The Return of Sherlock Holmes

by Arthur Conan Doyle

  VIII.--The Adventure of the Six Napoleons.

  IT was no very unusual thing for Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, tolook in upon us of an evening, and his visits were welcome to SherlockHolmes, for they enabled him to keep in touch with all that was going onat the police head-quarters. In return for the news which Lestrade wouldbring, 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 hiscigar. 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 on mymind. And yet it is such an absurd business that I hesitated tobother you about it. On the other hand, although it is trivial, it isundoubtedly queer, and I know that you have a taste for all that is outof the common. But in my opinion it comes more in Dr. Watson's line thanours."

  "Disease?" said I.

  "Madness, anyhow. And a queer madness too! You wouldn't think there wasanyone living at this time of day who had such a hatred of Napoleon theFirst that he would break any image of him that he could see."

  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 note-book and refreshed his memory fromits pages.

  "The first case reported was four days ago," said he. "It was at theshop of Morse Hudson, who has a place for the sale of pictures andstatues in the Kennington Road. The assistant had left the front shopfor an instant when he heard a crash, and hurrying in he found a plasterbust of Napoleon, which stood with several other works of art upon thecounter, lying shivered into fragments. He rushed out into the road,but, although several passers-by declared that they had noticed a manrun out of the shop, he could neither see anyone nor could he find anymeans of identifying the rascal. It seemed to be one of those senselessacts of Hooliganism which occur from time to time, and it was reportedto the constable on the beat as such. The plaster cast was not worthmore than a few shillings, and the whole affair appeared to be toochildish for any particular investigation.

  "The second case, however, was more serious and also more singular. Itoccurred only last night.

  "In Kennington Road, and within a few hundred yards of Morse Hudson'sshop, there lives a well-known medical practitioner, named Dr. Barnicot,who has one of the largest practices upon the south side of the Thames.His residence and principal consulting-room is at Kennington Road, buthe has a branch surgery and dispensary at Lower Brixton Road, two milesaway. This Dr. Barnicot is an enthusiastic admirer of Napoleon, and hishouse is full of books, pictures, and relics of the French Emperor. Somelittle time ago he purchased from Morse Hudson two duplicate plastercasts of the famous head of Napoleon by the French sculptor, Devine. Oneof these he placed in his hall in the house at Kennington Road, and theother on the mantelpiece of the surgery at Lower Brixton. Well, when Dr.Barnicot came down this morning he was astonished to find that his househad been burgled during the night, but that nothing had been taken savethe plaster head from the hall. It had been carried out and had beendashed savagely against the garden wall, under which its splinteredfragments 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 had beenopened in the night, and that the broken pieces of his second bust werestrewn all over the room. It had been smashed to atoms where it stood.In neither case were there any signs which could give us a clue as tothe criminal or lunatic who had done the mischief. Now, Mr. Holmes, youhave 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 istoo much 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, itis very 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 'idee fixe,' which may be trifling in character, andaccompanied by complete sanity in every other way. A man who had readdeeply about Napoleon, or who had possibly received some hereditaryfamily injury through the great war, might conceivably form suchan 'idee fixe' and under its influence be capable of any fantasticoutrage."

  "That won't do, my dear Watson," said Holmes, shaking his head; "for noamount of 'idee 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 Ireflect that some of my most classic cases have had the least promisingcommencement. You will remember, Watson, how the dreadful business ofthe Abernetty family was first brought to my notice by the depth whichthe 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 shallbe very much obliged to you if you will let me hear of any freshdevelopments of so singular a chain of events."

  The development for which my friend had asked came in a quicker and aninfinitely more tragic form than he could have imagined. I was stilldressing in my bedroom next morning when there was a tap at the door andHolmes 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, hasbegun operations in another quarter of London. There's coffee on thetable, Watson, and I have a cab at the door."

