Sherlock Holmes complete collection by sir arthur conan doyle

The Return of Sherlock Holmes THE SIX NAPOLEONS

IT WAS no very unusual thing for Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, to lookin upon us of an evening, and his visits were welcome to SherlockHolmes, for they enabled [583] him to keep in touch with all that wasgoing on at the police headquarters. In return for the news which Lestradewould bring, Holmes was always ready to listen with attention to thedetails of any case upon which the detective was engaged, and was ableoccasionally, without any active interference, to give some hint orsuggestion drawn from his own vast knowledge and experience.On this particular evening, Lestrade had spoken of the weather and thenewspapers. Then he had fallen silent, puffing thoughtfully at his cigar.Holmes looked keenly at him."Anything remarkable on hand?" he asked."Oh, no, Mr. Holmes-nothing very particular.""Then tell me about it."Lestrade laughed."Well, Mr. Holmes, there is no use denying that there is something onmy mind. And yet it is such an absurd business, that I hesitated to botheryou about it. On the other hand, although it is trivial, it is undoubtedlyqueer, and I know that you have a taste for all that is out of the common.But, in my opinion, it comes more in Dr. Watson's line than ours.""Disease?" said I."Madness, anyhow. And a queer madness, too. You wouldn't thinkthere was anyone living at this time of day who had such a hatred ofNapoleon the First that he would break any image of him that he couldsee."Holmes sank back in his chair."That's no business of mine," said he."Exactly. That's what I said. But then, when the man commits burglaryin order to break images which are not his own, that brings it away fromthe doctor and on to the policeman."Holmes sat up again."Burglary! This is more interesting. Let me hear the details."Lestrade took out his official notebook and refreshed his memory fromits pages."The first case reported was four days ago," said he. "It was at the shopof Morse Hudson, who has a place for the sale of pictures and statues inthe Kennington Road. The assistant had left the front shop for an instant,when he heard a crash, and hurrying in he found a plaster bust ofNapoleon, which stood with several other works of art upon the counter,lying shivered into fragments. He rushed out into the road, but, althoughseveral passers-by declared that they had noticed a man run out of theshop, he could neither see anyone nor could he find any means ofidentifying the rascal. It seemed to be one of those senseless acts ofHooliganism which occur from time to time, and it was reported to theconstable on the beat as such. The plaster cast was not worth more than afew shillings, and the whole affair appeared to be too childish for anyparticular investigation."The second case, however, was more serious, and also more singular.It occurred only last night."In Kennington Road, and within a few hundred yards of MorseHudson's shop, there lives a well-known medical practitioner, named Dr.Barnicot, who has one of the largest practices upon the south side of theThames. His residence and principal consulting-room is at KenningtonRoad, but he has a branch surgery and dispensary at Lower Brixton Road,two miles away. This Dr. Barnicot is an enthusiastic admirer of Napoleon,and his house is full of books, pictures, and relics of the French Emperor.Some little time ago he purchased from Morse Hudson two [584] duplicateplaster casts of the famous head of Napoleon by the French sculptor,Devine. One of these he placed in his hall in the house at KenningtonRoad, and the other on the mantelpiece of the surgery at Lower Brixton. Well, when Dr. Barnicot came down this morning he was astonished tofind that his house had been burgled during the night, but that nothing hadbeen taken save the plaster head from the hall. It had been carried out andhad been dashed savagely against the garden wall, under which itssplintered fragments were discovered."Holmes rubbed his hands."This is certainly very novel," said he."I thought it would please you. But I have not got to the end yet. Dr.Barnicot was due at his surgery at twelve o'clock, and you can imaginehis amazement when, on arriving there, he found that the window hadbeen opened in the night, and that the broken pieces of his second bustwere strewn all over the room. It had been smashed to atoms where itstood. In neither case were there any signs which could give us a clue asto the criminal or lunatic who had done the mischief. Now, Mr. Holmes,you have got the facts.""They are singular, not to say grotesque," said Holmes. "May I askwhether the two busts smashed in Dr. Barnicot's rooms were the exactduplicates of the one which was destroyed in Morse Hudson's shop?""They were taken from the same mould.""Such a fact must tell against the theory that the man who breaks themis influenced by any general hatred of Napoleon. Considering how manyhundreds of statues of the great Emperor must exist in London, it is toomuch to suppose such a coincidence as that a promiscuous iconoclastshould chance to begin upon three specimens of the same bust.""Well, I thought as you do," said Lestrade. "On the other hand, thisMorse Hudson is the purveyor of busts in that part of London, and thesethree were the only ones which had been in his shop for years. So,although, as you say, there are many hundreds of statues in London, it isvery probable that these three were the only ones in that district.Therefore, a local fanatic