink? Well, that is a list of my town suppliers. Now, look at that third name, just read it out to me. Mrs. Oakshot, 117 Brickston Road, 249 Red Homes. Quite so. Now turn that up in the ledger. Homes, turn to the page indicated. Here you are, Mrs. Oakshot, 117 Brickston Road, egg and poultry supplier. Now then, what's the last entry? December 22nd, 24 geese at seven shillings and sixpence. Quite so. And there you are, and underneath sold to Mr. Windegate of the Alpha at twelve shillings. What have you to say now? Sherlock Holmes looked deeply chaground. He drew a sovereign from his pocket and threw it down on the slab, turning away with the air of a man whose disgust is too deep for words. A few yards off he stopped under a lamppost and laughed in the hearty, noiseless fashion which was peculiar to him. When you see a man with whiskers of that cut and the pinken protruding out of his pocket you can always draw him by a bet, said he. I dare say that if I had put a hundred pounds down in front of him, that man would not have given me such complete information as was drawn from him by the idea that he was doing me on a wager. Well, Watson, here we are. I fancy nearing the end of our quest, and the only point which remains to be determined is whether we should go on to this Mrs. Oakshot tonight or whether we should reserve it for tomorrow. It is clear from what that surly fellow said that there are others besides ourselves who are anxious about this matter, and I should— His remarks were suddenly cut short by a loud hubbub which broke out from the stall which we had just left. Turning round we saw a little rat-faced fellow standing in the centre of the circle of yellow light which was thrown by the swinging lamp, while Reckon ridge, the salesman, framed in the door of his stall, was shaking his fists fiercely at the cringing figure.  I wish you were all at the devil together.  You bring Mrs. Oakshot here and I'll answer her. But what have you to do with that? Did I buy the geese off you? No, but one of them was mine all the same. Wined the little man. Well, then ask Mrs. Oakshot for it. She told me to ask you. Well, you can ask the king of Prusa for all I care. I've had enough of it. Get out of all this!" He rushed fiercely forward and the inquirer flitted away into darkness. Huh! This may save us a visit to Brixton Road, whispered Holmes. Come with me, and we will see what is to be made of this fellow. Striding through the scattered knots of people who lounged around the flaring stalls, my companion speedily overtook the little man who touched him upon the shoulder. He sprang around and I could see in the gaslight that every vestige of colour had been driven from his face. Who are you then? What do you want?" He asked in a quavering voice. You will excuse me, said Holmes blandly, but I could not help overhearing the questions which you put to the salesman just now. I think that I could be of assistance to you. You? Who are you? How could you know anything of the matter? My name is Sherlock Holmes. It is my business to know what other people don't know. But you can know nothing of this. Excuse me. I know everything of it. You are endeavouring to chase some geese which were sold by Mrs. Oakshott of Brixton Road to a salesman named Breckrinridge by him in turn to Mr. Windegate 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 long to meet! cried the little fellow with outstretched hands and quivering fingers. I hardly explain to you how interesting 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 this windswept marketplace, said he, but pray tell me before we go farther who is it that I have the pleasure of assisting? The man hesitated for an instant. My name is John Robinson, he answered with a side-long glance. No, no, the real name, said Holmes sweetly, it is always awkward doing business with an alias. A flush sprang to the white cheeks of the stranger. Well, then, said he, my real name is James Ryder. Precisely so, head attendant at the hotel Cosmopolitan, pray step into the cab and I shall soon be able to tell you everything which you would wish to know. The little man stood glancing from one to the other of us with half-frightened, half-hopeful eyes as one who is not sure whether he is on the verge of a windfall or of a catastrophe. Then he stepped into the cab and in half an hour we were back in the sitting-room at Baker Street. Nothing had been said during our drive but the high thin breathing of our new companion and the claspings and unclaspings of his hands spoke of the nervous tension within him. Here we are, said Holmes cheerily as we filed into the room. The fire looks very seasonable in this weather. You look cold, Mr. Ryder. Pray take the basket chair. I will just put on my slippers before we settle this little matter of yours. Now then, you want to know what became of those geese? Yes, sir. Or rather I fancy of that goose.  Ryder quivered with emotion. Oh, sir, he cried. Can you tell me where it went to? It came here. Here? Yes, and a most remarkable bird it proved. I don't wonder that you should take an interest in it. It laid an egg after it was dead, the bonniest, brightest little blue egg that was ever seen. I have it here in my museum. Our visitor staggered to his feet and clutched a mantelpiece with his right hand. Holmes unlocked his strongbox and held up the blue carbuncle which shone out like a star of brilliant, many-pointed radiance. Ryder stood glaring with a drawn face, uncertain whether to claim or to disown it. The game's up, Ryder, said Holmes quietly. Hold up, man, or you'll be into the fire. Give him an arm back into his chair, Watson. He's not got blood enough to go in for felony with impunity. Give him a dash of brandy. So now he looks a little more human. What a shrimp it is to be sure. For a moment he had staggered and nearly fallen, but the brandy brought a tinge of colour into his cheeks, and he sat staring with frightened eyes at his accuser. I have almost every link in my hands and all the proofs which I could potterbly need, so there is little which you need tell me. Still, that little may as well be cleared up to make the case complete. You had heard, Ryder, of this blue stone of the countess of more cars? It was Catherine Cusack who told me of it," said he in a crackling voice. I see her ladyship's waiting made. Well, the temptation of sudden wealth so easily acquired was too much for you, as it has been for better men before you, but you were not very scrupulous in the means you used. It seems to me, Ryder, that there is the making of a very petty villain in you. You knew that this man Horner, the plumber, had been concerned in some such matter before, and that suspicion would rest more readily upon him? What did you do then?  Then, when he had left, you rifled the jewel-case, raised the alarm, and had this unfortunate man arrested. You then, Ryder threw himself down suddenly upon the rug and clutched at my companion's knees. For God's sake, have mercy! he shrieked, Think of my father, of my mother! It would break their hearts. I never went wrong before. I never will again. I swear it! Oh, don't bring it into court! For Christ's sake, don't!"  