  In half an hour we had reached Pitt Street, a quiet little backwaterjust beside one of the briskest currents of London life. No. 131 was oneof a row, all flat-chested, respectable, and most unromantic dwellings.As we drove up we found the railings in front of the house lined by acurious crowd. 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? Thetop steps swilled down and the other ones dry. Footsteps enough, anyhow!Well, well, there's Lestrade at the front
window, and we shall soon knowall about it."

  The official received us with a very grave face and showed us into asitting-room, where an exceedingly unkempt and agitated elderlyman, 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 beglad to be present now that the affair has taken a very much graverturn."

  "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 melancholy face.

  "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 isI 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 thestory."

  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 in my den, which is at the backof the top of the house, about three o'clock, when I was convinced thatI heard some sounds downstairs. I listened, but they were not repeated,and I concluded that they came from outside. Then suddenly, about fiveminutes later, there came a most horrible yell--the most dreadful sound,Mr. Holmes, that ever I heard. It will ring in my ears as long as Ilive. I sat frozen with horror for a minute or two. Then I seized thepoker and went downstairs. When I entered this room I found the windowwide open, and I at once observed that the bust was gone from themantelpiece. Why any burglar should take such a thing passes myunderstanding, for it was only a plaster cast and of no real valuewhatever.

  "You can see for yourself that anyone going out through that open windowcould reach the front doorstep by taking a long stride. This was clearlywhat the burglar had done, so I went round and opened the door. Steppingout into the dark I nearly fell over a dead man who was lying there. Iran back for a light, and there was the poor fellow, a great gash in histhroat 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 see thebody at the mortuary, but we have made nothing of it up to now. He is atall 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. Hereit is."

  It was evidently taken by a snap-shot 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 muzzleof a 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 carpet andthe window. "The fellow had either very long legs or was a most activeman," said he. "With an area beneath, it was no mean feat to reachthat window-ledge and open that window. Getting back was comparativelysimple. Are you coming with us to see the remains of your bust, 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 withfull details. It's like my luck! You remember when the stand fell atDoncaster? Well, I was the only journalist in the stand, and my journalthe only one that had no account of it, for I was too shaken to writeit. And now 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.

  The spot where the fragments of the bust had been found was only afew hundred yards away. For the first time our eyes rested upon thispresentment of the great Emperor, which seemed to raise such franticand destructive 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 notbreak it in the house, or immediately outside the house, if to break itwas his sole object."

  "He was rattled and bustled by meeting this other fellow. He hardly knewwhat 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 thebust was destroyed."

  Lestrade looked about him.

  "It was an empty house, and so he knew that he would not be disturbed inthe garden."

  "Yes, but there is another empty house farther up the street which hemust 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 increasedthe risk of 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. That washis 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 which willbear 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 waswho met him and killed him on the doorstep of Mr. Horace Harker. Don'tyou think 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, and eachwill supplement the other."

  "Very good," said Lestrade.

  "If you are going back to Pitt Street you might see Mr. Horace Harker.Tell him from me that I have quite made up my mind, and that it iscertain that a dangerous homicidal lunatic with Napoleonic delusions wasin his house last night. It will be useful for his article."

  Lestrade stared.

  "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 s
ubscribers of the Central Press Syndicate.Now, Watson, I think that we shall find that we have a long and rathercomplex day's work before us. I should be glad, Lestrade, if you couldmake it convenient to meet us at Baker Street at six o'clock thisevening. Until then I should like to keep this photograph found in thedead man's pocket. It is possible that I may have to ask your companyand assistance upon a small expedition which will have be undertakento-night, if my chain of reasoning should prove to be correct. Untilthen, good-bye and good luck!"

