It was no very unusual thing for Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, to look in upon us of an evening, and his visits were welcome to Sherlock Holmes, for they enabled him to keep in touch with all that was going on at the police headquarters. In return for the news which Lestrade would bring, Holmes was always ready to listen with attention to the details of any case upon which the detective was engaged, and was able occasionally, without any active interference, to give some hint or suggestion drawn1 from his own vast knowledge and experience.
On this particular evening, Lestrade had spoken of the weather and the newspapers. Then he had fallen silent, puffing3 thoughtfully at his cigar. Holmes looked keenly at him.
"Anything remarkable4 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 my mind. And yet it is such an absurd business, that I hesitated to bother you about it. On the other hand, although it is trivial, it is undoubtedly6 queer, 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 think there was anyone living at this time of day who had such a hatred7 of Napoleon the First 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 burglary in order to break images which are not his own, that brings it away from the 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 from its pages.
"The first case reported was four days ago," said he. "It was at the shop of Morse Hudson, who has a place for the sale of pictures and statues in the Kennington Road. The assistant had left the front shop for an instant, when he heard a crash, and hurrying in he found a plaster bust8 of Napoleon, which stood with several other works of art upon the counter, lying shivered into fragments. He rushed out into the road, but, although several passers-by declared that they had noticed a man run out of the shop, he could neither see anyone nor could he find any means of identifying the rascal9. It seemed to be one of those senseless acts of Hooliganism which occur from time to time, and it was reported to the constable10 on the beat as such. The plaster cast was not worth more than a few shillings, and the whole affair appeared to be too childish for any particular investigation11.
"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 Morse Hudson's shop, there lives a well-known medical practitioner12, 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, 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 relics13 of the French Emperor. Some little time ago he purchased from Morse Hudson two duplicate plaster casts of the famous head of Napoleon by the French sculptor14, Devine. One of these he placed in his hall in the house at Kennington Road, and the other on the mantelpiece of the surgery at Lower Brixton. Well, when Dr. Barnicot came down this morning he was astonished to find that his house had been burgled during the night, but that nothing had been taken save the plaster head from the hall. It had been carried out and had been dashed savagely15 against the garden wall, under which its splintered 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 imagine his amazement16 when, on arriving there, he found that the window had been opened in the night and that the broken pieces of his second bust were strewn 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 to the criminal or lunatic who had done the mischief17. Now, Mr. Holmes, you have got the facts."
"They are singular, not to say grotesque18," said Holmes. "May I ask whether the two busts19 smashed in Dr. Barnicot's rooms were the exact duplicates 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 them is influenced by any general hatred of Napoleon. Considering how many hundreds of statues of the great Emperor must exist in London, it is too much to suppose such a coincidence as that a promiscuous20 iconoclast21 should chance to begin upon three specimens22 of the same bust."
"Well, I thought as you do," said Lestrade. "On the other hand, this Morse Hudson is the purveyor24 of busts in that part of London, and these three 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 is very probable that these three were the only ones in that district. Therefore, a local fanatic25 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 have called the 'IDEE FIXE,' which may be trifling26 in character, and accompanied by complete sanity27 in every other way. A man who had read deeply about Napoleon, or who had possibly received some hereditary28 family injury through the great war, might conceivably form such an IDEE FIXE and under its influence be capable of any fantastic outrage29."
"That won't do, my dear Watson," said Holmes, shaking his head, "for no amount of IDEE FIXE would enable your interesting monomaniac to find out where these busts were situated30."
"Well, how do YOU explain it?"
"I don't attempt to do so. I would only observe that there is a certain method in the gentleman's eccentric proceedings31. For example, in Dr. Barnicot's hall, where a sound might arouse the family, the bust was taken outside before being broken, whereas in the surgery, where there was less danger of an alarm, it was smashed where it stood. The affair seems absurdly trifling, and yet I dare call nothing trivial when I reflect that some of my most classic cases have had the least promising32 commencement. You will remember, Watson, how the dreadful business of the Abernetty family was first brought to my notice by the depth which the 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 be very much obliged to you if you will let me hear of any fresh development of so singular a chain of events."
The development for which my friend had asked came in a quicker and an infinitely33 more tragic34 form than he could have imagined. I was still dressing35 in my bedroom next morning, when there was a tap at the door and 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 the story of the statues. In that case our friend the image-breaker has begun operations 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 just beside one of the briskest currents of London life. No. 131 was one of a row, all flat-chested, respectable, and most unromantic dwellings36. As we drove up, we found the railings in front of the house lined by a curious crowd. Holmes whistled.
