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 frantic
and destructive hatred in the mind of the unknown. It lay scattered
in splintered shards 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 shrugged 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 rattled and bustled 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 pointed 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 from me that I have quite made up my mind, and that
it is certain that a dangerous homicidal lunatic with Napoleonic
delusions 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 Baker 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 he
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 after noon, and that he was himself a newcomer who could
give us no information. Holmes's face showed his disappointment and
annoyance.
"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 surmised,
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, stout 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 Anarchist 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 gild 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 have 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 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 &
Co., of Stepney, the source and origin of 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, theatrical London, literary London, commercial
London, and, finally, maritime London, till we came to a riverside
city of a hundred thousand souls, where the tenement houses swelter
and reek with the outcasts of Europe. Here, in a broad thoroughfare,
once the abode of wealthy City merchants, we found the sculpture
works for which we searched. Outside was a considerable yard full of
monumental masonry. Inside was a large room in which fifty workers
were carving or moulding. The manager, a big blond German, received
us civilly, and gave a 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 batch of six, the other three being sent to Harding Brothers, of
Kensington. There was no reason why those six should be different to
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
wholesale price was six shillings, but the retailer 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 dare say he could tell you where he is."
"No, no," cried Holmes, "not a word to the cousin--not a word, I beg
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 ledger 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 intrude 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 westward
once more.
The afternoon was far advanced before we were able to snatch a hasty
luncheon 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 sensational and
flowery rendering of the whole incident. Holmes propped it against
the cruet-stand and read it while he ate. Once or twice he chuckled.
"This is all right, Watson," said he. "Listen to this:
"It is satisfactory to know that there can be no difference 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 aberration 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
to the matter."
The founder 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 dare say 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 Lodge, Laburnum Vale, Chiswick, and one to Mr.
Sandeford, of Lower Grove 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 dare say 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'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 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 impatience. 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 entirely a wasted one," my
friend explained. "We have seen both the retailers 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,