would begin with them. What do you think, Dr.Watson?""There are no limits to the possibilities of monomania," I answered."There is the condition which the modern French psychologists havecalled the 'idée fixe,' which may be trifling in character, and accompaniedby complete sanity in every other way. A man who had read deeply aboutNapoleon, or who had possibly received some hereditary family injurythrough the great war, might conceivably form such an idée fixe andunder its influence be capable of any fantastic outrage.""That won't do, my dear Watson," said Holmes, shaking his head, "forno amount of idée fixe would enable your interesting monomaniac to findout where these busts were situated.""Well, how do you explain it?""I don't attempt to do so. I would only observe that there is a certainmethod in the gentleman's eccentric proceedings. For example, in Dr.Barnicot's hall, where a sound might arouse the family, the bust wastaken outside before being broken, whereas in the surgery, where therewas less danger of an alarm, it was smashed where it stood. The affairseems absurdly trifling, and yet I dare call nothing trivial when I reflectthat some of my most classic cases have had the least promising commencement. You will remember, Watson, how the dreadful businessof the Abernetty family was first brought to my notice by the depth whichthe [585] parsley had sunk into the butter upon a hot day. I can't afford,therefore, to smile at your three broken busts, Lestrade, and I shall bevery much obliged to you if you will let me hear of any freshdevelopment of so singular a chain of events."The development for which my friend had asked came in a quicker andan infinitely more tragic form than he could have imagined. I was stilldressing in my bedroom next morning, when there was a tap at the doorand Holmes entered, a telegram in his hand. He read it aloud:"Come instantly, 131 Pitt Street, Kensington."LESTRADE.""What is it, then?" I asked."Don't know-may be anything. But I suspect it is the sequel of thestory of the statues. In that case our friend the image-breaker has begunoperations in another quarter of London. There's coffee on the table,Watson, and I have a cab at the door."In half an hour we had reached Pitt Street, a quiet little backwater justbeside one of the briskest currents of London life. No. 131 was one of arow, all flat-chested, respectable, and most unromantic dwellings. As wedrove up, we found the railings in front of the house lined by a curiouscrowd. Holmes whistled."By George! it's attempted murder at the least. Nothing less will holdthe London message-boy. There's a deed of violence indicated in thatfellow's round shoulders and outstretched neck. What's this, Watson?The top steps swilled down and the other ones dry. Footsteps enough,anyhow! Well, well, there's Lestrade at the front window, and we shallsoon know all about it."The official received us with a very grave face and showed us into asitting-room, where an exceedingly unkempt and agitated elderly man,clad in a flannel dressing-gown, was pacing up and down. He wasintroduced to us as the owner of the house-Mr. Horace Harker, of theCentral Press Syndicate."It's the Napoleon bust business again," said Lestrade. "You seemedinterested last night, Mr. Holmes, so I thought perhaps you would be gladto be present now that the affair has taken a very much graver turn.""What has it turned to, then?""To murder. Mr. Harker, will you tell these gentlemen exactly what hasoccurred?"The man in the dressing-gown turned upon us with a most melancholyface."It's an extraordinary thing," said he, "that all my life I have beencollecting other people's news, and now that a real piece of news hascome my own way I am so confused and bothered that I can't put twowords together. If I had come in here as a journalist, I should haveinterviewed myself and had two columns in every evening paper. As it is,I am giving away valuable copy by telling my story over and over to astring of different people, and I can make no use of it myself. However,I've heard your name, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and if you'll only explainthis queer business, I shall be paid for my trouble in telling you the story."Holmes sat down and listened."It all seems to centre round that bust of Napoleon which I bought forthis very room about four months ago. I picked it up cheap from HardingBrothers, two doors from the High Street Station. A great deal of myjournalistic work is done at night, and I often write until the earlymorning. So it was to-day. I was sitting [586] in my den, which is at theback of the top of the house, about three o'clock, when I was convincedthat I heard some sounds downstairs. I listened, but they were notrepeated, and I concluded that they came from outside. Then suddenly, about five minutes later, there came a most horrible yell-the mostdreadful sound, Mr. Holmes, that ever I heard. It will ring in my ears aslong as I live. I sat frozen with horror for a minute or two. Then I seizedthe poker and went downstairs. When I entered this room I found thewindow wide open, and I at once observed that the bust was gone fromthe mantelpiece. Why any burglar should take such a thing passes myunderstanding, for it was only a plaster cast and of no real value whatever."You can see for yourself that anyone going out through that openwindow could reach the front doorstep by taking a long stride. This wasclearly what the burglar had done, so I went round and opened the door.Stepping out into the dark, I nearly