"By George! It's attempted murder at the least. Nothing less will hold the London message-boy. There's a deed of violence indicated in that fellow's round shoulders and outstretched neck. What's this, Watson? The top steps swilled37 down and the other ones dry. Footsteps enough, anyhow! Well, well, there's Lestrade at the front window, and we shall soon know all about it."
The official received us with a very grave face and showed us into a sitting-room38, where an exceedingly unkempt and agitated39 elderly man, clad in a flannel40 dressing-gown, was pacing up and down. He was introduced to us as the owner of the house—Mr. Horace Harker, of the Central Press Syndicate.
"It's the Napoleon bust business again," said Lestrade. "You seemed interested last night, Mr. Holmes, so I thought perhaps you would be glad to 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 has occurred?"
The man in the dressing-gown turned upon us with a most melancholy41 face.
"It's an extraordinary thing," said he, "that all my life I have been collecting other people's news, and now that a real piece of news has come my own way I am so confused and bothered that I can't put two words together. If I had come in here as a journalist, I should have interviewed 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 a string 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 explain this 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 for this very room about four months ago. I picked it up cheap from Harding Brothers, two doors from the High Street Station. A great deal of my journalistic work is done at night, and I often write until the early morning. So it was to-day. I was sitting in my den5, which is at the back of the top of the house, about three o'clock, when I was convinced that I heard some sounds downstairs. I listened, but they were not repeated, and I concluded that they came from outside. Then suddenly, about five minutes 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 I live. I sat frozen with horror for a minute or two. Then I seized the poker42 and went downstairs. When I entered this room I found the window wide open, and I at once observed that the bust was gone from the mantelpiece. Why any burglar should take such a thing passes my understanding, for it was only a plaster cast and of no real value whatever.
"You can see for yourself that anyone going out through that open window could reach the front doorstep by taking a long stride. This was clearly 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 lying there. I ran back for a light and there was the poor fellow, a great gash44 in his throat and the whole place swimming in blood. He lay on his back, his knees drawn up, and his mouth horribly open. I shall see him in my dreams. I had just time to blow on my police-whistle, and then I must have fainted, for I knew nothing more until I found the policeman standing43 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 the body at the mortuary, but we have made nothing of it up to now. He is a tall man, sunburned, very powerful, not more than thirty. He is poorly dressed, and yet does not appear to be a labourer. A horn-handled clasp knife was lying in a pool of blood beside him. Whether it was the weapon which did the deed, or whether it belonged to the dead man, I do not know. There was no name on his clothing, and nothing in his pockets save an 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. It represented an alert, sharp-featured simian46 man, with thick eyebrows47 and a very peculiar48 projection49 of the lower part of the face, like the muzzle50 of a baboon51.
"And what became of the bust?" asked Holmes, after a careful study of this picture.
"We had news of it just before you came. It has been found in the front garden of an empty house in Campden House Road. It was broken into fragments. I am going round now to see it. Will you come?"
"Certainly. I must just take one look round." He examined the carpet and the window. "The fellow had either very long legs or was a most active man," said he. "With an area beneath, it was no mean feat45 to reach that window ledge2 and open that window. Getting back was comparatively simple. Are you coming with us to see the remains52 of your bust, Mr. Harker?"
The disconsolate53 journalist had seated himself at a writing-table.
"I must try and make something of it," said he, "though I have no doubt that the first editions of the evening papers are out already with full details. It's like my luck! You remember when the stand fell at Doncaster? Well, I was the only journalist in the stand, and my journal the only one that had no account of it, for I was too shaken to write it. 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 shrilly54 over the foolscap.
The spot where the fragments of the bust had been found was only a few hundred yards away. For the first time our eyes rested upon this presentment of the great emperor, which seemed to raise such frantic55 and destructive hatred in the mind of the unknown. It lay scattered56, in splintered shards58, upon the grass. Holmes picked up several of them and examined them carefully. I was convinced, from his intent face and his purposeful manner, that at last he was upon a clue.
"Well?" asked Lestrade.
Holmes shrugged59 his shoulders.