  Sherlock Holmes and I walked together to the High Street, where hestopped at the shop of Harding Brothers, whence the bust had beenpurchased. A young assistant informed us that Mr. Harding would beabsent until after noon, 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. Hardingwill not be here until then. I am, as you have no doubt surmised,endeavouring to trace these busts to their source, in order to find ifthere is not something peculiar which may account for their remarkablefate. Let us make for Mr. Morse Hudson, of the Kennington Road, and seeif he can throw 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 whatI call 'em. Who did I get the statues from? I don't see what that has todo with it. Well, if you really want to know, I got them from Gelderand Co., in Church Street, Stepney. They are a well-known house in thetrade, and have been this twenty years. How many had I? Three--two andone are three--two of Dr. Barnicot's and one smashed in broad daylighton my own 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, whomade himself useful in the shop. He could carve a bit and gild andframe, and do odd jobs. The fellow left me last week, and I've heardnothing of him since. No, I don't know where he came from nor where hewent to. I have nothing against him while he was here. He was gone twodays before the bust was smashed."

  "Well, that's all we could reasonably expect to get from Morse Hudson,"said Holmes, 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 and Co., of Stepney,the source and origin of busts. I shall be surprised if we don't getsome help down there."

  In rapid succession we passed through the fringe of fashionable London,hotel London, theatrical London, literary London, commercial London,and, finally, maritime London, till we came to a riverside city of ahundred thousand souls, where the tenement houses swelter and reek withthe outcasts of Europe. Here, in a broad thoroughfare, once the abodeof wealthy City merchants, we found the sculpture works for which wesearched. Outside was a considerable yard full of monumental masonry.Inside was a large room in which fifty workers were carving or moulding.The manager, a big blond German, received us civilly, and gave a clearanswer to all Holmes's questions. A reference to his books showed thathundreds of casts had been taken from a marble copy of Devine's head ofNapoleon, but that the three which had been sent to Morse Hudson a yearor so before had been half of a batch of six, the other three being sentto Harding Brothers, of Kensington. There was no reason why those sixshould be different to any of the other casts. He could suggest nopossible 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 Pariswere joined together to make the complete bust. The work was usuallydone by Italians in the room we were in. When finished the busts wereput on a table in the passage to dry, and afterwards stored. That wasall he could tell us.

  But the production of the photograph had a remarkable effect upon themanager. His face flushed with anger, and his brows knotted over hisblue Teutonic eyes.

  "Ah, the rascal!" he cried. "Yes, indeed, I know him very well. This hasalways been a respectable establishment, and the only time that we haveever had the police in it was over this very fellow. It was more than ayear 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 dare say he could tell you where he is."

  "No, no," cried Holmes, "not a word to the cousin--not a word, I begyou. 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 on May20th."

  "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 the papershowed that Mr. Horace Harker had got his account into print afterall. Two columns were occupied with a highly sensational and floweryrendering of the whole incident. Holmes propped it against thecruet-stand and read it while he ate. Once or twice he chuckled.

  "This is all right, Watson," said he. "Listen to this: 'It issatisfactory to know that there can be no difference of opinion uponthis case, since Mr. Lestrade, one of the most experienced members ofthe official force, and Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the well-known consultingexpert, have each come to the conclusion that the grotesque series ofincidents, which have ended in so tragic a fashion, arise from lunacyrather than from deliberate crime. No explanation save mental aberrationcan cover the facts.' The Press, Watson, is a most valuable institutionif you only know how to use it. And now, if you have quite finished,we will hark back to Kensington and see what the manager of HardingBrothers has to say to the 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 and Co., ofStepney. They are all sold now. To whom? Oh, I dare say 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, ofLower Grove Road, Reading. No, I have never seen this face which youshow 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 dare saythey might 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'sa very strange business, and I hope that you'll 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 affairswere taking. He made no remark, however, save that, unless we hurried,we should be late for our appoi
ntment with Lestrade. Sure enough, whenwe reached Baker Street the detective was already there, and we foundhim pacing 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," my friendexplained. "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 thedead 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 greatestcut-throats in London. He is connected with the Mafia, which, as youknow, is a secret political society, enforcing its decrees by murder.Now you see how the affair begins to clear up. The other fellow isprobably an Italian also, and a member of the Mafia. He has brokenthe rules in some fashion. Pietro is set upon his track. Probably thephotograph we found in his pocket is the man himself, so that he may notknife the wrong person. He dogs the fellow, he sees him enter a house,he waits outside for him, and in the scuffle he receives his owndeath-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 murderthat we are really investigating, and I tell you that I am gathering allthe threads 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'tsay for certain, because it all depends--well, it all depends upona factor which is completely outside our control. But I have greathopes--in fact, the betting is exactly two to one--that if you will comewith us to-night I shall be 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 unlikelythat we shall be back before morning. You'll dine with us, Lestrade, andthen you are welcome to the sofa until it is time for us to start. Inthe meantime, Watson, I should be glad if you would ring for an expressmessenger, for I have a letter to send, and it is important that itshould go at once."

