wohnzimmer einrichten mit schwarzem sofa

the return of sherlock holmes by sir arthur conan doyle chapter viii: “the adventure of the sixnapoleons” 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 sherlockholmes, for they enabled him to keep in touch with all that was going on at the police head-quarters. in return for the news which lestrade wouldbring, holmes was always ready to listen with attention to the details of any case uponwhich the detective was engaged, and was able occasionally, without any active interference,to give some hint or suggestion drawn from his own vast knowledge and experience.

on this particular evening lestrade had spokenof the weather and the newspapers. then he had fallen silent, puffing thoughtfullyat his cigar. holmes looked keenly at him. “anything remarkable on hand?” he asked. “oh, no, mr. holmes, nothing very particular.” “then tell me about it.” lestrade laughed. “well, mr. holmes, there is no use denyingthat there is something on my mind. and yet it is such an absurd business thati hesitated to bother you about it.

on the other hand, although it is trivial,it is undoubtedly 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’sline than ours.” “disease?” said i. “madness, anyhow. and a queer madness too! you wouldn’t think there was anyone livingat this time of day who had such a hatred of napoleon the first that he would breakany 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 inorder to break images which are not his own, that brings it away from the doctor and onto the policeman.” holmes sat up again. “burglary! this is more interesting. let me hear the details.”

lestrade took out his official note-book andrefreshed his memory from its pages. “the first case reported was four days ago,”said he. “it was at the shop of morse hudson, whohas a place for the sale of pictures and statues in the kennington road. the assistant had left the front shop foran instant when he heard a crash, and hurrying in he found a plaster bust of napoleon, whichstood with several other works of art upon the counter, lying shivered into fragments. he rushed out into the road, but, althoughseveral passers-by declared that they had noticed a man run out of the shop, he couldneither see anyone nor could he find any means

of identifying the rascal. it seemed to be one of those senseless actsof hooliganism which occur from time to time, and it was reported to the constable on thebeat as such. the plaster cast was not worth more than afew shillings, and the whole affair appeared to be too childish for any particular investigation. “the second case, however, was more seriousand also more singular. it occurred only last night. “in kennington road, and within a few hundredyards of morse hudson’s shop, 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-roomis at kennington road, but he has a branch surgery and dispensary at lower brixton road,two miles away. this dr. barnicot is an enthusiastic admirerof napoleon, and his house is full of books, pictures, and relics of the french emperor. some little time ago he purchased from morsehudson two duplicate plaster casts of the famous head of napoleon by the french sculptor,devine. one of these he placed in his hall in thehouse at kennington road, and the other on the mantelpiece of the surgery at lower brixton.

well, when dr. barnicot came down this morninghe was astonished to find that his house had been burgled during the night, but that nothinghad been taken save the plaster head from the hall. it had been carried out and had been dashedsavagely 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 twelveo’clock, and you can imagine his amazement when, on arriving there, he found that thewindow had been opened 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 whichcould give us a clue as to the criminal or lunatic who had done the mischief. now, mr. holmes, you have got the facts.” “they are singular, not to say grotesque,”said holmes. “may i ask whether the two busts smashedin dr. barnicot’s rooms were the exact duplicates

of the one which was destroyed in morse hudson’sshop?” “they were taken from the same mould.” “such a fact must tell against the theorythat the man who breaks them is influenced by any general hatred of napoleon. considering how many hundreds of statues ofthe great emperor must exist in london, it is too much to suppose such a coincidenceas that a promiscuous iconoclast should chance to begin upon three specimens of the samebust.” “well, i thought as you do,” said lestrade. “on the other hand, this morse hudson isthe purveyor of busts in that part of london,

and these three were the only ones which hadbeen in his shop for years. so, although, as you say, there are many hundredsof statues in london, it is very probable that these three were the only ones in thatdistrict. therefore, a local fanatic would begin withthem. what do you think, dr. watson?” “there are no limits to the possibilitiesof monomania,” i answered. “there is the condition which the modernfrench psychologists have called the ‘idee fixe,’ which may be trifling in character,and accompanied by complete sanity in every other way.