fell over a dead man, who was lyingthere. I ran back for a light, and there was the poor fellow, a great gash inhis throat and the whole place swimming in blood. He lay on his back, hisknees drawn up, and his mouth horribly open. I shall see him in mydreams. I had just time to blow on my police-whistle, and then I musthave fainted, for I knew nothing more until I found the policemanstanding over me in the hall.""Well, who was the murdered man?" asked Holmes."There's nothing to show who he was," said Lestrade. "You shall seethe body at the mortuary, but we have made nothing of it up to now. He isa tall man, sunburned, very powerful, not more than thirty. He is poorlydressed, and yet does not appear to be a labourer. A horn-handled claspknife was lying in a pool of blood beside him. Whether it was the weaponwhich did the deed, or whether it belonged to the dead man, I do notknow. There was no name on his clothing, and nothing in his pockets savean apple, some string, a shilling map of London, and a photograph. Here it is."It was evidently taken by a snapshot from a small camera. Itrepresented an alert, sharp-featured simian man, with thick eyebrows anda very peculiar projection of the lower part of the face, like the muzzle ofa baboon."And what became of the bust?" asked Holmes, after a careful study ofthis picture."We had news of it just before you came. It has been found in the frontgarden of an empty house in Campden House Road. It was broken intofragments. I am going round now to see it. Will you come?""Certainly. I must just take one look round." He examined the carpetand the window. "The fellow had either very long legs or was a mostactive man," said he. "With an area beneath, it was no mean feat to reachthat window-ledge and open that window. Getting back wascomparatively simple. Are you coming with us to see the remains of yourbust, Mr. Harker?"The disconsolate journalist had seated himself at a writing-table."I must try and make something of it," said he, "though I have no doubtthat the first editions of the evening papers are out already with fulldetails. It's like my luck! You remember when the stand fell atDoncaster? Well, I was the only journalist in the stand, and my journal theonly one that had no account of it, for I was too shaken to write it. Andnow I'll be too late with a murder done on my own doorstep."As we left the room, we heard his pen travelling shrilly over thefoolscap.[587] The spot where the fragments of the bust had been found was onlya few hundred yards away. For the first time our eyes rested upon thispresentment of the great emperor, which seemed to raise such frantic anddestructive hatred in the mind of the unknown. It lay scattered, insplintered shards, upon the grass. Holmes picked up several of them andexamined them carefully. I was convinced, from his intent face and hispurposeful manner, that at last he was upon a clue."Well?" asked Lestrade.Holmes shrugged his shoulders."We have a long way to go yet," said he. "And yet-and yet-well, wehave some suggestive facts to act upon. The possession of this triflingbust was worth more, in the eyes of this strange criminal, than a humanlife. That is one point. Then there is the singular fact that he did not breakit in the house, or immediately outside the house, if to break it was hissole object.""He was rattled and bustled by meeting this other fellow. He hardlyknew what he was doing.""Well, that's likely enough. But I wish to call your attention veryparticularly to the position of this house, in the garden of which the bustwas destroyed."Lestrade looked about him."It was an empty house, and so he knew that he would not be disturbedin the garden.""Yes, but there is another empty house farther up the street which he must have passed before he came to this one. Why did he not break itthere, since it is evident that every yard that he carried it increased the riskof someone meeting him?""I give it up," said Lestrade.Holmes pointed to the street lamp above our heads."He could see what he was doing here, and he could not there. Thatwas his reason.""By Jove! that's true," said the detective. "Now that I come to think ofit, Dr. Barnicot's bust was broken not far from his red lamp. Well, Mr.Holmes, what are we to do with that fact?""To remember it-to docket it. We may come on something later whichwill bear upon it. What steps do you propose to take now, Lestrade?""The most practical way of getting at it, in my opinion, is to identifythe dead man. There should be no difficulty about that. When we havefound who he is and who his associates are, we should have a good startin learning what he was doing in Pitt Street last night, and who it was whomet him and killed him on the doorstep of Mr. Horace Harker. Don't youthink so?""No doubt; and yet it is not quite the way in which I should approachthe case.""What would you do then?""Oh, you must not let me influence you in any way. I suggest that yougo on your line and I on mine. We can compare notes afterwards, andeach will supplement the other." "Very good," said Lestrade."If you are going back to Pitt Street, you might see Mr. Horace Harker.Tell him for me that I have quite made up my mind, and that it is certainthat a dangerous homicidal lunatic, with Napoleonic delusions, was in hishouse last night. It will be useful for his article."Lestrade stared.