  Holmes spent the evening in rummaging among the files of the old dailypapers with which one of our lumber-rooms was packed. When at last hedescended 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 hadfollowed 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 hisscheme with impunity. I was not surprised when Holmes suggested thatI should take my revolver with me. He had himself picked up the loadedhunting-crop which was his favourite weapon.

  A four-wheeler was at the door at eleven, and in it we drove to a spotat the 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 streetlamp we read "Laburnum Villa" upon the gate-post of one of them. Theoccupants had evidently retired to rest, for all was dark save for afanlight over the hall door, which shed a single blurred circle on tothe garden path. The wooden fence which separated the grounds from theroad threw a dense black shadow upon the inner side, and here it wasthat we crouched.

  "I fear that you'll have a long wait," Holmes whispered. "We may thankour 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. Inan instant, without the least sound to warn us of his coming, the gardengate swung open, and a lithe, dark figure, as swift and active as anape, rushed up the garden path. We saw it whisk past the light thrownfrom over the door and disappear against the black shadow of the house.There was a long pause, during which we held our breath, and then a verygentle creaking 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 out intothe glimmering patch of light we saw that he carried something whiteunder his arm. He looked stealthily all round him. The silence of thedeserted 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.With the bound of a tiger Holmes was on his back, and an instant laterLestrade and I had him by either wrist and the handcuffs had beenfastened. As we turned him over I saw a hideous, sallow face, withwrithing, furious features, glaring up at us, and I knew that it wasindeed 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 examiningthat which the man had brought from the house. It was a bust of Napoleonlike the one which we had seen that morning, and it had been brokeninto similar fragments. Carefully Holmes held each separate shard tothe 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 figurein 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 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,that you 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 four uponour way to London. Not a word would our captive say; but he glared at usfrom the shadow of his matted hair, and once, when my hand seemed withinhis reach, he snapped at it like a hungry wolf. We stayed long enoughat the police-station to learn that a search of his clothing revealednothing save a few shillings and a long sheath knife, the handle ofwhich bore copious traces of recent blood.

  "That's all right," said Lestrade, as we pa
rted. "Hill knows all thesegentry, and he will give a name to him. You'll find that my theory ofthe Mafia will work out all right. But I'm sure I am exceedingly obligedto you, Mr. Holmes, for the workmanlike way in which you laid hands uponhim. 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, andit 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 Ithink I shall be able to show you that even now you have not grasped theentire meaning of this business, which presents some features which makeit absolutely original in the history of crime. If ever I permit youto chronicle any more of my little problems, Watson, I foresee that youwill enliven 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 the Italiancolony. He had once been a skilful sculptor and had earned an honestliving, but he had taken to evil courses and had twice already beenin gaol--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 discoveredthat these same busts might very well have been made by his own hands,since he was engaged in this class of work at the establishment ofGelder and Co. To all this information, much of which we already knew,Holmes listened with polite attention; but I, who knew him so well,could clearly see that his thoughts were elsewhere, and I detected amixture of mingled uneasiness and expectation beneath that mask whichhe was wont to assume. At last he started in his chair and his eyesbrightened. There had been a ring at the bell. A minute later we heardsteps upon the stairs, and an elderly, red-faced man with grizzledside-whiskers was ushered in. In his right hand he carried anold-fashioned carpet-bag, which he placed upon the table.