It's all very well to cringe and crawl now, but you thought little enough for this poor Horner in the dock for a crime of which he knew nothing. I will fly, Mr. Holmes! I will leave the country, sir. Then the charge against him will break down. Hmm! We will talk about that, and now let us hear a true account of the next act. How came the stone into the goose, and how came the goose into the open market? Tell us the truth, for there lies your only hope of safety. Ryder passed his tongue over his parts lips. I will tell you it just as it happened, sir, said he. When Horner had been arrested it seemed to me that it would be best for me to get away with the stone at once, for I did not know at what moment the police might not take it into their heads to search me and my room. There was no place about the hotel where it would be safe. I went out, as if on some commission, and I made for my sister's house. She had married a man named Oakshot and lived in Brixton Road, where she fattened fowls for the market. All the way there every man I met seemed to me to be a policeman nor a detective, and for all that it was a cold night, the sweat was pouring down my face before I came to the Brixton Road. My sister asked me what was the matter and why I was so pale, but I told her that I had been upset by the jewel robbery at the hotel. Then I went into the backyard and smoked a pipe and wondered what it would be best to do. I once had a friend called Maudsley who went to the bad and has just been serving his time in Pentonville. One day he had met me and fell in to talk about the ways of thieves and how they would get rid of what they stole. I knew that he would be right true to me for I knew one or two things about him, so I made up my mind to go right onto Kilburn where he lived and take him into my confidence. He would show me how to turn the stone into money, but how to get to him in safety. I thought of the agonies had gone through in coming from the hotel. I might at any moment be seized and searched and there would be the stone in my waste-coat pocket. I was leaning against the wall at the time and looking at the geese which were waddling around about my feet and suddenly an idea came into my head which showed me how I could beat the best detective that had ever lived. My sister had told me some weeks before that I might have the pick of her geese for a Christmas present and I knew that she was as always as good as her word. I would take my goose now and in it I would carry my stone to Kilburn. There was a little shed in the yard and behind this I drove one of the birds, a big fine one with a white, with a barred tail. I caught it and prying its bill open I thrust the stone down its throat as far as my finger could reach. The bird gave her gulp and I felt the stone pass along its gullet and down into its crop. But the creature flapped and struggled and out came my sister and I knew what was the matter. As I turned to speak to her the brute broke loose and fluttered off among the others. Whatever were you doing to that bird, Gem, says she. Well, said I, you said you'd give me one for Christmas and I was feeling which one was the fattest.  There's twenty-six of them, which makes one for you and one for us and two dozen for the market. Thank you, Maggie, says I, we're settling just now. The other is a good three-pound heavier, said she, and we fattened it up expressly for you. Never mind, I'll have the other and I'll take it now, said I. Oh, just as you like, said she, a little huffed. Which is it you want then? That white one with the barred tail right in the middle of the flock. Oh, very well, kill it and take it with you. Well, I did what she said, Mr. Holmes, and I carried the bird all the way to Kilburn. I told my pal what I had done, for he was a man that it was easy to tell a thing like that too. He laughed until he choked, and we got a knife and opened the goose. My heart turned to water, for there was no sign of the stone, and I knew that some terrible mistake had occurred. I left the bird, rushed back to my sister's and hurried into the backyard. There was not a bird to be seen there. Where are they all, Maggie? I cried. Gone to the dealers, Gem. Which dealers? The one of Covent Garden. But was there another with a barred tail? I asked the same as the one I chose. Yes, Gem, there were two barred tailed ones, and I could never tell them apart. Well, then, of course, I saw it all, and I ran off as hard as my feet could carry me to this manned Breckrinridge. But he had sold a lot at once, and not one word would he tell me as to where they had gone.  Well, he has always answered me like that. My sister thinks that I'm going mad. I think that I am myself. And now I am myself a branded thief without ever having touched the well for which I sold my character. God help me! God help me!  There was a long silence broken only by his heavy breathing and by the measured tapping of Sherlock Holmes' fingertips upon the edge of the table. Then my friend rose to the door. Get out, said he. What, sir? How heaven bless you! No more words. Get out. And no more words were needed. There was a rush, a clatter upon the stairs, the bang of a door, and the crisp rattle of running footfalls from the street. After all Watson said Holmes reaching up his hand for his clay pipe. I am not retained by the police to supply their deficiencies. But this fellow will not appear against him and the case must collapse. I suppose that I am commuting a felony but it is just possible that I am saving a soul. This fellow will not go wrong again. He is too terribly frightened. Send him to jail now and you make him a jailbird for life. Besides, it is the season of forgiveness. Chance has put in our way a most singular and whimsical problem and its solution is its own reward. If you will have the goodness to touch the bell doctor in which also a bird will be the chief feature. Read by alexfoster.me.uk in Nottingham, England on the 12th of December, 2007. End of The Adventure of the Blue Carb Uncle by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. This is a reading of The Country of the Blind by H. G. Wells, originally published in 1911. 300 miles and more from Chimborazo, 100 from the snows of Kotopoxi in the wildest wastes of Ecuador's Andes, there lies that mysterious mountain valley cut off from all the world of men the country of the blind. Long years ago that valley lay so far open to the world that men might come at last with frightful gorges and over an icy pass into its equable meadows. And thither indeed men came, a family or so of Peruvian half-breeds fleeing from the lust and tyranny of an evil Spanish ruler. Then came the stupendous outbreak of Mindobamba when it was night in Quito for 17 days and the water was boiling at Yaguachi and all the fish floating dying everywhere along the Pacific slopes there were land slips and swift thawings and sudden floods and one whole side of the old Aroca crest slipped and came down in thunder and cut off the country of the blind forever from the exploring feet of men. But one of these early settlers had chance to be on the hither side of the gorges when the world had so terribly shaken itself and he perforce had to forget his child and all the friends and possessions he had left up there and start life over again in the lower world. He started it again but ill, blindness overtook him and he died of punishment in the mines but the story he told begot a legend that lingers along the length of the corollaries of the Andes to this day. He told of his reason for venturing back from that fastness into which he had first been carried to a llama beside a vast bale of gear when he was a child. The valley, he said, had in it all that the heart of man could desire, sweet water, pasture, an even climate, slopes of rich brown soil with the tangles of a shrub that bore an excellent fruit and on one side great hanging forests of pine that held the avalanches high. Far overhead on three sides vast cliffs of gray-green rock capped by cliffs of ice but the glacier stream came not to them but flowed away by the farther slopes and only now and then huge ice masses fell on the valley side. In this valley it neither rained nor snowed but the abundant springs gave a rich green pasture that irrigation would spread over all the valley space. The settlers did well indeed there. Their beasts did well and multiplied and but one thing marred their happiness. Yet it was enough to mar it greatly. A strange disease