"We have a long way to go yet," said he. "And yet—and yet—well, we have some suggestive facts to act upon. The possession of this trifling bust was worth more, in the eyes of this strange criminal, than a human life. That is one point. Then there is the singular fact that he did not break it in the house, or immediately outside the house, if to break it was his sole object."
"He was rattled61 and bustled62 by meeting this other fellow. He hardly knew what he was doing."
"Well, that's likely enough. But I wish to call your attention very particularly to the position of this house, in the garden of which the bust was destroyed."
Lestrade looked about him.
"It was an empty house, and so he knew that he would not be disturbed in 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 it there, since it is evident that every yard that he carried it increased the risk of someone meeting him?"
"I give it up," said Lestrade.
Holmes pointed63 to the street lamp above our heads.
"He could see what he was doing here, and he could not there. That was his reason."
"By Jove! that's true," said the detective. "Now that I come to think of it, 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 will 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 identify the dead man. There should be no difficulty about that. When we have found who he is and who his associates are, we should have a good start in learning what he was doing in Pitt Street last night, and who it was who met him and killed him on the doorstep of Mr. Horace Harker. Don't you think so?"
"No doubt; and yet it is not quite the way in which I should approach the case."
"What would you do then?"
"Oh, you must not let me influence you in any way. I suggest that you go on your line and I on mine. We can compare notes afterwards, and each 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 certain that a dangerous homicidal lunatic, with Napoleonic delusions64, was in 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 subscribers of the Central Press Syndicate. Now, Watson, I think that we shall find that we have a long and rather complex day's work before us. I should be glad, Lestrade, if you could make it convenient to meet us at Baker65 Street at six o'clock this evening. Until then I should like to keep this photograph, found in the dead man's pocket. It is possible that I may have to ask your company and assistance upon a small expedition which will have be undertaken to-night, if my chain of reasoning should prove to be correct. Until then good-bye and good luck!"
Sherlock Holmes and I walked together to the High Street, where we stopped at the shop of Harding Brothers, whence the bust had been purchased. A young assistant informed us that Mr. Harding would be absent until afternoon, and that he was himself a newcomer, who could give us no information. Holmes's face showed his disappointment and annoyance66.
"Well, well, we can't expect to have it all our own way, Watson," he said, at last. "We must come back in the afternoon, if Mr. Harding will not be here until then. I am, as you have no doubt surmised67, endeavouring to trace these busts to their source, in order to find if there is not something peculiar which may account for their remarkable fate. Let us make for Mr. Morse Hudson, of the Kennington Road, and see if he can throw any light upon the problem."
A drive of an hour brought us to the picture-dealer's establishment. He was a small, stout68 man with a red face and a peppery manner.
"Yes, sir. On my very counter, sir," said he. "What we pay rates and taxes for I don't know, when any ruffian can come in and break one's goods. 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 an anarchist69 would go about breaking statues. Red republicans—that's what I call 'em. Who did I get the statues from? I don't see what that has to do with 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, and have been this twenty years. How many had I? Three—two and one are three—two of Dr. Barnicot's, and one smashed in broad daylight on 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, who made himself useful in the shop. He could carve a bit, and gild70 and frame, and do odd jobs. The fellow left me last week, and I've heard nothing of him since. No, I don't know where he came from nor where he went to. I had nothing 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," said Holmes, as we emerged from the shop. "We have this Beppo as a common factor, both in Kennington and in Kensington, so that is worth a ten-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 get some help down there."
In rapid succession we passed through the fringe of fashionable London, hotel London, theatrical71 London, literary London, commercial London, and, finally, maritime72 London, till we came to a riverside city of a hundred thousand souls, where the tenement73 houses swelter and reek74 with the outcasts of Europe. Here, in a broad thoroughfare, once the abode75 of wealthy City merchants, we found the sculpture works for which we searched. Outside was a considerable yard full of monumental masonry76. Inside was a large room in which fifty workers were carving77 or moulding. The manager, a big blond German, received us civilly and gave a clear answer to all Holmes's questions. A reference to his books showed that hundreds of casts had been taken from a marble copy of Devine's head of Napoleon, but that the three which had been sent to Morse Hudson a year or so before had been half of a batch78 of six, the other three being sent to Harding Brothers, of Kensington. There was no reason why those six should be different from any of the other casts. He could suggest no possible cause why anyone should wish to destroy them—in fact, he laughed at the idea. Their wholesale79 price was six shillings, but the retailer80 would get twelve or more. The cast was taken in two moulds from each side of the face, and then these two profiles of plaster of Paris were joined together to make the complete bust. The work was usually done by Italians, in the room we were in. When finished, the busts were put on a table in the passage to dry, and afterwards stored. That was all he could tell us.