  "Is Mr. Sherlock Holmes here?"

  My friend bowed and smiled. "Mr. Sandeford, of Reading, I suppose?" saidhe.

  "Yes, sir, I fear that I am a little late; but the trains were awkward.You wrote 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 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 have namedthat 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 atlast 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 upon thetable.

  "You will kindly sign that paper, Mr. Sandeford, in the presence ofthese witnesses. It is simply to say that you transfer every possibleright that you ever had in the bust to me. I am a methodical man, yousee, and you never know what turn events might take afterwards. Thankyou, Mr. Sandeford; here is your money, and I wish you a very goodevening."

  When our visitor had disappeared Sherlock Holmes's movements were suchas 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-cropand struck Napoleon a sharp blow on the top of the head. The figurebroke into fragments, and Holmes bent eagerly over the shatteredremains. Next instant, with a loud shout of triumph, he held up onesplinter, in which a round, dark object was fixed like a plum in apudding.

  "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.It was 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 with disdainfrom popular notoriety was capable of being moved to its depths byspontaneous wonder and praise from a friend.

  "Yes, gentlemen," said he, "it is the most famous pearl now existingin the 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 ofthe six busts of Napoleon which were manufactured by Gelder and Co.,of Stepney. 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 brotherin London, but we failed to trace any connection between them. Themaid's name was Lucretia Venucci, and there is no doubt in my mind thatthis Pietro 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 and Co., at the very moment when these busts werebeing made. Now you clearly see the sequence of events, though you seethem, of course, in the inverse order to the way in which they presentedthemselves to me. Beppo had the pearl in his possession. He may havestolen it from Pietro, he may have been Pietro's confederate, hemay have been the go-between of Pietro and his sister. It is of noconsequence to 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, askilful workman, made a small hole in the wet plaster, dropped in thepearl, and with a few touches covered over the aperture once more. Itwas an admirable hiding-place. No one could possibly find it. But Beppowas condemned to a year's imprisonment, and in the meanwhile his sixbusts were 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, andhe conducted his search with considerable ingenuity and perseverance.Through a cousin who works with Gelder he found out the retail firms whohad bought the busts. He managed to find employment with Morse Hudson,and in that way tracked down three of them. The pearl was not there.Then, with the help of some Italian EMPLOYEE, he succeeded in finding outwhere the other three busts had gone. The first was at Harker's. Therehe was dogged by his confederate, who held Beppo responsible for theloss of the pearl, and he stabbed him in the scuffle which followed."

  "If he was his confederate why should he carry his photograph?" I asked.

  "As a means of tracing him if he wished to inquire about hi
m from anythird person. That was the obvious reason. Well, after the murderI calculated that Beppo would probably hurry rather than delay hismovements. He would fear that the police would read his secret, and sohe hastened on before they should get ahead of him. Of course, I couldnot say 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 methat he was looking for something, since he carried the bust pastthe other houses in order to break it in the garden which had a lampoverlooking it. Since Harker's bust was one in three the chances wereexactly as I told you, two to one against the pearl being inside it.There remained two busts, and it was obvious that he would go for theLondon one first. I warned the inmates of the house, so as to avoida second tragedy, and we went down with the happiest results. By thattime, of course, I knew for certain that it was the Borgia pearl that wewere after. The name of the murdered man linked the one event with theother. There only remained a single bust--the Reading one--and the pearlmust be there. I bought it in your presence from the owner--and there itlies."

  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 it seemedto me that he was more nearly moved by the softer human emotions than Ihad ever seen him. A moment later he was the cold and practical thinkeronce more. "Put the pearl in the safe, Watson," said he, "and get outthe papers of the Conk-Singleton forgery case. Good-bye, Lestrade. Ifany little problem comes your way I shall be happy, if I can, to giveyou a hint or two as to its solution."

  *****

  THE STRAND MAGAZINE Vol. 27 JUNE, 1904 THE RETURN OF SHERLOCK HOLMES. By ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE.