“That is it precisely,” said the lady. “Except as to the extent of his 'leavings.' In addition to the things you have he gave my small brother a brass bugle and a tin sword.”
“We may need to see them later,” said I. “At present I will do all I can for you on the evidence in hand. I have got my eye on a gentleman who wears silver-tinsel tights now, but I am afraid he is not the man we are after, because his hair is black, and, as far as I have been able to learn from his valet, he is utterly unacquainted with swan's-down.”
We separated again and I went to the club to think. Never in my life before had I had so baffling a case. As I sat in the cafe sipping a cocaine cobbler, who should walk in but Hamlet, strangely enough picking particles of swan's-down from his black doublet, which was literally covered with it.
“Hello, Sherlock!” he said, drawing up a chair and sitting down beside me. “What you up to?”
“Trying to make out where you have been,” I replied. “I judge from the swan's-down on your doublet that you have been escorting Ophelia to the opera in the regulation cloak.”
“You're mistaken for once,” he laughed. “I've been driving with Lohengrin. He's got a pair of swans that can do a mile in 2.10--but it makes them moult like the devil.”
“Swans,” said Hamlet. “He's an eccentric sort of a duffer, that Lohengrin. Afraid of horses, I fancy.”
“And so drives swans instead?” said I, incredulously.
“The same,” replied Hamlet. “Do I look as if he drove squab?”
“He must be queer,” said I. “I'd like to meet him. He'd make quite an addition to my collection of freaks.”
“Very well,” observed Hamlet. “He'll be here to-morrow to take luncheon with me, and if you'll come, too, you'll be most welcome. He's collecting freaks, too, and I haven't a doubt would be pleased to know you.”
We parted and I sauntered homeward, cogitating over my strange client, and now and then laughing over the idiosyncrasies of Hamlet's friend the swan-driver. It never occurred to me at the moment however to connect the two, in spite of the link of swan's-down. I regarded it merely as a coincidence. The next day, however, on going to the club and meeting Hamlet's strange guest, I was struck by the further coincidence that his hair was of precisely the same shade of yellow as that in my possession. It was of a hue that I had never seen before except at performances of grand opera, or on the heads of fool detectives in musical burlesques. Here, however, was the real thing growing luxuriantly from the man's head.