a man who had read deeply about napoleon,or who had possibly received some hereditary family injury through the great war, mightconceivably form such an ‘idee fixe’ and under its influence be capable of any fantasticoutrage.” “that won’t do, my dear watson,” saidholmes, shaking his head; “for no amount of ‘idee fixe’ would enable your interestingmonomaniac to find out 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, wherea sound might arouse the family, the bust was taken outside before being broken, whereasin the surgery, where there was less danger of an alarm, it was smashed where it stood. the affair seems absurdly trifling, and yeti dare call nothing trivial when i reflect that some of my most classic cases have hadthe least promising commencement. you will remember, watson, how the dreadfulbusiness of the abernetty family was first brought to my notice by the depth which theparsley had sunk into the butter upon a hot day. i can’t afford, therefore, to smile at yourthree broken busts, lestrade, and i shall

be very much obliged to you if you will letme hear of any fresh developments of so singular a chain of events.” the development for which my friend had askedcame in a quicker and an infinitely more tragic form than he could have imagined. i was still dressing in my bedroom next morningwhen 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 storyof 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, andi 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 dwellings.

as we drove up we found the railings in frontof 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 inthat fellow’s round shoulders and outstretched neck. what’s this, watson? the top steps swilled down and the other onesdry.

footsteps enough, anyhow! well, well, there’s lestrade at the frontwindow, and we shall soon know all about it.” the official received us with a very graveface and showed us into a sitting-room, where an exceedingly unkempt and agitated elderlyman, clad in a flannel dressing-gown, was pacing up and down. he was introduced to us as the owner of thehouse—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 avery much graver turn.” “what has it turned to, then?” “to murder. mr. harker, will you tell these gentlemenexactly what has occurred?” the man in the dressing-gown turned upon uswith a most melancholy face. “it’s an extraordinary thing,” saidhe, “that all my life i have been collecting other people’s news, and now that a realpiece of news has come 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 shouldhave interviewed myself and had two columns

in every evening paper. as it is i am giving away valuable copy bytelling my story over and over to a string of different people, and i can make no useof it myself. however, i’ve heard your name, mr. sherlockholmes, and if you’ll only explain this queer business i shall be paid for my troublein telling you the story.” holmes sat down and listened. “it all seems to centre round that bustof 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 doneat night, and i often write until the early morning. 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 that i heard some soundsdownstairs. i listened, but they were not repeated, andi concluded that they came from outside. then suddenly, about five minutes later, therecame 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 poker and went downstairs. when i entered this room i found the windowwide open, and i at once observed that the bust was gone from the mantelpiece. why any burglar should take such a thing passesmy understanding, for it was only a plaster cast and of no real value whatever. “you can see for yourself that anyone goingout 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 overa dead man who was lying there. i ran back for a light, and there was thepoor fellow, a great gash in his throat and the whole place swimming in blood. he lay on his back, his knees drawn up, andhis 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 standingover me in the hall.” “well, who was the murdered man?” askedholmes. “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 appearto be a labourer. a horn-handled clasp knife was lying in apool 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 nothingin his pockets save an apple, some string, a shilling map of london, and a photograph. here it is.”

it was evidently taken by a snap-shot froma small camera. it represented an alert, sharp-featured simianman with thick eyebrows, and a very peculiar projection of the lower part of the face likethe muzzle of a baboon. “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 anempty 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 orwas a most active man,” said he. “with an area beneath, it was no mean featto reach that window-ledge and open that window. getting back was comparatively simple. are you coming with us to see the remainsof your bust, mr. harker?” the disconsolate journalist had seated himselfat 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 outalready 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 doneon my own doorstep.” as we left the room we heard his pen travellingshrilly over the foolscap. the spot where the fragments of the bust hadbeen found was only a few hundred yards away. for the first time our eyes rested upon thispresentment of the great emperor, which seemed

to raise such frantic and destructive hatredin the mind of the . it lay scattered in splintered shards upon the grass. holmes picked up several of them and examinedthem 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, we have somesuggestive facts to act upon.

the possession of this trifling bust was worthmore in the eyes of this strange criminal than a human life. that is one point. then there is the singular fact that he didnot break it in the house, or immediately outside the house, if to break it was hissole object.” “he was rattled and bustled by meeting thisother fellow. he hardly knew what he was doing.” “well, that’s likely enough. but i wish to call your attention very particularlyto 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 thathe would not be disturbed in the garden.” “yes, but there is another empty house fartherup the street which he must have passed before he came to this one. why did he not break it there, since it isevident that every yard that he carried it increased the risk of someone meeting him?” “i give it up,” said lestrade. holmes pointed to the street lamp above ourheads.