But the production of the photograph had a remarkable effect upon the manager. His face flushed with anger, and his brows knotted over his blue Teutonic eyes.
"Ah, the rascal!" he cried. "Yes, indeed, I know him very well. This has always been a respectable establishment, and the only time that we have ever had the police in it was over this very fellow. It was more than a year ago now. He knifed another Italian in the street, and then he came to the works with the police on his heels, and he was taken here. Beppo was his name—his second name I never knew. Serve me right for engaging a 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 out now, but he has not dared to show his nose here. We have a cousin of his here, 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 of you. The matter is very important, and the farther I go with it, the more important it seems to grow. When you referred in your ledger82 to the sale of those casts I observed that the date was June 3rd of last year. Could you 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 May 20th."
"Thank you," said Holmes. "I don't think that I need intrude83 upon your time and patience any more." With a last word of caution that he should say nothing as to our researches, we turned our faces westward84 once more.
The afternoon was far advanced before we were able to snatch a hasty luncheon85 at a restaurant. A news-bill at the entrance announced "Kensington Outrage. Murder by a Madman," and the contents of the paper showed that Mr. Horace Harker had got his account into print after all. Two columns were occupied with a highly sensational86 and flowery rendering87 of the whole incident. Holmes propped88 it against the cruet-stand and read it while he ate. Once or twice he chuckled89.
"This is all right, Watson," said he. "Listen to this:
"It is satisfactory to know that there can be no difference of opinion upon this case, since Mr. Lestrade, one of the most experienced members of the official force, and Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the well known consulting expert, have each come to the conclusion that the grotesque series of incidents, which have ended in so tragic a fashion, arise from lunacy rather than from deliberate crime. No explanation save mental aberration90 can cover the facts.
"The Press, Watson, is a most valuable institution, if 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 Harding Brothers has to say on the matter."
The founder91 of that great emporium proved to be a brisk, crisp little person, 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 some months ago. We ordered three busts of that sort from Gelder & Co., of Stepney. They are all sold now. To whom? Oh, I daresay by consulting our sales book we could very easily tell you. Yes, we have the entries here. One to Mr. Harker you see, and one to Mr. Josiah Brown, of Laburnum Lodge92, Laburnum Vale, Chiswick, and one to Mr. Sandeford, of Lower Grove93 Road, Reading. No, I have never seen this face which you 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 they might get a peep at that sales book if they wanted to. There is no particular reason for keeping a watch upon that book. Well, well, it's a very strange business, and I hope that you will let me know if anything comes of your inquiries94."
Holmes had taken several notes during Mr. Harding's evidence, and I could see that he was thoroughly95 satisfied by the turn which affairs were taking. He made no remark, however, save that, unless we hurried, we should be late for our appointment with Lestrade. Sure enough, when we reached Baker Street the detective was already there, and we found him pacing up and down in a fever of impatience96. His look of importance showed 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 entirely97 a wasted one," my friend explained. "We have seen both the retailers98 and also the wholesale manufacturers. 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, but I 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 inspector99 who makes a specialty100 of Saffron Hill and the Italian Quarter. Well, this dead man had some Catholic emblem101 round his neck, and that, along with his colour, made me think he was from the South. Inspector Hill knew him the moment he caught sight of him. His name is Pietro Venucci, from Naples, and he is one of the greatest cut-throats in London. He is connected with the Mafia, which, as you know, is a secret political society, enforcing its decrees by murder. Now, you see how the affair begins to clear up. The other fellow is probably an Italian also, 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 his pocket is the man himself, so that he may not knife 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 own death-wound. How is that, Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"
Holmes clapped his hands approvingly.
"Excellent, Lestrade, excellent!" he cried. "But I didn't quite follow your 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 larceny102, six months at the most. It is the murder that we are really investigating, and I tell you that I am gathering103 all the 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 charge of murder. Will you come with us?"
"I think not. I fancy we can attain104 our end in a simpler way. I can't say for certain, because it all depends—well, it all depends upon a factor which is completely outside our control. But I have great hopes—in fact, the betting is exactly two to one—that if you will come with 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. If you will come with me to Chiswick to-night, Lestrade, I'll promise to go to the Italian Quarter with you to-morrow, and no harm will be done by the 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 that we shall be back before morning. You'll dine with us, Lestrade, and then you are welcome to the sofa until it is time for us to start. In the meantime, Watson, I should be glad if you would ring for an express messenger, for I have a letter to send and it is important that it should go at once."
Holmes spent the evening in rummaging105 among the files of the old daily papers with which one of our lumber-rooms was packed. When at last he descended106, it was with triumph in his eyes, but he said nothing to either 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 various windings107 of this complex case, and, though I could not yet perceive the goal which we would reach, I understood clearly that Holmes expected this grotesque criminal to make an attempt upon the two remaining busts, one of which, I remembered, was at Chiswick. No doubt the object of our journey was to catch him in the very act, and I could not but admire the cunning with which my friend had inserted a wrong clue in the evening paper, so as to give the fellow the idea that he could continue his scheme with impunity108. I was not surprised when Holmes suggested that I should take my revolver with me. He had himself picked up the loaded hunting-crop, which was his favourite weapon.
A four-wheeler was at the door at eleven, and in it we drove to a spot at the other side of Hammersmith Bridge. Here the cabman was directed to wait. A short walk brought us to a secluded109 road fringed with pleasant houses, each standing in its own grounds. In the light of a street lamp we read "Laburnum Villa110" upon the gate-post of one of them. The occupants had evidently retired111 to rest, for all was dark save for a fanlight over the hall door, which shed a single blurred112 circle on to the garden path. The wooden fence which separated the grounds from the road threw a dense113 black shadow upon the inner side, and here it was that we crouched114.
"I fear that you'll have a long wait," Holmes whispered. "We may thank our stars that it is not raining. I don't think we can even venture to smoke to pass the time. However, it's a two to one chance that we get something to pay us for our trouble."
It proved, however, that our vigil was not to be so long as Holmes had led us to fear, and it ended in a very sudden and singular fashion. In an instant, without the least sound to warn us of his coming, the garden gate swung open, and a lithe115, dark figure, as swift and active as an ape, rushed up the garden path. We saw it whisk past the light thrown from 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 very 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 glimmering116 patch of light, we saw that he carried something white under his arm. He looked stealthily all round him. The silence of the deserted117 street reassured118 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 clatter119 and rattle60. 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 hideous120, sallow face, with writhing121, 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. Squatted122 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 shard57 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 jovial123, 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 refreshment124."
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 copious125 traces of recent blood.
"That's all right," said Lestrade, as we parted. "Hill knows all these gentry126, 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."
When we met again next evening, Lestrade was furnished with much information concerning our prisoner. His name, it appeared, was Beppo, second name unknown. He was a well-known ne'er-do-well among the Italian colony. He had once been a skilful127 sculptor and had earned an honest living, but he had taken to evil courses and had twice already been in jail—once for a petty theft, and once, as we had already heard, for stabbing a fellow-countryman. He could talk English perfectly128 well. His reasons for destroying the busts were still unknown, and he refused to answer any questions upon the subject, but the police had discovered that 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 of Gelder & 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 a mixture of mingled129 uneasiness and expectation beneath that mask which he was wont130 to assume. At last he started in his chair, and his eyes brightened. There had been a ring at the bell. A minute later we heard steps upon the stairs, and an elderly red-faced man with grizzled side-whiskers was ushered131 in. In his right hand he carried an old-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?" said he.
"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 of Devine's Napoleon, and am prepared to pay you ten pounds for the one which is in your possession.' Is that right?"
"Certainly."
"I was very much surprised at your letter, for I could not imagine how you knew that I owned such a thing."
"Of course you must have been surprised, but the explanation is very simple. Mr. Harding, of Harding Brothers, said that they had sold you their 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 gave fifteen shillings for the bust, and I think you ought to know that before I take ten pounds from you.
"I am sure the scruple132 does you honour, Mr. Sandeford. But I have named that price, so I intend to stick to it."
"Well, it is very handsome of you, Mr. Holmes. I brought the bust up with 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 specimen23 of that bust which we had already seen more than once in fragments.
Holmes took a paper from his pocket and laid a ten-pound note upon the table.