had come upon them and had made all the children born to them there and indeed several older children also blind. It was to seek some charm or antidote against this plague of blindness that he had with fatigue and danger and difficulty returned down the gorge. In those days in such cases men did not think of germs and infections but of sins and it seemed to him that the reason of this affliction must be in the negligence of these priestless immigrants. To set up a shrine so soon as they entered the valley he wanted a shrine, a handsome cheap effectual shrine to be erected in the valley. He wanted relics in such like potent things of faith blessed objects and mysterious metals and prayers. In his wallet he had a bar of native silver for which he would not account. He insisted there was none in the valley with something of the insistence of an inexpert liar. They had all clubbed their money in ornaments together having little need for such treasure up there, he said, to buy them holy help against their ill. I figured this dim-eyed young mountaineer, sunburnt, gaunt and anxious, hat-brim clutched feverishly, a man all unused to the ways of the lower world telling this story to some keen-eyed attentive priest before the great convulsion. I can picture him presently seeking to return with pious and infallible remedies against that trouble and the infinite dismay with which he must have faced the tumbled vastness where the gorge had once come out.  Poor stray from that remoteness, the stream that had once made the gorge bursts from the mouth of a rocky cave and the legend his poor ill-told story set going developed into the legend of a race of blind men somewhere over there one may still hear today. But amidst the little population of that now isolated and forgotten valley the disease ran its course the old became groping the young saw but dimly and the children that were born to them never saw at all. But life was easy in that snow-rinned basin lost to all the world with neither thorns nor briars with no evil insects nor any beasts saved the gentle breed of llamas they had lugged and thrust and followed up the beds of the shrunken rivers and the gorges up which they had come. The sing had become perblind so gradually that they scarcely noticed their loss they guided the sightless youngsters hither and thither until they knew the whole valley marvelously when at last sight died out among them the race lived on they had even time to adapt themselves to the blind control of fire which they made carefully in stoves of stone. They were a simple strain of people at the first unlettered only slightly touched with the Spanish civilization but with something of a tradition of the arts of old Peru and of its lost philosophy generation followed generation they forgot many things their tradition of the greater world they came from became mythic in color and uncertain in all things save sight they were strong and able and presently chance sent one who had an original mind and who could talk and persuade among them and then afterwards another these two passed leaving their effects and the little community grew in numbers and in understanding and met and settled social and economic problems that arose generation followed generation generation followed generation there came a time when a child was born who was 15 generations from that ancestor who went out of the valley with a bar of silver to seek God's aid and who never returned there about a chance that a man came into this community from the outer world and this is the story of that man a mountaineer from the country near Crito a man who had been down to the sea and had seen the world a reader of books in an original way an acute and enterprising man and he was taken on by a party of Englishmen who had come out to Ecuador to climb mountains to replace one of their three Swiss guides who had fallen ill he climbed here and he climbed there and then came the attempt on Periscotapital the Matterhorn of the Andes in which he was lost to the outer world the story of that accident has been written a dozen times Pointer's narrative is the best he tells how the little party worked their difficult and almost vertical way up to the very foot of the last and greatest precipice and how they built a night shelter amidst the snow upon the little shelf of rock and with a touch of real dramatic power how presently they found Nunes had gone from them they shouted and there was no reply shouted and whistled and for the rest of that night they slept no more as the morning broke they saw the traces of his fall it seems impossible he could have uttered a sound he had slipped eastward towards the unknown side of the mountain far below he had struck a steep slope of snow and plowed his way down it in the midst of a snow avalanche his track went straight to the edge of a frightful precipice and beyond that everything was hidden far, far below and hazy with distance they could see trees rising out of a narrow shut-in valley the lost country of the blind but they did not know it was the lost country of the blind nor distinguish it in any way from any other narrow streak of upland valley unnerved by this disaster they abandoned their attempt in the afternoon and Pointer was called away to the war before he could make another attack to this day Paris catapital lifts an unconquered crest and Pointer's shelter crumbles unvisited amidst the snows and the man who fell survived at the end of the slope he fell a thousand feet and came down in the midst of a cloud of snow upon a snow slope even steeper than the one above down this he was world stunned and insensible but without a broken bone in his body and then at last came to gentler slopes and at last rolled out and lay still buried amidst a softening heat of the white masses that had accompanied and saved him he came to himself with a dim fancy that he was ill in bed then realized his position with a mountaineer's intelligence and worked himself loose and after a rest or so out until he saw the stars he rested flat upon his chest for a space wondering where he was and what had happened to him he explored his limbs and discovered that several of his buttons were gone and his coat turned over his head his knife had gone from his pocket and his hat was lost though he had tied it under his chin he recalled that he had been looking for loose stones to raise his piece of the shelter wall his ice axe had disappeared he decided he must have fallen and looked up to sea in the mostly light of the rising moon the tremendous flight he had taken for a while he lay gazing blankly at the vast pale cliff towering above rising moment by moment out of a subsiding tide of darkness its phantasmal mysterious beauty held him for a space and then he was seized with a paroxysm of sobbing laughter after a great interval of time he became aware that he was near the lower edge of the snow below, down what was now a moonlit and practicable slope he saw the dark and broken appearance of rock-strewn turf he struggled to his feet aching in every joint and limb got down painfully from the heaped loose snow about him went downward until he was on the turf and there dropped rather than lay beside a boulder drank deep from a flask in his inner pocket and instantly fell asleep he was awakened by the singing of birds in the trees far below he sat up and perceived he was on a little alp at the foot of the vast precipice that sloped only a little in the gully down which he and his snow had come over against him another wall of rock reared itself against the sky the gorge between these precipices ran east and west and was full of the morning sunlight which lit to the westward fallen mountain that closed the descending gorge below him it seemed there was a precipice equally steep but behind the snow in the gully he found a