[588] "You don't seriously believe that?"Holmes smiled."Don't I? Well, perhaps I don't. But I am sure that it will interest Mr.Horace Harker and the subscribers of the Central Press Syndicate. Now,Watson, I think that we shall find that we have a long and rather complexday's work before us. I should be glad, Lestrade, if you could make itconvenient to meet us at Baker Street at six o'clock this evening. Untilthen I should like to keep this photograph, found in the dead man'spocket. It is possible that I may have to ask your company and assistanceupon a small expedition which will have to be undertaken to-night, if mychain of reasoning should prove to be correct. Until then good-bye andgood luck!"Sherlock Holmes and I walked together to the High Street, where westopped at the shop of Harding Brothers, whence the bust had beenpurchased. A young assistant informed us that Mr. Harding would beabsent until afternoon, and that he was himself a newcomer, who couldgive us no information. Holmes's face showed his disappointment andannoyance."Well, well, we can't expect to have it all our own way, Watson," hesaid, at last. "We must come back in the afternoon, if Mr. Harding willnot be here until then. I am, as you have no doubt surmised, endeavouringto trace these busts to their source, in order to find if there is notsomething peculiar which may account for their remarkable fate. Let usmake for Mr. Morse Hudson, of the Kennington Road, and see if he canthrow any light upon the problem."A drive of an hour brought us to the picture-dealer's establishment. Hewas a small, stout man with a red face and a peppery manner."Yes, sir. On my very counter, sir," said he. "What we pay rates andtaxes for I don't know, when any ruffian can come in and break one'sgoods. Yes, sir, it was I who sold Dr. Barnicot his two statues.Disgraceful, sir! A Nihilist plot-that's what I make it. No one but ananarchist would go about breaking statues. Red republicans-that's what Icall 'em. Who did I get the statues from? I don't see what that has to dowith it. Well, if you really want to know, I got them from Gelder & Co.,in Church Street, Stepney. They are a well-known house in the trade, andhave been this twenty years. How many had I? Three-two and one arethree-two of Dr. Barnicot's, and one smashed in broad daylight on myown counter. Do I know that photograph? No, I don't. Yes, I do, though.Why, it's Beppo. He was a kind of Italian piece-work man, who madehimself useful in the shop. He could carve a bit, and gild and frame, anddo odd jobs. The fellow left me last week, and I've heard nothing of himsince. No, I don't know where he came from nor where he went to. I hadnothing against him while he was here. He was gone two days before the bust was smashed.""Well, that's all we could reasonably expect from Morse Hudson," saidHolmes, as we emerged from the shop. "We have this Beppo as acommon factor, both in Kennington and in Kensington, so that is worth aten-mile drive. Now, Watson, let us make for Gelder & Co., of Stepney,the source and origin of the busts. I shall be surprised if we don't getsome help down there."In rapid succession we passed through the fringe of fashionableLondon, hotel London, theatrical London, literary London, commercialLondon, and, finally, maritime London, till we came to a riverside city ofa hundred thousand souls, where the tenement houses swelter and reekwith the outcasts of Europe. Here, in a broad thoroughfare, once theabode of wealthy City merchants, we found the [589] sculpture works forwhich we searched. Outside was a considerable yard full of monumentalmasonry. Inside was a large room in which fifty workers were carving ormoulding. The manager, a big blond German, received us civilly and gavea clear answer to all Holmes's questions. A reference to his books showedthat hundreds of casts had been taken from a marble copy of Devine'shead of Napoleon, but that the three which had been sent to MorseHudson a year or so before had been half of a batch of six, the other threebeing sent to Harding Brothers, of Kensington. There was no reason whythose six should be different from any of the other casts. He could suggestno possible cause why anyone should wish to destroy them-in fact, helaughed at the idea. Their wholesale price was six shillings, but theretailer would get twelve or more. The cast was taken in two moulds fromeach side of the face, and then these two profiles of plaster of Paris werejoined together to make the complete bust. The work was usually done byItalians, in the room we were in. When finished, the busts were put on atable in the passage to dry, and afterwards stored. That was all he couldtell us.But the production of the photograph had a remarkable effect upon themanager. His face flushed with anger, and his brows knotted over his blueTeutonic eyes."Ah, the rascal!" he cried. "Yes, indeed, I know him very well. Thishas always been a respectable establishment, and the only time that wehave ever had the police in it was over this very fellow. It was more thana year ago now. He knifed another Italian in the street, and then he cameto the works with the police on his heels, and he was taken here. Beppowas his name-his second name I never knew. Serve me right for engaginga man with such a face. But he was a good workman-one of the best.""What did he get?""The man lived and he got off with a year. I have no doubt he is outnow, but he has not dared to show his nose here. We have a cousin of hishere, and I daresay he could tell you where he is.""No, no," cried Holmes, "not a word to the cousin-not a word, I beg ofyou. The matter is very important, and the farther I go with it, the moreimportant it seems to grow. When you