“he could see what he was doing here andhe 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’sbust was broken not far from his red lamp. well, mr. holmes, what are we to do with thatfact?” “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 identify the dead man. there should be no difficulty about that. when we have found who he is and who his associatesare, 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 wayin which i should approach the case.” “what would you do, then?” “oh, you must not let me influence you inany way!

i suggest that you go on your line and i onmine. we can compare notes afterwards, and eachwill supplement the other.” “very good,” said lestrade. “if you are going back to pitt street youmight see mr. horace harker. tell him from me that i have quite made upmy mind, and that it is certain that a dangerous homicidal lunatic with napoleonic delusionswas 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. horaceharker and the subscribers of the central now, watson, i think that we shall find thatwe have a long and rather complex day’s work before us. i should be glad, lestrade, if you could makeit convenient to meet us at baker street at six o’clock this evening. until then i should like to keep this photographfound in the dead man’s pocket.

it is possible that i may have to ask yourcompany and assistance upon a small expedition which will have be undertaken to-night, ifmy chain of reasoning should prove to be correct. until then, good-bye and good luck!” sherlock holmes and i walked together to thehigh street, where he stopped at the shop of harding brothers, whence the bust had beenpurchased. a young assistant informed us that mr. hardingwould be absent until after noon, and that he was himself a newcomer who could give usno information. holmes’s face showed his disappointmentand annoyance. “well, well, we can’t expect to have itall 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 surmised, endeavouringto trace these busts to their source, in order to find if there is not something peculiarwhich may account for their remarkable fate. let us make for mr. morse hudson, of the kenningtonroad, and see if he can throw any light upon the problem.” a drive of an hour brought us to the picture-dealer’sestablishment. he was a small, stout man with a red faceand a peppery manner. “yes, sir. on my very counter, sir,” said he.

“what we pay rates and taxes for i don’tknow, when any ruffian can come in and break one’s goods. yes, sir, it was i who sold dr. barnicot histwo statues. disgraceful, sir! a nihilist plot, that’s what i make it. no one but an anarchist would go about breakingstatues. 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 themfrom gelder and 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, whomade himself useful in the shop. he could carve a bit and gild and frame, anddo odd jobs. the fellow left me last week, and i’ve heardnothing of him since. no, i don’t know where he came from norwhere he went to. i have nothing against him while he was here. he was gone two days before the bust was smashed.” holmes and watson talking with an older gentleman “well, that’s all we could reasonablyexpect to get 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 and co.,of stepney, the source and origin of busts. i shall be surprised if we don’t get somehelp down there.” in rapid succession we passed through thefringe of fashionable london, hotel london, theatrical london, literary london, commerciallondon, and, finally, maritime london, till we came to a riverside city of a hundred thousandsouls, where the tenement houses swelter and reek with the outcasts of europe. here, in a broad thoroughfare, once the abodeof wealthy city merchants, we found the sculpture

works for which we searched. outside was a considerable yard full of monumentalmasonry. inside was a large room in which fifty workerswere carving or moulding. the manager, a big blond german, receivedus civilly, and gave a clear answer to all holmes’s questions. a reference to his books showed that hundredsof casts had been taken from a marble copy of devine’s head of napoleon, but that thethree which had been sent to morse hudson a year or so before had been half of a batchof six, the other three being sent to harding brothers, of kensington.

there was no reason why those six should bedifferent to any of the other casts. he could suggest no possible cause why anyoneshould wish to destroy them—in fact, he laughed at the idea. their wholesale price was six shillings, butthe retailer would get twelve or more. the cast was taken in two moulds from eachside of the face, and then these two profiles of plaster of paris were joined together tomake the complete bust. the work was usually done by italians in theroom we were in. when finished the busts were put on a tablein the passage to dry, and afterwards stored. that was all he could tell us.

but the production of the photograph had aremarkable effect upon the manager. his face flushed with anger, and his browsknotted 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, andthen he came to the works with the police on his heels, and he was taken here.

beppo was his name—his second name i neverknew. serve me right for engaging a man with sucha 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 hasnot dared to show his nose here. we have a cousin of his here, and i dare sayhe could tell you where he is.” “no, no,” cried holmes, “not a wordto the cousin—not a word, i beg you. the matter is very important, and the fartheri go with it the more important 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. could you give me the date when beppo wasarrested?” “i could tell you roughly by the pay-list,”the manager answered. “yes,” he continued, after some turningover of pages, “he was paid last on may 20th.” “thank you,” said holmes. “i don’t think that i need intrude uponyour time 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 wereable to snatch a hasty luncheon at a restaurant. a news-bill at the entrance announced “kensingtonoutrage. murder by a madman,” and the contents ofthe paper showed that mr. horace harker had got his account into print after all. two columns were occupied with a highly sensationaland flowery rendering of the whole incident. holmes propped it against the cruet-standand read it while he ate. once or twice he chuckled.