sort of chimney cleft dripping with snow water down which a desperate man might venture he found it easier than it seemed and came at last to another desolate alp and then after a rock climb of no particular difficulty to a steep slope of trees he took his bearings and turned his face up the gorge for he saw opened out above upon green meadows among which he now glimpsed quite distinctly a cluster of stone huts of unfamiliar fashion at times his progress was like clambering along the face of a wall and after a time the rising sun ceased to strike along the gorge the voices of the birds died away and the air grew cold and dark about him but the distant valley with its houses was all the brighter for that came presently to talus and among the rocks he noted for he was an observant man an unfamiliar fern that seemed to clutch out of the crevices with intense green hands he picked a frond or so and gnawed its stalk and found it helpful about midday he came at last out of the throat of the gorge into the plain and the sunlight he was very stiff and weary he sat down in the shadow of a rock filled up his flask with water from a spring and drank it down and remained for a time resting before he went to the houses they were very strange to his eyes and indeed the whole aspect of that valley became as he regarded it queerer and more unfamiliar the greater part of its surface was lush green meadow starred with many beautiful flowers irrigated with extraordinary care and bearing evidence of systematic cropping piece by piece high up and ringing the valley about was a wall and what appeared to be a circumferential water channel from which the little trickles of water that fed the meadow plants came and on the higher slopes above this flocks of llamas cropped the scanty urbage sheds apparently shelters or feeding places for the llamas stood against the boundary wall here and there the irrigation streams ran together into a main channel down the center of the valley on either side by a wall breast high this gave a singularly urban quality to this secluded place a quality that was greatly enhanced by the fact that a number of paths paved with black and white stones and each with a curious little curb at the side ran hither and thither in an orderly manner the houses of the central village were quite unlike the casual and higgledy-piggledy agglomeration of the mountain villages he knew they stood in a continuous row on either side of a central street of astonishing cleanness here and there their partly colored façade was pierced by a door and not a solitary window broke their even frontage they were party-colored with extraordinary irregularity smeared with a sort of plaster that was sometimes gray, sometimes drab sometimes slate-colored or dark brown and it was the site of this wild plastering first brought the word blind into the thoughts of the explorer the good man who did that he thought must have been as blind as a bat he descended a steep place and so came to the wall and channel that ran about the valley near where the latter spouted out its surplus contents into the deeps of the gorge in a thin and wavering thread of cascade he could now see a number of men and women resting on piled heaps of grass as if taking a siesta in the remote part of the meadow and nearer the village a number of recumbent children and then nearer at hand three men carrying pails on yokes along a little path that ran from the encircling wall towards the houses these latter were clad in garments of llama cloth and boots and belts of leather and they wore caps of cloth with back and ear flaps they followed one another in single file walking slowly and yawning as they walked like men who have been up all night there was something so reassuringly generous and respectable in their bearing that after a moment's hesitation Nunez stood forward as conspicuously as possible upon his rock and gave vent to a mighty shout that echoed round the valley the three men stopped and moved their heads as though they were looking about them they turned their faces this way and that and Nunez gesticulated with freedom but they did not appear to see him for all his gestures and after a time directing themselves towards the mountains far away to the right they shouted as if in answer Nunez bawled again and then once more and he gestured ineffectually the word blind came to the top of his thoughts the fools must be blind he said when at last after much shouting and wrath Nunez crossed the stream by a little bridge came through a gate in the wall and approached them he was sure that they were blind he was sure that this was the country of the blind of which the legends told that Nunez had sprung upon him and a great sense of rather enviable adventure the three stood side by side not looking at him but with their ears directed towards him judging him by his unfamiliar steps they stood close together like men a little afraid and he could see their eyelids closed and sunken as though the very balls beneath had shrunk away there was an expression near awe on their faces a man once said hardly recognizable Spanish a man it is a man or a spirit coming down from the rocks but Nunez advanced with the confident steps of a youth who enters upon life all the old stories of the lost valley and the country of the blind had come back to his mind and through his thoughts ran this old proverb as if it were a refrain in the country of the blind the one eyed man is king in the country of the blind the one eyed man is king and very civilly he gave them greeting he talked to them and used his eyes where does he come from brother Pedro asked one down out of the rocks over the mountains I come said Nunez out of the country beyond there where men can see from near Bogota where there are a hundred thousands of people and where the city passes out of sight sight? he comes said the second blind man out of the rocks the cloth of their coats Nunez saw was curious fashioned each with a different sort of stitching they startled him by a simultaneous movement toward him each with a handout stretched he stepped back from the advance of these spread fingers come the other said the third blind man following his motion and clutching him neatly he held Nunez and felt him over saying no word further until he had done so carefully he cried with a finger in his eye and found they thought that organ with its fluttering lids a queer thing in him they went over it again a strange creature Korea said the one called Pedro feel the coarseness of his hair like a llama's hair rough he is as the rocks that begot him in Korea investigating Nunez's unshaven chin with a soft and slightly moist hand perhaps he will grow finer Nunez struggled a little under their examination but they gripped him firm carefully he said again he speaks said the third man certainly he is a man oh said Pedro at the roughness of his coat and you have come into the world asked Pedro out of the world over mountains and glaciers right over above there halfway to the sun out of the great big world that goes down 12 days journey to the sea they scarcely seemed to heed him our fathers have told us men may be made by the forces of nature said Korea it is the warmth of things and moisture must lead him to the elders said Pedro shout first said Korea lest the children be afraid this is a marvelous occasion so they shouted and Pedro went first and took Nunez by the hand to lead him to the houses he drew his hand away I can see he said see said Korea yes see said Nunez turning towards him said the third blind man he stumbles and talks unmeaning words lead him by the hand as you will said Nunez and was let along laughing it seemed they knew nothing of sight well all in good time he would teach them he heard people shouting and saw a number of figures gathering together in the middle