referred in your ledger to the saleof those casts I observed that the date was June 3rd of last year. Couldyou give me the date when Beppo was arrested?""I could tell you roughly by the pay-list," the manager answered. "Yes," he continued, after some turning over of pages, "he was paid last onMay 20th.""Thank you," said Holmes. "I don't think that I need intrude upon yourtime and patience any more." With a last word of caution that he shouldsay nothing as to our researches, we turned our faces westward once more.The afternoon was far advanced before we were able to snatch a hastyluncheon at a restaurant. A news-bill at the entrance announced"Kensington Outrage. Murder by a Madman," and the contents of thepaper showed that Mr. Horace Harker had got his account into print after all. Two columns were occupied with a highly sensational and floweryrendering of the whole incident. Holmes propped it against the cruet-standand read it while he ate. Once or twice he chuckled."This is all right, Watson," said he. "Listen to this:"It is satisfactory to know that there can be no difference ofopinion upon this case, since Mr. Lestrade, one of the mostexperienced members of the official force, and Mr. SherlockHolmes, the well-known consulting expert, [590] have each cometo the conclusion that the grotesque series of incidents, which haveended in so tragic a fashion, arise from lunacy rather than fromdeliberate crime. No explanation save mental aberration can coverthe facts.The Press, Watson, is a most valuable institution, if you only know howto use it. And now, if you have quite finished, we will hark back toKensington and see what the manager of Harding Brothers has to say onthe matter."The founder of that great emporium proved to be a brisk, crisp littleperson, very dapper and quick, with a clear head and a ready tongue."Yes, sir, I have already read the account in the evening papers. Mr.Horace Harker is a customer of ours. We supplied him with the bust somemonths ago. We ordered three busts of that sort from Gelder & Co., ofStepney. They are all sold now. To whom? Oh, I daresay by consultingour sales book we could very easily tell you. Yes, we have the entrieshere. One to Mr. Harker you see, and one to Mr. Josiah Brown, ofLaburnum Lodge, Laburnum Vale, Chiswick, and one to Mr. Sandeford,of Lower Grove Road, Reading. No, I have never seen this face whichyou show me in the photograph. You would hardly forget it, would you,sir, for I've seldom seen an uglier. Have we any Italians on the staff? Yes,sir, we have several among our workpeople and cleaners. I daresay theymight get a peep at that sales book if they wanted to. There is noparticular reason for keeping a watch upon that book. Well, well, it's avery strange business, and I hope that you will let me know if anythingcomes of your inquiries."Holmes had taken several notes during Mr. Harding's evidence, and Icould see that he was thoroughly satisfied by the turn which affairs weretaking. He made no remark, however, save that, unless we hurried, weshould be late for our appointment with Lestrade. Sure enough, when wereached Baker Street the detective was already there, and we found himpacing up and down in a fever of impatience. His look of importanceshowed that his day's work had not been in vain."Well?" he asked. "What luck, Mr. Holmes?""We have had a very busy day, and not entirely a wasted one," myfriend explained. "We have seen both the retailers and also the wholesalemanufacturers. I can trace each of the busts now from the beginning.""The busts!" cried Lestrade. "Well, well, you have your own methods,Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and it is not for me to say a word against them, butI think I have done a better day's work than you. I have identified the dead man.""You don't say so?""And found a cause for the crime.""Splendid!""We have an inspector who makes a specialty of Saffron Hill and theItalian Quarter. Well, this dead man had some Catholic emblem round hisneck, and that, along with his colour, made me think he was from theSouth. Inspector Hill knew him the moment he caught sight of him. Hisname is Pietro Venucci, from Naples, and he is one of the greatest cutthroats in London. He is connected with the Mafia, which, as you know,is a secret political society, enforcing its decrees by murder. Now, you seehow the affair begins to clear up. The other fellow is probably an Italianalso, and a member of the Mafia. He has broken the rules in some fashion.Pietro is set upon his track. Probably the photograph we found in hispocket is the man himself, so that he may not knife the wrong person. He[591] dogs the fellow, he sees him enter a house, he waits outside for him,and in the scuffle he receives his own death-wound. How is that, Mr.Sherlock Holmes?"Holmes clapped his hands approvingly."Excellent, Lestrade, excellent!" he cried. "But I didn't quite followyour explanation of the destruction of the busts.""The busts! You never can get those busts out of your head. After all,that is nothing; petty larceny, six months at the most. It is the murder thatwe are really investigating, and I tell you that I am gathering all thethreads into my hands.""And the next stage?""Is a very simple one. I shall go down with Hill to the Italian Quarter,find the man whose photograph we have got, and arrest him on the chargeof murder. Will you come with us?""I think not. I fancy we can attain our end in a simpler way. I can't sayfor certain, because it all depends-well, it all depends upon a factor whichis completely outside our control. But I have great hopes-in fact, thebetting is exactly two to one-that if you will come with us to-night I shallbe able to help you to lay him by the heels.""In the Italian Quarter?""No, I fancy Chiswick is an address which is more likely to find him. Ifyou will come with me to Chiswick to-night, Lestrade, I'll promise to goto the Italian Quarter with you to-morrow, and no harm will be done bythe delay. And now I think that a few hours' sleep would do us all good,for I do not propose to leave before eleven o'clock, and it is unlikely thatwe shall be back before morning. You'll dine with us, Lestrade, and thenyou are welcome to the sofa until it is time for us to start. In themeantime, Watson, I should be glad if you would ring for an expressmessenger, for I have a letter to send and it is important that it should goat once."Holmes spent the evening in rummaging among the files of the olddaily papers with which one of our lumber-rooms was packed. When atlast he descended, it was with triumph in his eyes, but he said nothing toeither of us as to the result of his researches. For my own part, I had followed step by step the methods by which he had traced the variouswindings of this complex case, and, though I could not yet perceive thegoal which we would reach, I understood clearly that Holmes expectedthis grotesque criminal to make an attempt upon the two remaining busts,one of which, I remembered, was at Chiswick. No doubt the object of ourjourney was to catch him in the very act, and I could not but admire thecunning with which my friend had inserted a wrong clue in the eveningpaper, so as to give the fellow the idea that he could continue his schemewith impunity. I was not surprised when Holmes suggested that I shouldtake my revolver with me. He had himself picked up the loaded huntingcrop, which was his favourite weapon.A four-wheeler was at the door at eleven, and in it we drove to a spot atthe other side of Hammersmith Bridge. Here the cabman was directed towait. A short walk brought us to a secluded road fringed with pleasanthouses, each standing in its own grounds. In the light of a street lamp weread "Laburnum Villa" upon the gate-post of one of them. The occupantshad evidently retired to rest, for all was dark save for a fanlight over thehall door, which shed a single blurred circle on to the garden path. Thewooden fence which separated the grounds from the road threw a denseblack shadow upon the inner side, and here it was that we crouched.[592] "I fear that you'll have a long wait," Holmes whispered. "We maythank our stars that it is not raining. I don't think we can even venture tosmoke to pass the time. However, it's a two to one chance that we getsomething to pay us for our trouble."It proved, however, that our vigil was not to be so long as Holmes hadled us to fear, and it ended in a very sudden and singular fashion. In aninstant, without the least sound to warn us of his coming, the garden gateswung open, and a lithe, dark figure, as swift and active as an ape, rushedup the garden path. We saw it whisk past the light thrown from over thedoor and disappear against the black shadow of the house. There was along pause, during which we held our breath, and then a very gentlecreaking sound came to our ears. The window was being opened. Thenoise ceased, and again there was a long silence. The fellow was makinghis way into the house. We saw the sudden flash of a dark lantern insidethe room. What he sought was evidently not there, for again we saw theflash through another blind, and then through another."Let us get to the open window. We will nab him as he climbs out,"Lestrade whispered.But before we could move, the man had emerged again. As he came outinto the glimmering patch of light, we saw that he carried somethingwhite under his arm. He looked stealthily all round him. The silence ofthe deserted street reassured him. Turning his back upon us he laid downhis burden, and the next instant there was the sound of a sharp tap,followed by a clatter and rattle. The man was so intent upon what he wasdoing that he never heard our steps as we stole across the grass plot. Withthe bound of a tiger Holmes was on his back, and an instant later Lestradeand I had him by either wrist, and the handcuffs had been fastened. As weturned him over I saw a hideous, sallow face, with writhing, furiousfeatures, glaring up at us, and I knew that it was indeed the man of thephotograph whom we had secured.But it was not our prisoner to whom Holmes was giving his attention.Squatted on the doorstep, he was engaged in most carefully examiningthat which the man had brought from the house. It was a bust ofNapoleon, like the one which we had seen that morning, and it had beenbroken into similar fragments. Carefully Holmes held each separate shardto the light, but in no way did it differ from any other shattered piece ofplaster. He had just completed his examination when the hall lights flewup, the door opened, and the owner of the house, a jovial, rotund figure inshirt and trousers, presented himself."Mr. Josiah Brown, I suppose?" said Holmes."Yes, sir; and you, no doubt, are Mr. Sherlock Holmes? I had the notewhich you sent by the express messenger, and I did exactly what you toldme. We locked every door on the inside and awaited developments. Well,I'm very glad to see that you have got the rascal. I hope, gentlemen, thatyou will come in and have some refreshment."However, Lestrade was anxious to get his man into safe quarters, sowithin a few minutes our cab had been summoned and we were all fourupon our way to London. Not a word would our captive say, but he glaredat us from the shadow of his matted hair, and once, when my handseemed within his reach, he snapped at it like a hungry wolf. We stayedlong enough at the police-station to learn that a search of his clothingrevealed nothing save a few shillings and a long sheath knife, the handleof which bore copious traces of recent blood.