“this is all right, watson,” said he. “listen to this: ‘it is satisfactory toknow that there can be no difference of opinion upon this case, since mr. lestrade, one ofthe most experienced members of the official force, and mr. sherlock holmes, the well-knownconsulting expert, have each come to the conclusion that the grotesque series of incidents, whichhave ended in so tragic a fashion, arise from lunacy rather than from deliberate crime. no explanation save mental aberration cancover 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 willhark back to kensington and see what the manager

of harding brothers has to say to the matter.” the founder of that great emporium provedto 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 accountin the evening papers. mr. horace harker is a customer of ours. we supplied him with the bust some monthsago. we ordered three busts of that sort from gelderand co., of stepney. they are all sold now. to whom?

oh, i dare say by consulting our sales bookwe 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 lodge, laburnum vale, chiswick, and one to mr. sandeford,of lower 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 workpeopleand cleaners. i dare say they might get a peep at that salesbook if they wanted to.

there is no particular reason for keepinga watch upon that book. well, well, it’s a very strange business,and i hope that you’ll let me know if anything comes of your inquiries.” holmes had taken several notes during mr.harding’s evidence, and i could see that he was thoroughly satisfied by the turn whichaffairs were taking. he made no remark, however, save that, unlesswe hurried, we should be late for our appointment with lestrade. sure enough, when we reached baker streetthe detective was already there, and we found him pacing up and down in a fever of impatience.

his look of importance showed that his day’swork had not been in vain. “well?” he asked. “what luck, mr. holmes?” “we have had a very busy day, and not entirelya wasted one,” my friend explained. “we have seen both the retailers and alsothe wholesale manufacturers. i can trace each of the busts now from thebeginning.” “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 ihave done a better day’s work than you.

i have identified the dead man.” “you don’t say so?” “and found a cause for the crime.” “splendid!” “we have an inspector who makes a specialtyof saffron hill and the italian quarter. well, this dead man had some catholic emblemround his neck, and that, along with his colour, made me think he was from the south. inspector hill knew him the moment he caughtsight of him. his name is pietro venucci, from naples, andhe is one of the greatest cut-throats in london.

he is connected with the mafia, which, asyou know, is a secret political society, enforcing its decrees by murder. now you see how the affair begins to clearup. 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 pocketis 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 explanationof the destruction of the busts.” “the busts! you never can get those busts out of yourhead. after all, that is nothing; petty larceny,six months at the most. it is the murder that we are really investigating,and i tell you that i am gathering 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 attain our end in a simplerway. i can’t say for certain, because it alldepends—well, it all depends upon a factor

which is completely outside our control. but i have great hopes—in fact, the bettingis exactly two to one—that if you will come with us to-night i shall be able to help youto lay him by the heels.” “in the italian quarter?” “no; i fancy chiswick is an address whichis 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 willbe done by the delay. and now i think that a few hours’ sleepwould do us all good, for i do not propose to leave before eleven o’clock, and it isunlikely that we shall be back before morning.

you’ll dine with us, lestrade, and thenyou are welcome to the sofa until it is time for us to start. in the meantime, watson, i should be gladif you would ring for an express messenger, for i have a letter to send, and it is importantthat it should go at once.” holmes spent the evening in rummaging amongthe files of the old daily papers with which one of our lumber-rooms was packed. when at last he descended it was with triumphin 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 stepthe methods by which he had traced the various

windings of this complex case, and, thoughi could not yet perceive the goal which we would reach, i understood clearly that holmesexpected this grotesque criminal to make an attempt upon the two remaining busts, oneof which, i remembered, was at chiswick. no doubt the object of our journey was tocatch him in the very act, and i could not but admire the cunning with which my friendhad inserted a wrong clue in the evening paper, so as to give the fellow the idea that hecould continue his scheme with impunity. i was not surprised when holmes suggestedthat i should take my revolver with me. he had himself picked up the loaded hunting-cropwhich 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 secluded roadfringed with pleasant houses, each standing in its own grounds. in the light of a street lamp we read “laburnumvilla” upon the gate-post of one of them. the occupants had evidently retired to rest,for all was dark save for a fanlight over the hall door, which shed a single blurredcircle on to the garden path. the wooden fence which separated the groundsfrom the road threw a dense black shadow upon the inner side, and here it was that we crouched.