"You will kindly133 sign that paper, Mr. Sandeford, in the presence of these witnesses. It is simply to say that you transfer every possible right that you ever had in the bust to me. I am a methodical man, you see, and you 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 were such as to rivet134 our attention. He began by taking a clean white cloth from a drawer and laying it over the table. Then he placed his newly acquired bust in the centre of the cloth. Finally, he picked up his hunting-crop and struck Napoleon a sharp blow on the top of the head. The figure broke into fragments, and Holmes bent135 eagerly over the shattered remains. Next instant, with a loud shout of triumph he held up one splinter, in which a round, dark object was fixed136 like a plum in a pudding.
"Gentlemen," he cried, "let me introduce you to the famous black pearl of the Borgias."
Lestrade and I sat silent for a moment, and then, with a spontaneous impulse, we both broke at clapping, as at the well-wrought crisis of a play. A flush of colour sprang to Holmes's pale cheeks, and he bowed to us like the master dramatist who receives the homage137 of his audience. It was at such moments that for an instant he ceased to be a reasoning machine, and betrayed his human love for admiration138 and applause. The same singularly proud and reserved nature which turned away with disdain139 from popular notoriety was capable of being moved to its depths by spontaneous wonder and praise from a friend.
"Yes, gentlemen," said he, "it is the most famous pearl now existing in the world, and it has been my good fortune, by a connected chain of inductive reasoning, to trace it from the Prince of Colonna's bedroom at the Dacre Hotel, where it was lost, to the interior of this, the last of the six busts of Napoleon which were manufactured by Gelder & Co., of Stepney. You will remember, Lestrade, the sensation caused by the disappearance140 of this valuable jewel and the vain efforts of the London police to recover it. I was myself consulted upon the case, but I was unable to throw any light upon it. Suspicion fell upon the maid of the Princess, who was an Italian, and it was proved that she had a brother in London, but we failed to trace any connection between them. The maid's name was Lucretia Venucci, and there is no doubt in my mind that this Pietro who was murdered two nights ago was the brother. I have been looking up the dates in the old files of the paper, and I find that the disappearance of the pearl was exactly two days before the arrest of Beppo, for some crime of violence—an event which took place in the factory of Gelder & Co., at the very moment when these busts were being made. Now you clearly see the sequence of events, though you see them, of course, in the inverse141 order to the way in which they presented themselves to me. Beppo had the pearl in his possession. He may have stolen it from Pietro, he may have been Pietro's confederate, he may have been the go-between of Pietro and his sister. It is of no consequence to us which is the correct solution.
"The main fact is that he HAD the pearl, and at that moment, when it was on his person, he was pursued by the police. He made for the factory in which he worked, and he knew that he had only a few minutes in which to conceal142 this enormously valuable prize, which would otherwise be found on him when he was searched. Six plaster casts of Napoleon were drying in the passage. One of them was still soft. In an instant Beppo, a skilful workman, made a small hole in the wet plaster, dropped in the pearl, and with a few touches covered over the aperture143 once more. It was an admirable hiding-place. No one could possibly find it. But Beppo was condemned144 to a year's imprisonment145, and in the meanwhile his six busts were scattered over London. He could not tell which contained his treasure. Only by breaking them could he see. Even shaking would tell him nothing, for as the plaster was wet it was probable that the pearl would adhere to it—as, in fact, it has done. Beppo did not despair, and he conducted his search with considerable ingenuity146 and perseverance147. Through a cousin who works with Gelder, he found out the retail81 firms who had 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 out where the other three busts had gone. The first was at Harker's. There he was dogged by his confederate, who held Beppo responsible for the loss 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 him from any third person. That was the obvious reason. Well, after the murder I calculated that Beppo would probably hurry rather than delay his movements. He would fear that the police would read his secret, and so he hastened on before they should get ahead of him. Of course, I could not say that he had not found the pearl in Harker's bust. I had not even concluded for certain that it was the pearl, but it was evident to me that he was looking for something, since he carried the bust past the other houses in order to break it in the garden which had a lamp overlooking it. Since Harker's bust was one in three, the chances were exactly 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 the London one first. I warned the inmates148 of the house, so as to avoid a second tragedy, and we went down, with the happiest results. By that time, of course, I knew for certain that it was the Borgia pearl that we were after. The name of the murdered man linked the one event with the other. There only remained a single bust—the Reading one—and the pearl must be there. I bought it in your 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 than that. We're not jealous of you at Scotland Yard. No, sir, we are very proud of you, and if you come down to-morrow, there's not a man, from the oldest inspector to the youngest constable, who wouldn't be glad to shake you by the hand."