[593] "That's all right," said Lestrade, as we parted. "Hill knows allthese gentry, and he will give a name to him. You'll find that my theoryof the Mafia will work out all right. But I'm sure I am exceedinglyobliged to you, Mr. Holmes, for the workmanlike way in which you laidhands upon him. I don't quite understand it all yet.""I fear it is rather too late an hour for explanations," said Holmes."Besides, there are one or two details which are not finished off, and it isone of those cases which are worth working out to the very end. If youwill come round once more to my rooms at six o'clock to-morrow, I thinkI shall be able to show you that even now you have not grasped the entire meaning of this business, which presents some features which make itabsolutely original in the history of crime. If ever I permit you tochronicle any more of my little problems, Watson, I foresee that you willenliven your pages by an account of the singular adventure of theNapoleonic busts."When we met again next evening, Lestrade was furnished with muchinformation concerning our prisoner. His name, it appeared, was Beppo,second name unknown. He was a well-known ne'er-do-well among theItalian colony. He had once been a skilful sculptor and had earned anhonest living, but he had taken to evil courses and had twice already beenin jail-once for a petty theft, and once, as we had already heard, forstabbing a fellow-countryman. He could talk English perfectly well. Hisreasons for destroying the busts were still unknown, and he refused toanswer any questions upon the subject, but the police had discovered thatthese same busts might very well have been made by his own hands, sincehe was engaged in this class of work at the establishment of Gelder & Co.To all this information, much of which we already knew, Holmes listenedwith polite attention, but I, who knew him so well, could clearly see thathis thoughts were elsewhere, and I detected a mixture of mingleduneasiness and expectation beneath that mask which he was wont toassume. At last he started in his chair, and his eyes brightened. There hadbeen a ring at the bell. A minute later we heard steps upon the stairs, andan elderly red-faced man with grizzled side-whiskers was ushered in. Inhis right hand he carried an old-fashioned carpet-bag, which he placedupon the table."Is Mr. Sherlock Holmes here?"My friend bowed and smiled. "Mr. Sandeford, of Reading, I suppose?"said he."Yes, sir, I fear that I am a little late, but the trains were awkward. Youwrote to me about a bust that is in my possession.""Exactly.""I have your letter here. You said, 'I desire to possess a copy ofDevine's Napoleon, and am prepared to pay you ten pounds for the onewhich is in your possession.' Is that right?""Certainly.""I was very much surprised at your letter, for I could not imagine howyou knew that I owned such a thing.""Of course you must have been surprised, but the explanation is verysimple. Mr. Harding, of Harding Brothers, said that they had sold youtheir last copy, and he gave me your address.""Oh, that was it, was it? Did he tell you what I paid for it?""No, he did not.""Well, I am an honest man, though not a very rich one. I only gavefifteen [594] shillings for the bust, and I think you ought to know thatbefore I take ten pounds from you.""I am sure the scruple does you honour, Mr. Sandeford. But I havenamed that price, so I intend to stick to it.""Well, it is very handsome of you, Mr. Holmes. I brought the bust upwith me, as you asked me to do. Here it is!" He opened his bag, and at last we saw placed upon our table a complete specimen of that bust whichwe had already seen more than once in fragments.Holmes took a paper from his pocket and laid a ten-pound note uponthe table."You will kindly sign that paper, Mr. Sandeford, in the presence ofthese witnesses. It is simply to say that you transfer every possible rightthat you ever had in the bust to me. I am a methodical man, you see, andyou never know what turn events might take afterwards. Thank you, Mr.Sandeford; here is your money, and I wish you a very good evening."When our visitor had disappeared, Sherlock Holmes's movements weresuch as to rivet our attention. He began by taking a clean white cloth froma drawer and laying it over the table. Then he placed his newly acquiredbust in the centre of the cloth. Finally, he picked up his hunting-crop andstruck Napoleon a sharp blow on the top of the head. The figure brokeinto fragments, and Holmes bent eagerly over the shattered remains. Nextinstant, with a loud shout of triumph he held up one splinter, in which around, dark object was fixed like a plum in a pudding."Gentlemen," he cried, "let me introduce you to the famous black pearlof the Borgias."Lestrade and I sat silent for a moment, and then, with a spontaneousimpulse, we both broke out clapping, as at the well-wrought crisis of aplay. A flush of colour sprang to Holmes's pale cheeks, and he bowed tous like the master dramatist who receives the homage of his audience. Itwas at such moments that for an instant he ceased to be a