roadway of the village he found it tax his nerve and patience more than he had anticipated that first encounter with the population of the country of the blind the place seemed larger as he drew near to it when the smeared plasterings queerer and a crowd of children and men and women the women and girls he was pleased to note had some of them quite sweet faces for all that their eyes were shocked and sunken came about him holding on to him touching them with soft, sensitive hands smelling at him and listening at every word he spoke some of the maidens and children however kept aloof as if afraid and indeed his voice seemed coarse and rude beside their softer notes they mobbed him his three guides kept close to him with an effective proprietorship and said again and again a wild man out of the rocks Bogota he said Bogota over the mountain crests a wild man using wild words said Pedro Bogota his mind is hardly formed yet he has only the beginnings of speech a little boy nipped his hand Bogota he said mockingly I, a city to your village I come from the great world where men have eyes and see his name's Bogota they said he stumbled, said Korea stumbled twice as we came hither bring him into the elders they thrust him suddenly through a doorway into a room as black as pitch save at the end their faintly glowed a fire the crowd closed in behind him and shut out all but the faintest glimmer of day and before he could arrest himself he had fallen headlong over the feet of a seated man his arm outflung struck the face of someone else as he went down he felt the soft impact of features and heard a cry of anger and for a moment he struggled against a number of hands that clutched him it was a one-sided fight an inkling of the situation came to him and he lay quiet I fell down he said I couldn't see in this pitchy darkness there was a pause as if the unseen persons about him tried to understand his words then the voice of Korea said he is but newly formed he stumbles as he walks and mingles words that mean nothing with his speech others also said things about him that he heard or understood him perfectly may I sit up he asked in a pause I will not struggle against you again they consulted and let him rise the voice of an older man began to question him and Nunya's found himself trying to explain the great world out of which he had fallen and the sky and mountains and such like marvels to these elders who sat in darkness in the country of the blind and they would believe and understand nothing whatever that he told them and tried his expectation they would not even understand many of his words for fourteen generations these people had been blind cut off from all the seeing world the names for all the things of sight had faded and changed the story of the outer world was faded and changed to a child's story when they had ceased to concern themselves with anything beyond the rocky slopes above their circling wall blind men of genius had arisen among them and questioned the shreds of belief and tradition they had brought with them from their seeing days men had dismissed all these things as idle fancies and replaced them with new and saner explanations much of their imagination had shriveled with their eyes and they had made for themselves new imaginations with their ever more sensitive ears and fingertips slowly Nunya's realized this that his expectation of wonder and reverence at his origin and his gifts was not to be borne out and after his poor attempt to explain sight to them had been set aside as the confused version of a new made being describing the marvels of his incoherent sensations he subsided a little dashed into listening to their instruction and the eldest of the blind men explained to him life and philosophy and religion how that the world meaning their valley an empty hollow in the rocks and then had come first inanimate things without the gift of touch and llamas and a few other creatures that had little sense and then men and at last angels whom one could hear singing and making fluttering sounds but whom no one could touch at all which puzzled Nunya's greatly until he thought of the birds he went on to tell Nunya's how this time had been divided into the warm and the cold which are the blind equivalents of day and night and how it was good to sleep in the warm and work during the cold so that now, but for his advent the whole town of the blind would have been asleep he said Nunya's must have been specially created to learn and serve the wisdom they had acquired and that for all his mental incoherency and stumbling behavior he must have courage to learn and at that all the people in the doorway murmured encouragingly he said the night for the blind called their day night was now far gone and it behooved everyone to go back to sleep he asked Nunya's if he knew how to sleep and Nunya said he did but that before sleep he wanted food they brought him food llamas milk in a bowl and rough salted bread out of their hearing and afterwards to slumber until the chill of the mountain evening roused them to begin their day again but Nunya's slumbered not at all instead he sat up in the place where they had left him resting his limbs and turning the unanticipated circumstances of his arrival over and over in his mind every now and then he laughed sometimes with amusement and sometimes with indignation unformed mind not no senses yet they little know they've been insulting their heaven sent king and master I see I must bring them to reason let me think let me think he was still thinking when the sun set Nunya's had an eye for all beautiful things and it seemed to him that the glow upon the snow fields and glaciers that rose about the valley on every side was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen his eyes went from that inaccessible glory to the village and irrigated fields fast sinking into the twilight and suddenly a wave of emotion took him and he thanked God from the bottom of his heart that the power of sight had been given him he heard a voice calling to him from out of the village Yoho there Bogota come hither at that he stood up smiling he would show these people once and for all what sight would do for a man they would seek him but not find him you move not Bogota said the voice he laughed noiselessly and made two stealthy steps aside from the path trample not on the grass Bogota that is not allowed Nunya's had scarcely heard the sound he made himself he stopped amazed the owner of the voice came running up the piebald path towards him he stepped back on to the pathway here I am he said he did not come when I called you said the blind man must you be led like a child cannot you hear the path as you walk Nunya's laughed I can see it he said there is no such word as sea said the blind man after a pause cease this folly and follow the sound of my feet Nunya's followed a little annoyed my time will come and answered there is much to learn in the world has no one told you in the country of the blind the one eyed man is king what is blind asked the blind man carelessly over his shoulder four days passed and the fifth found the king of the blind still incognito as a clumsy and useless stranger among his subjects it was he found much more difficult to proclaim himself than he had supposed and in the meantime while he meditated his coup d'etat he did what he was told and learned the manners and customs of the country of the blind he found working and going about at night a particularly irksome thing and he decided that that should be the first thing he would change they led a simple laborious life these people they taught you in happiness as these things can be understood by men they toiled but not oppressively they had food and clothing sufficient for their needs they had days and seasons of rest they made much music and singing and there