"Thank you!" said Holmes. "Thank you!" and as he turned away, it seemed to me that he was more nearly moved by the softer human emotions than I had ever seen him. A moment later he was the cold and practical thinker once more. "Put the pearl in the safe, Watson," said he, "and get out the papers of the Conk-Singleton forgery149 case. Good-bye, Lestrade. If any little problem comes your way, I shall be happy, if I can, to give you a hint or two as to its solution."
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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practitioner
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| n.实践者，从事者；(医生或律师等)开业者 | |
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relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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busts
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| 半身雕塑像( bust的名词复数 )； 妇女的胸部； 胸围； 突击搜捕 | |
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promiscuous
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| adj.杂乱的，随便的 | |
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iconoclast
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| n.反对崇拜偶像者 | |
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specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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purveyor
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| n.承办商，伙食承办商 | |
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fanatic
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| n.狂热者，入迷者；adj.狂热入迷的 | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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sanity
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| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
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hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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swilled
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| v.冲洗( swill的过去式和过去分词 )；猛喝；大口喝；（使）液体流动 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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gash
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| v.深切，划开；n.(深长的)切(伤)口；裂缝 | |
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feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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simian
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| adj.似猿猴的；n.类人猿，猴 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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projection
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| n.发射，计划，突出部分 | |
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muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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baboon
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| n.狒狒 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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disconsolate
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| adj.忧郁的，不快的 | |
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shrilly
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| 尖声的； 光亮的，耀眼的 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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shard
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| n.（陶瓷器、瓦等的）破片，碎片 | |
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shards
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| n.（玻璃、金属或其他硬物的）尖利的碎片( shard的名词复数 ) | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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bustled
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| 闹哄哄地忙乱，奔忙( bustle的过去式和过去分词 )； 催促 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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delusions
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| n.欺骗( delusion的名词复数 )；谬见；错觉；妄想 | |
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baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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surmised
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的过去式和过去分词 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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anarchist
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| n.无政府主义者 | |
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gild
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| vt.给…镀金，把…漆成金色，使呈金色 | |
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theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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maritime
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| adj.海的，海事的，航海的，近海的，沿海的 | |
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tenement
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| n.公寓；房屋 | |
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reek
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| v.发出臭气；n.恶臭 | |
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abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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masonry
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| n.砖土建筑；砖石 | |
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carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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batch
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| n.一批(组，群)；一批生产量 | |
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wholesale
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| n.批发；adv.以批发方式；vt.批发，成批出售 | |
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retailer
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| n.零售商(人) | |
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retail
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| v./n.零售；adv.以零售价格 | |
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ledger
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| n.总帐，分类帐；帐簿 | |
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intrude
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| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
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westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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85
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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88
propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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90
aberration
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| n.离开正路，脱离常规，色差 | |
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Founder
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| n.创始者，缔造者 | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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97
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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98
retailers
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| 零售商，零售店( retailer的名词复数 ) | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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100
specialty
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| n.(speciality)特性，特质；专业，专长 | |
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101
emblem
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| n.象征，标志；徽章 | |
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102
larceny
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| n.盗窃（罪） | |
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103
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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104
attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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105
rummaging
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的现在分词 )； 海关检查 | |
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106
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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107
windings
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| （道路、河流等）蜿蜒的，弯曲的( winding的名词复数 )； 缠绕( wind的现在分词 )； 卷绕； 转动（把手） | |
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108
impunity
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| n.(惩罚、损失、伤害等的)免除 | |
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109
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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110
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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111
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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112
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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113
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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114
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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116
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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117
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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118
reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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119
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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120
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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121
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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122
squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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123
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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124
refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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125
copious
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| adj.丰富的，大量的 | |
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126
gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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127
skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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128
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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129
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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130
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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131
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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132
scruple
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| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
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133
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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134
rivet
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| n.铆钉；vt.铆接，铆牢；集中(目光或注意力) | |
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135
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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136
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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137
homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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138
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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139
disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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140
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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141
inverse
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| adj.相反的，倒转的，反转的；n.相反之物；v.倒转 | |
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142
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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143
aperture
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| n.孔，隙，窄的缺口 | |
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144
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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145
imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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146
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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147
perseverance
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| n.坚持不懈，不屈不挠 | |
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148
inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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149
forgery
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| n.伪造的文件等，赝品，伪造（行为） | |
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