reasoningmachine, and betrayed his human love for admiration and applause. Thesame singularly proud and reserved nature which turned away withdisdain from popular notoriety was capable of being moved to its depthsby spontaneous wonder and praise from a friend."Yes, gentlemen," said he, "it is the most famous pearl now existing inthe world, and it has been my good fortune, by a connected chain ofinductive reasoning, to trace it from the Prince of Colonna's bedroom atthe Dacre Hotel, where it was lost, to the interior of this, the last of the sixbusts of Napoleon which were manufactured by Gelder & Co., ofStepney. You will remember, Lestrade, the sensation caused by thedisappearance of this valuable jewel, and the vain efforts of the Londonpolice to recover it. I was myself consulted upon the case, but I wasunable to throw any light upon it. Suspicion fell upon the maid of thePrincess, who was an Italian, and it was proved that she had a brother inLondon, but we failed to trace any connection between them. The maid'sname was Lucretia Venucci, and there is no doubt in my mind that thisPietro who was murdered two nights ago was the brother. I have beenlooking up the dates in the old files of the paper, and I find that thedisappearance of the pearl was exactly two days before the arrest ofBeppo, for some crime of violence-an event which took place in thefactory of Gelder & Co., at the very moment when these busts were beingmade. Now you clearly see the sequence of events, though you see them,of course, in the inverse order to the way in which they presented themselves to me. Beppo had the pearl in his possession. He may havestolen it from Pietro, he may have [595] been Pietro's confederate, he mayhave been the go-between of Pietro and his sister. It is of no consequenceto us which is the correct solution."The main fact is that he had the pearl, and at that moment, when it wason his person, he was pursued by the police. He made for the factory inwhich he worked, and he knew that he had only a few minutes in which toconceal this enormously valuable prize, which would otherwise be foundon him when he was searched. Six plaster casts of Napoleon were dryingin the passage. One of them was still soft. In an instant Beppo, a skilfulworkman, made a small hole in the wet plaster, dropped in the pearl, andwith a few touches covered over the aperture once more. It was anadmirable hiding-place. No one could possibly find it. But Beppo wascondemned to a year's imprisonment, and in the meanwhile his six bustswere scattered over London. He could not tell which contained histreasure. Only by breaking them could he see. Even shaking would tellhim nothing, for as the plaster was wet it was probable that the pearlwould adhere to it-as, in fact, it has done. Beppo did not despair, and heconducted his search with considerable ingenuity and perseverance.Through a cousin who works with Gelder, he found out the retail firmswho had bought the busts. He managed to find employment with MorseHudson, and in that way tracked down three of them. The pearl was notthere. Then, with the help of some Italian employe, he succeeded infinding out where the other three busts had gone. The first was atHarker's. There he was dogged by his confederate, who held Bepporesponsible for the loss of the pearl, and he stabbed him in the scufflewhich followed.""If he was his confederate, why should he carry his photograph?" Iasked."As a means of tracing him, if he wished to inquire about him from anythird person. That was the obvious reason. Well, after the murder Icalculated that Beppo would probably hurry rather than delay hismovements. He would fear that the police would read his secret, and so hehastened on before they should get ahead of him. Of course, I could notsay that he had not found the pearl in Harker's bust. I had not evenconcluded for certain that it was the pearl, but it was evident to me that hewas looking for something, since he carried the bust past the other housesin order to break it in the garden which had a lamp overlooking it. SinceHarker's bust was one in three, the chances were exactly as I toldyou-two to one against the pearl being inside it. There remained twobusts, and it was obvious that he would go for the London one first. Iwarned the inmates of the house, so as to avoid a second tragedy, and wewent down, with the happiest results. By that time, of course, I knew forcertain that it was the Borgia pearl that we were after. The name of themurdered man linked the one event with the other. There only remained asingle bust-the Reading one-and the pearl must be there. I bought it inyour presence from the owner-and there it lies."We sat in silence for a moment."Well," said Lestrade, "I've seen you handle a good many cases, Mr. Holmes, but I don't know that I ever knew a more workmanlike one thanthat. We're not jealous of you at Scotland Yard. No, sir, we are veryproud of you, and if you come down to-morrow, there's not a man, fromthe oldest inspector to the youngest constable, who wouldn't be glad toshake you by the hand.""Thank you!" said Holmes. "Thank you!" and as he turned away, itseemed to me that he was more nearly moved by the softer humanemotions than I had ever seen him. A moment later he was the cold andpractical thinker once more. "Put the pearl in the safe, Watson," said he,"and get out the papers of the [596] Conk-Singleton forgery case. Goodbye, Lestrade. If any little problem comes your way, I shall be happy, if Ican, to give you a hint or two as to its solution."