was love among them and little children it was marvelous with what confidence and precision they went about their ordered world everything you see had been made to fit their needs each of the radiating paths the valley area had a constant angle to the others and was distinguished by a special notch upon its curbing all obstacles and irregularities of path or meadow had long since been cleared away all their methods and procedure arose naturally from their special needs their senses had become marvelously acute they could hear and judge the slightest gesture of a man a dozen paces away could hear the very beating of his heart intonation had long replaced expression with them and touches gesture and their work with hoe and spade and fork was as free and confident as garden work can be their sense of smell was extraordinarily fine they could distinguish individual differences as readily as a dog can and they went about the tending of llamas who lived among the rocks above and came to the wall for food and shelter with ease and confidence then at last Nunez sought to assert himself that he found how easy and confident their movements could be the country of the blind part two he rebelled only after he had tried persuasion he tried at first on several occasions to tell them of sight look here you people he said there are things you do not understand in me once or twice one or two of them attended to him they sat with faces downcast and ears turned intelligently towards him and he did his best to tell them what it was to see among his hearers was a girl with eyelids less red and sunken than the others so that one could almost fancy she was hiding eyes whom especially he hoped to persuade he spoke of the beauties of sight of watching the mountains of the sky at the sunrise and they heard him with amused incredulity that presently became condemnatory they told him there were indeed no mountains at all but that the end of the rocks where the llamas grazed was indeed the end of the world thence spraying a cavernous roof of the universe from which the dew and the avalanches fell and when he maintained stoutly the world had neither end nor roof such as they supposed they said his thoughts were wicked so far as he could describe sky and clouds and stars to them it seemed to them a hideous void a terrible blankness in the place of the smooth roof to things in which they believed it was an article of faith with them that the cavern roof was exquisitely smooth to the touch he saw that in some manner he shocked them and gave up that aspect of the matter altogether and tried to show them the practical value of sight one morning he saw Pedro in the path called Seventeen and coming towards the central houses but still too far off for hearing or scent and he told them as much in a little while he prophesied Pedro will be here an old man remarked that Pedro had no business on path Seventeen and then as if in confirmation that individual as he drew near turned and went transversely into path Ten and so back with nimble paces towards the outer wall and afterwards when he asked Pedro questions to clear his character Pedro denied and outfaced him and was afterwards hostile to him then he induced them to let him go a long way up the sloping meadows towards the wall with one complacent individual and to him he promised to describe all that happened among the houses he noted certain goings and comings but the things that really seemed to signify to these people happened inside of or behind the windowless houses the only things they took note of to test him by and of those he could see or tell nothing and it was after the failure of this attempt and the ridicule they could not repress that he resorted to force he thought of seizing a spade and suddenly smiting one or two of them to earth and so in fair combat showing the advantage of eyes he went so far with that resolution as to seize his spade and then he discovered a new thing about himself and that was that it was impossible for him to hit a blind man in cold blood he hesitated and found them all aware that he had snatched up the spade they stood all alert with their heads on one side and bent ears toward him for what he would do next put that spade down said one and he felt a sort of helpless horror he came near obedience then he had thrust one backwards against a house wall and fled past him and out of the village he went to thwart one of their meadows leaving a track of trampled grass behind his feet and presently sat down by the side of one of their ways he felt something of the buoyancy that comes to all men in the beginning of a fight but more perplexity he began to realize that you cannot even fight happily with creatures who stand upon a different mental basis to yourself one day he saw a number of men carrying spades and sticks come out of the streets of houses in advance in a spreading line along the several paths toward him they advanced slowly speaking frequently to one another and ever and again the whole cordon would halt and sniff the air and listen the first time they did this, Nunez laughed but afterwards he did not laugh one struck his trail in the meadow grass and came stooping his way along it for five minutes he watched the slow extension of the cordon and then his vague disposition to do something forthwith became frantic he stood up, went to pace or so towards the circumferential wall turned and went back a little way there they all stood in a crescent still and listening he also stood still gripping his spade very tightly in both hands should he charge them the pulse in his ears ran into the rhythm of in the country of the blind the one eyed man is king should he charge them he looked back at the high and the unclimable wall behind unclimable because of its smooth plastering but with all pierced with many little doors and at the approaching line of seekers behind these others were now coming out of the streets of houses should he charge them they called one where are you he gripped his spade still tighter and advanced down the meadows toward the place of habitations and directly he moved they converged upon him I'll hit them if they touch me he swore by heaven I will I'll hit he called aloud look here I'm going to do what I like and go where I like they were moving in upon him quickly groping yet moving rapidly it was like playing blind man's bluff but with everyone blindfolded except one get hold of him cried one he found himself in the arc of a loose curve of pursuers he felt suddenly he must be active and resolute you don't understand he cried in a voice that was meant to be great and resolute and which broke you are blind and I can see leave me alone put down that spade and come off the grass the last order grotesque in its urban familiarity produced a gust of anger I'll hurt you he said sobbing with emotion by heaven I'll hurt you leave me alone he began to run not knowing clearly where to run he ran from the nearest blind man because it was a horror to hit him he stopped and then made a dash to escape from their closing ranks he made for where a gap was wide on the other side with a quick perception of the approach of his paces rushed in on one another he sprang forward and then saw he must be caught and swish the spade had struck he felt the soft thud of hand and arm and the man was down with a yell of pain and he was through through and then he was close to the street of houses again and blind men whirling spades and stakes were running with a reason he heard steps behind him just in time and found a tall man rushing forward and swiping at the sound of him he lost his nerve hurtled his spade a yard wide of the centagonist and whirled about and fled fairly yelling as he dodged another he was panic-stricken he ran furiously to and fro dodging when there was no need to dodge and in his