“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 smoketo pass the time. however, it’s a two to one chance that weget something to pay us for our trouble.” it proved, however, that our vigil was notto be so long as holmes had led us to fear, and it ended in a very sudden and singularfashion. in an instant, without the least sound towarn us of his coming, the garden gate swung open, and a lithe, dark figure, as swift andactive as an ape, rushed up the garden path. we saw it whisk past the light thrown fromover the door and disappear against the black

shadow of the house. there was a long pause, during which we heldour 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 longsilence. the fellow was making his way into the house. we saw the sudden flash of a dark lanterninside the room. what he sought was evidently not there, foragain 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,” lestradewhispered. but before we could move the man had emergedagain. as he came out into the glimmering patch oflight we saw that he carried something white under his arm. he looked stealthily all round him. the silence of the deserted street reassuredhim. turning his back upon us he laid down hisburden, and the next instant there was the sound of a sharp tap, followed by a clatterand rattle.

the man was so intent upon what he was doingthat he never heard our steps as we stole across the grass plot. with the bound of a tiger holmes was on hisback, and an instant later lestrade and i had him by either wrist and the handcuffshad been fastened. as we turned him over i saw a hideous, sallowface, with writhing, furious features, glaring up at us, and i knew that it was indeed theman of the photograph whom we had secured. but it was not our prisoner to whom holmeswas giving his attention. squatted on the doorstep, he was engaged inmost carefully examining that which the man had brought from the house.

it was a bust of napoleon like the one whichwe had seen that morning, and it had been broken into similar fragments. carefully holmes held each separate shardto the light, but in no way did it differ from any other shattered piece of plaster. he had just completed his examination whenthe hall lights flew up, the door opened, and the owner of the house, a jovial, rotundfigure in shirt and trousers, presented himself. “mr. josiah brown, i suppose?” said holmes. “yes, sir; and you, no doubt, are mr. sherlockholmes? i had the note which you sent by the expressmessenger, and i did exactly what you told

me. we locked every door on the inside and awaiteddevelopments. well, i’m very glad to see that you havegot the rascal. i hope, gentlemen, that you will come in andhave some refreshment.” however, lestrade was anxious to get his maninto safe quarters, so within a few minutes our cab had been summoned and we were allfour upon our way to london. not a word would our captive say; but he glaredat us from the shadow of his matted hair, and once, when my hand seemed within his reach,he snapped at it like a hungry wolf. we stayed long enough at the police-stationto learn that a search of his clothing revealed

nothing save a few shillings and a long sheathknife, the handle of which bore copious traces of recent blood. “that’s all right,” said lestrade, aswe parted. “hill knows all these gentry, and he willgive a name to him. you’ll find that my theory of the mafiawill work out all right. but i’m sure i am exceedingly obliged toyou, 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 forexplanations,” said holmes.

“besides, there are one or two details whichare not finished off, and it is one of those cases which are worth working out to the veryend. if you will come round once more to my roomsat six o’clock to-morrow i think i shall be able to show you that even now you havenot grasped the entire meaning of this business, which presents some features which make itabsolutely original in the history of crime. if ever i permit you to chronicle any moreof my little problems, watson, i foresee that you will enliven your pages by an accountof the singular adventure of the napoleonic busts.” when we met again next evening lestrade wasfurnished with much information concerning

our prisoner. his name, it appeared, was beppo, second name. he was a well-known ne’er-do-well among the italian colony. he had once been a skilful sculptor and hadearned an honest living, 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, for stabbing a fellow-countryman. he could talk english perfectly well. his reasons for destroying the busts werestill , and he refused to answer 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 engagedin this class of work at the establishment of gelder and co. to all this information, much of which wealready knew, holmes listened with polite attention; but i, who knew him so well, couldclearly see that his thoughts were elsewhere, and i detected a mixture of mingled uneasinessand expectation beneath that mask which he 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 heard steps upon the stairs,and an elderly, red-faced man with grizzled

side-whiskers was ushered in. in his right hand he carried an old-fashionedcarpet-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 mypossession.” “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 one which is in yourpossession.’ 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 thatthey 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 avery 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 scruple does you honour,mr. sandeford. but i have named that price, so i intend tostick to it.” “well, it is very handsome of you, mr. holmes.

