The return of Sherlock Holmes (completed)

The Return Of Sherlock Holmes (part 5)

(The Return of Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle)

gentle creaking sound came to our ears. The window was being
opened. The noise ceased, and again there was a long silence.
The fellow was making his way into the house. We saw the sudden
flash of a dark lantern inside the room. What he sought was
evidently not there, for again we saw the flash 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
out into the glimmering patch of light, we saw that he carried
something white under his arm. He looked stealthily all round
him. The silence of the deserted street reassured him. Turning
his back upon us he laid down his 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 was doing that he
never heard our steps as we stole across the grass plot. With
the bound of a tiger Holmes was on his back, and an instant
later Lestrade and I had him by either wrist, and the handcuffs
had been fastened. As we turned him over I saw a hideous, sallow
face, with writhing, furious features, glaring up at us, and I
knew that it was indeed the man of the photograph 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 examining that which the man had brought from the
house. It was a bust of Napoleon, like the one which we had seen
that morning, and it had been broken into similar fragments.
Carefully Holmes held each separate shard to the light, but in
no way did it differ from any other shattered piece of plaster.
He had just completed his examination when the hall lights flew
up, the door opened, and the owner of the house, a jovial,
rotund figure in shirt and trousers, presented himself.

"Mr. Josiah Brown, I suppose?" said Holmes.

"Yes, sir; and you, no doubt, are Mr. Sherlock Holmes? I had the
note which you sent by the express messenger, and I did exactly
what you told me. 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, that you will come in and have some
refreshment."

However, Lestrade was anxious to get his man into safe quarters,
so within a few minutes our cab had been summoned and we were
all four upon our way to London. Not a word would our captive
say, but he glared at us from the shadow of his matted hair, and
once, when my hand seemed within his reach, he snapped at it
like a hungry wolf. We stayed long enough at the police-station
to learn that a search of his clothing revealed nothing save a
few shillings and a long sheath knife, the handle of which bore
copious traces of recent blood.

"That's all right," said Lestrade, as we parted. "Hill knows all
these gentry, and he will give a name to him. You'll find that
my theory of the Mafia will work out all right. But I'm sure I
am exceedingly obliged to you, Mr. Holmes, for the workmanlike
way in which you laid hands 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 is one of those cases which are worth
working out to the very end. If you will come round once more to
my rooms at six o'clock to-morrow, I think I 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 it
absolutely original in the history of crime. If ever I permit
you to chronicle any more of my little problems, Watson, I
foresee that you will enliven your pages by an account of the
singular adventure of the Napoleonic busts."