anxiety to see on every side of him at once stumbling for a moment he was down and they heard his fall far away in the circumferential wall a little doorway looked like heaven and he set off in a wild rush for it he did not even look round at his pursuers until it was gained and he had stumbled across the bridge clambered a little way among the rocks to the surprise and dismay of a young lama who went leaping out of sight and laid down sobbing for breath and so his coup d'etat came to an end he stayed outside the wall of the valley of the blind for two nights and days without food or shelter and meditated upon the unexpected during these meditations he repeated very frequently and always with a profounder note of derision the exploded proverb in the country of the blind the one eyed man is king he thought chiefly of ways of fighting and conquering these people and it grew clear that for him no practicable way was possible he had no weapons and now it would be hard to get one the canker of civilization had got to him even in Bogota and he could not find it in himself to go down and assassinate a blind man of course if he did that he might then dictate terms on the threat of assassinating them all but sooner or later he must sleep he tried also to find food among the pine trees to be comfortable under pine boughs while the frost fell at night and with less confidence to catch a llama by artifice in order to try to kill it perhaps by hammering it with a stone and so finally perhaps to eat some of it but the llamas had a doubt of him and regarded him with distrustful brown eyes and spat when he drew near fear came on him the second day and fits of shivering he crawled down to the wall of the country of the blind and tried to make his terms he crawled along by the stream shouting until two blind men came out to the gate and talked to him I was mad, he said but I was only newly made they said that was better he told them he was wiser now and repented of all he had done then he wept without intention for he was very weak and ill now it was a favorable sign they asked him if he still thought he could see no he said that was folly the word means nothing less than nothing they asked him what was overhead about ten times ten the height of a man there is a roof above the world of rock and very very smooth so smooth so beautifully smooth he burst again into hysterical tears before you ask me anymore give me some food or I shall die he expected dire punishments but these blind people were capable of toleration they regarded his rebellion as but one more proof of his general idiocy and inferiority and after they had whipped him they appointed him to do the simplest and heaviest work they had for anyone to do and he, seeing no other way of living did submissively what he was told he was ill for some days and they nursed him kindly that refined his submission but they insisted on his lying in the dark and that was a great misery and blind philosophers came and talked to him of the wicked levity of his mind and reproved him so impressively for his doubts about the lid of rock that covered their cosmic casserole that he almost doubted whether indeed he was not the victim of hallucination in not seeing it overhead so Nunes became a citizen of the country of the blind and these people ceased to be a generalized people and became individualities to him and familiar to him while the world beyond the mountains became more and more remote and unreal there was Jacob, his master a kindly man when not annoyed there was Pedro, Jacob's nephew and there was Medina Sarota who was the youngest daughter of Jacob she was little esteemed in the world of the blind because she had a clear cut face and lacked that satisfying glossy smoothness that is the blind man's ideal of feminine beauty but Nunes thought her beautiful at first and presently the most beautiful thing in the whole creation her closed eyelids were not sunken and red the common way of the valley but lay as though they might open again at any moment and she had long eyelashes which were considered a grave disfigurement and her voice was weak and did not satisfy the acute hearing of the valley swains so that she had no lover there came a time when Nunes thought that could he win her he would be resigned to live in the valley for all the rest of his days but when Nunes saw her he sought opportunities of doing her little services and presently found that she observed him once at a rest day gathering they sat side by side in the dim starlight and the music was sweet his hand came upon hers and he dared to clasp it then very tenderly she returned his pressure and one day as they were at their meal in the darkness he felt her hand very softly seeking him and as it chanced the fire leaped then and he saw the tenderness of her face he sought to speak to her he went to her one day when she was sitting in the summer moonlight spinning the light made her a thing of silver and mystery he sat down at her feet and told her he loved her and told her how beautiful she seemed to him he had a lover's voice to all and she had never before been touched by adoration she made him no definite answer but it was yet clear his words pleased her after that he talked to her whenever he could take an opportunity the valley became the world for him and the world beyond the mountains where men lived by day seemed no more than a fairy tale he would someday pour into her ears very tentatively and timidly as if she were of sight sight seemed to her the most poetical of fancies and she listened to his description of the stars and the mountains and her own sweet white-lit beauty as though it was a guilty indulgence she did not believe she could only half understand but she was mysteriously delighted and it seemed to him that she completely understood his love lost its awe and took courage presently he was for demanding her of Yaakov and the elders in marriage but she became fearful and delayed and it was one of her elder sisters who first told Yaakov that Medina Sarota and Nunez were in love there was from the first very great opposition to the marriage of Nunez and Medina Sarota not so much because they valued her as because they held him as being a part an idiot below the permissible level of man her sisters opposed it bitterly as bringing discredit on them all and old Yaakov though he had formed a sort of liking for his clumsy obedient surf shook his head and said the thing could not be the young men were all angry at the idea of corrupting the race and one went so far as to revile and strike Nunez he struck back then for the first time he found seeing even by twilight and after that fight was over no one was disposed to raise a hand against him but they still found his marriage impossible old Yaakov had a tenderness for his last little daughter and was grieved to have her weep upon his shoulder you see my dear he's an idiot he has delusions he can't do anything right I know wept Medina Sarota he's getting better and he's strong dear father and kind stronger and kinder than any other man in the world and he loves me and father I love him old Yaakov was greatly distressed to find her inconsolable and besides what made it more distressing he liked Nunez for many things so he went and sat in the windowless council chamber with the other elders and watched the trend of the talk and said at the proper time he's better than he was very likely some day we shall find him as sane as ourselves then afterwards one of the elders who thought deeply had an idea he was a great doctor among these people their medicine man and he had a very philosophical and inventive mind and the idea of curing Nunez of his peculiarities appealed to him one day when Yaakov was present to the topic of Nunez I have examined Nunez he said and the case is clearer to me I think very