The Morning After Christmas
I called upon my friend Sherlock Holmes on the second morning after Christmas. He was lounging upon the sofa in a purple dressing-gown, a pipe-rack within reach. beside him was a wooden chair, and on the back hung a very seedy and disreputable hard-felt hat, cracked in several places.
"You are engaged," said I; "perhaps I interrupt you."
"Not at all," Holmes replied. "I am glad to have a friend with whom I can discuss my results. The matter is a perfectly trivial one, but there are points in connection with it which are not entirely devoid of interest. You know Peterson, the commissionaire? It is to him this trophy belongs."
He pointed to the battered hat. "He found it. Its owner is unknown. It arrived on 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."