i brought the bust up with me, as you askedme to do. here it is!” he opened his bag, and at last we saw placedupon our table a complete specimen of that bust which we had already seen more than oncein fragments. holmes took a paper from his pocket and laida ten-pound note upon the table. “you will kindly sign that paper, mr. sandeford,in the presence of these witnesses. it is simply to say that you transfer everypossible right that you ever had in the bust to me. i am a methodical man, you see, and you neverknow 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 sherlockholmes’s movements were such as to rivet our attention. he began by taking a clean white cloth froma drawer and laying it over the table. then he placed his newly-acquired bust inthe centre of the cloth. finally, he picked up his hunting-crop andstruck napoleon a sharp blow on the top of the head. the figure broke into fragments, and holmesbent 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 fixed like a plum in a pudding. “gentlemen,” he cried, “let me introduceyou to the famous black pearl of the borgias.” lestrade and i sat silent for a moment, andthen, with a spontaneous impulse, we both broke out clapping as at the well-wroughtcrisis of a play. a flush of colour sprang to holmes’s palecheeks, and he bowed to us like the master dramatist who receives the homage of his audience. it was at such moments that for an instanthe ceased to be a reasoning machine, and betrayed his human love for admiration and applause. the same singularly proud and reserved naturewhich turned away with disdain from popular

notoriety was capable of being moved to itsdepths by spontaneous wonder and praise from a friend. “yes, gentlemen,” said he, “it is themost famous pearl now existing in the world, and it has been my good fortune, by a connectedchain of inductive reasoning, to trace it from the prince of colonna’s bedroom atthe dacre hotel, where it was lost, to the interior of this, the last of the six bustsof napoleon which were manufactured by gelder and co., of stepney. you will remember, lestrade, the sensationcaused by the disappearance of this valuable jewel, and the vain efforts of the londonpolice to recover it.

i was myself consulted upon the case; buti 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 failedto trace any connection between them. the maid’s name was lucretia venucci, andthere 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 oldfiles of the paper, and i find that the disappearance of the pearl was exactly two days before thearrest of beppo for some crime of violence, an event which took place in the factory ofgelder and 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 inverse order to the way in which they presented themselvesto me. beppo had the pearl in his possession. he may have stolen it from pietro, he mayhave 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 thecorrect 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 conceal this enormously valuableprize, which would otherwise be found on him when he was searched. six plaster casts of napoleon were dryingin the passage. one of them was still soft. in an instant beppo, a skilful workman, madea small hole in the wet plaster, dropped in the pearl, and with a few touches coveredover the aperture once more. it was an admirable hiding-place. no one could possibly find it. but beppo was condemned to a year’s imprisonment,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 asthe plaster was wet it was probable that the pearl would adhere to it—as, in fact, ithas done. beppo did not despair, and he conducted hissearch with considerable ingenuity and perseverance. through a cousin who works with gelder hefound out the retail 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 employe,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, whoheld beppo responsible for the loss of the pearl, and he stabbed him in the scuffle whichfollowed.” “if he was his confederate why should hecarry his photograph?” “as a means of tracing him if he wishedto inquire about him from any third person. that was the obvious reason.

well, after the murder i calculated that beppowould probably hurry rather than delay his movements. he would fear that the police would read hissecret, and so he hastened on before they should get ahead of him. of course, i could not say that he had notfound the pearl in harker’s bust. i had not even concluded for certain thatit was the pearl; but it was evident to me that he was looking for something, since hecarried the bust past the other houses in order to break it in the garden which hada lamp overlooking it. since harker’s bust was one in three thechances were exactly as i told you, two to

one against the pearl being inside it. there remained two busts, and it was obviousthat he would go for the london one first. i warned the inmates of the house, so as toavoid a second tragedy, and we went down with the happiest results. by that time, of course, i knew for certainthat it was the borgia pearl that we were after. the name of the murdered man linked the oneevent with the other. there only remained a single bust—the readingone—and the pearl must be there. i bought it in your presence from the owner—andthere it lies.”

we sat in silence for a moment. “well,” said lestrade, “i’ve seenyou handle a good many cases, mr. holmes, but i don’t know that i ever knew a moreworkmanlike one than that. we’re not jealous of you at scotland yard. no, sir, we are very proud of you, and ifyou come down to-morrow there’s not a man, from the oldest inspector to the youngestconstable, who wouldn’t be glad to shake you by the hand.” “thank you!” said holmes. “thank you!” and as he turned away itseemed to me that he was more nearly moved

by the softer human emotions than i had everseen him. a moment later he was the cold and practicalthinker once more. “put the pearl in the safe, watson,” saidhe, “and get out the papers of the conk-singleton forgery case. good-bye, lestrade. if any little problem comes your way i shallbe happy, if i can, to give you a hint or two as to its solution.”

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