probably he might be cured this is what I have always hoped said the old Yaakov his brain is affected said the blind doctor the elders murmured ascent now what affects it ah said old Yaakov this said the doctor answering his own question those queer things that are called the eyes and which exist to make an agreeable depression in the face are diseased in the case of Nunez in such a way as to affect his brain they are greatly distended he has eyelashes and his eyelids move and consequently his brain is in a state of constant irritation and distraction yes said old Yaakov yes and I think I may say with reasonable certainty that in order to cure him complete all that we need to do is a simple and easy surgical operation namely to remove these irritant bodies and then he will be sane then he will be perfectly sane and a quite admirable citizen thank heaven for science said old Yaakov and went forth at once to tell Nunez of his happy hopes but Nunez's manner of receiving the good news struck him as being cold and disappointing one might think he said from the tone you take that you did not care for my daughter it was Medina Sarota who persuaded Nunez to face the blind surgeons you do not want me he said to lose my gift of sight she shook her head my world is sight her head drooped lower the beautiful little things the flowers, the lichens amidst the rocks, the light and softness on a piece of fur the far sky with its drifting dawn of clouds, the sunsets and the stars and there is you for you alone it is good to have sight to see your sweet serene face your kindly lips your imaginations folded together it is these eyes of mine you won these eyes that hold me to you that these idiots seek instead I must touch you hear you and never see you again I must come under that roof of rock and stone and darkness that horrible roof under which your imaginations stoop no, you would not have me do that a disagreeable doubt has arisen in him he stopped and left the thing a question I wish she said sometimes she paused yes, he said a little apprehensively I wish sometimes you would not talk like that like what? I know it's pretty, it's your imagination I love it, but now he felt cold now he said faintly she sat quite still you mean? you think I should be better? better perhaps? he was realizing things very swiftly he felt anger perhaps anger at the dull course of fate but also sympathy for her lack of understanding a sympathy near akin to pity dear? he said and he could see by her whiteness how tensely her spirit pressed against the things she could not say with her ear and they sat for a time in silence if I were to consent to this he said at last in a voice that was very gentle she flung her arms about him weeping wildly oh, if you would, she sobbed if only you would for a week before the operation that was to raise him from his servitude and inferiority to the level of a blind citizen all through the warm sunlit hours while the others slumbered happily he sat brooding or wandered aimlessly trying to bring his mind to bear on his dilemma he had given his answer he had given his consent and still he was not sure and at last work time was over the sun rose in splendor over the golden crest and his last day of vision began for him he had a few minutes with Medina Sarota before she went apart to sleep tomorrow he said I shall see no more dear heart she answered impressed his hands with all her strength they will hurt you but a little, she said and you are going through this pain you are going through it, dear lover for me, dear if a woman's heart and life can do it only you, my dearest one my dearest with the tender voice I will repay he was drenched in pity for himself and her he held her in his arms and pressed his lips to hers and looked on her sweet face for the last time goodbye he whispered to that dear sight goodbye and then in silence he was reading footsteps and something in the rhythm of them threw her into a passion of weeping he walked away he had fully meant to go to a lonely place where the meadows were beautiful with white narcissists and there remain until the hour of his sacrifice should come but as he walked he lifted up his eyes and saw the morning the morning like an angel in golden armor that before this splendor he and this blind world in the valley and his love and all were no more than a pit of sin he did not turn aside as he had meant to do but went on and passed through the wall of the circumference and out upon the rocks and his eyes were always upon the sunlit ice and snow he saw their infinite beauty and his imagination soared over them to the things beyond to resign forever he thought of that great free world that he was parted from the world that was his own and he had a vision of those further slopes distance beyond distance with Bogota a place of multitudinous stirring beauty a glory by day a luminous mystery by night a place of palaces and fountains and statues and white houses lying beautifully in the middle distance he thought how for a day or so one might come down through passes drawing ever nearer and nearer to its busy streets and ways he thought of the river journey day by day from great Bogota to the still vaster world beyond through towns and villages, forests and desert places the rushing river day by day until its banks receded and the big steamers came splashing by and one had reached the sea with its thousands of islands its thousands of islands and its ships seen dimly far away in their incessant journeyings round and about that greater world and there unpent by mountains one saw the sky the sky not such a disc as one saw it here but an arch of immeasurable blue a deep of deeps in which the circling stars were floating his eyes began to scrutinize the great curtain of the mountains with a keener inquiry for example if one went so up that gully and to that chimney there then one might come out high among those stunted pines that ran round in a sort of shelf and rose still higher and higher as it passed above the gorge and then that talus might be managed then perhaps a climb might be found to take him up to the precipice that came below the snow and if that chimney failed then another farther to the east might serve his purpose better and then one would be out upon the amberlit snow there and half way up to the crest of those beautiful desolations and suppose one had good fortune he glanced back at the village then turned right round and regarded it with folded arms he thought of Medina Sarota and she had become small and remote he turned again towards the mountain wall down which the day had come to him then very circumspectly he began his climb when sunset came he was no longer climbing but he was far and high his clothes were torn his limbs were bloodstained he was bruised in many places as if he were at his ease and there was a smile on his face from where he rested the valley seemed as if it were a pit and nearly a mile below already it was dim with haze and shadow though the mountain summits around him were things of light and fire the mountain summits around him were things of light and fire and the little things in the rocks near at hand were drenched with light and beauty the green mineral piercing the grey a flash of small crystal here and there a minutely beautiful orange lichen close beside his face there were deep mysterious shadows in the gorge blue deepening into purple and purple into a luminous darkness and overhead was the illimitable vastness of the sky but he heeded these things no longer still there smiling as if he were content now merely to have escaped from the valley of the blind in which he had docked to be king and the glow of the sunset passed and the night came and still he lay there under the cold clear stars this concludes this reading of H.G. Wells the country of the blind for LibriVox