ubscribers of the Central Press Syndicate.Now, Watson, I think that we shall find that we have a long and rathercomplex day's work before us. I should be glad, Lestrade, if you couldmake it convenient to meet us at Baker Street at six o'clock thisevening. Until then I should like to keep this photograph found in thedead man's pocket. It is possible that I may have to ask your companyand assistance upon a small expedition which will have be undertakento-night, if my chain of reasoning should prove to be correct. Untilthen, good-bye and good luck!"
Sherlock Holmes and I walked together to the High Street, where hestopped at the shop of Harding Brothers, whence the bust had beenpurchased. A young assistant informed us that Mr. Harding would beabsent until after noon, and that he was himself a newcomer who couldgive us no information. Holmes's face showed his disappointment andannoyance.
"Well, well, we can't expect to have it all our own way, Watson," hesaid, at last. "We must come back in the afternoon if Mr. Hardingwill not be here until then. I am, as you have no doubt surmised,endeavouring to trace these busts to their source, in order to find ifthere is not something peculiar which may account for their remarkablefate. Let us make for Mr. Morse Hudson, of the Kennington Road, and seeif he can throw any light upon the problem."
A drive of an hour brought us to the picture-dealer's establishment. Hewas a small, stout man with a red face and a peppery manner.
"Yes, sir. On my very counter, sir," said he. "What we pay rates andtaxes for I don't know, when any ruffian can come in and break one'sgoods. Yes, sir, it was I who sold Dr. Barnicot his two statues.Disgraceful, sir! A Nihilist plot, that's what I make it. No one but anAnarchist would go about breaking statues. Red republicans, that's whatI call 'em. Who did I get the statues from? I don't see what that has todo with it. Well, if you really want to know, I got them from Gelderand Co., in Church Street, Stepney. They are a well-known house in thetrade, and have been this twenty years. How many had I? Three--two andone are three--two of Dr. Barnicot's and one smashed in broad daylighton my own counter. Do I know that photograph? No, I don't. Yes, I do,though. Why, it's Beppo. He was a kind of Italian piece-work man, whomade himself useful in the shop. He could carve a bit and gild andframe, and do odd jobs. The fellow left me last week, and I've heardnothing of him since. No, I don't know where he came from nor where hewent to. I have nothing against him while he was here. He was gone twodays before the bust was smashed."
"Well, that's all we could reasonably expect to get from Morse Hudson,"said Holmes, as we emerged from the shop. "We have this Beppo as acommon factor, both in Kennington and in Kensington, so that is worth aten-mile drive. Now, Watson, let us make for Gelder and Co., of Stepney,the source and origin of busts. I shall be surprised if we don't getsome help down there."
In rapid succession we passed through the fringe of fashionable London,hotel London, theatrical London, literary London, commercial London,and, finally, maritime London, till we came to a riverside city of ahundred thousand souls, where the tenement houses swelter and reek withthe outcasts of Europe. Here, in a broad thoroughfare, once the abodeof wealthy City merchants, we found the sculpture works for which wesearched. Outside was a considerable yard full of monumental masonry.Inside was a large room in which fifty workers were carving or moulding.The manager, a big blond German, received us civilly, and gave a clearanswer to all Holmes's questions. A reference to his books showed thathundreds of casts had been taken from a marble copy of Devine's head ofNapoleon, but that the three which had been sent to Morse Hudson a yearor so before had been half of a batch of six, the other three being sentto Harding Brothers, of Kensington. There was no reason why those sixshould be different to any of the other casts. He could suggest nopossible cause why anyone should wish to destroy them--in fact, helaughed at the idea. Their wholesale price was six shillings, but theretailer would get twelve or more. The cast was taken in two moulds fromeach side of the face, and then these two profiles of plaster of Pariswere joined together to make the complete bust. The work was usuallydone by Italians in the room we were in. When finished the busts wereput on a table in the passage to dry, and afterwards stored. That wasall he could tell us.
But the production of the photograph had a remarkable effect upon themanager. His face flushed with anger, and his brows knotted over hisblue Teutonic eyes.
"Ah, the rascal!" he cried. "Yes, indeed, I know him very well. This hasalways been a respectable establishment, and the only time that we haveever had the police in it was over this very fellow. It was more than ayear ago now. He knifed another Italian in the street, and then he cameto the works with the police on his heels, and he was taken here. Beppowas his name--his second name I never knew. Serve me right for engaginga man with such a face. But he was a good workman, one of the best."
"What did he get?"
"The man lived and he got off with a year. I have no doubt he is outnow; but he has not dared to show his nose here. We have a cousin of hishere, and I dare say he could tell you where he is."
"No, no," cried Holmes, "not a word to the cousin--not a word, I begyou. The matter is very important, and the farther I go with it the moreimportant it seems to grow. When you referred in your ledger to the saleof those casts I observed that the date was June 3rd of last year. Couldyou give me the date when Beppo was arrested?"
"I could tell you roughly by the pay-list," the manager answered. "Yes,"he continued, after some turning over of pages, "he was paid last on May20th."
"Thank you," said Holmes. "I don't think that I need intrude upon yourtime and patience any more." With a last word of caution that he shouldsay nothing as to our researches we turned our faces westward once more.
The afternoon was far advanced before we were able to snatch a hastyluncheon at a restaurant. A news-bill at the entrance announced"Kensington Outrage. Murder by a Madman," and the contents of the papershowed that Mr. Horace Harker had got his account into print afterall. Two columns were occupied with a highly sensational and floweryrendering of the whole incident. Holmes propped it against thecruet-stand and read it while he ate. Once or twice he chuckled.
"This is all right, Watson," said he. "Listen to this: 'It issatisfactory to know that there can be no difference of opinion uponthis case, since Mr. Lestrade, one of the most experienced members ofthe official force, and Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the well-known consultingexpert, have each come to the conclusion that the grotesque series ofincidents, which have ended in so tragic a fashion, arise from lunacyrather than from deliberate crime. No explanation save mental aberrationcan cover the facts.' The Press, Watson, is a most valuable institutionif you only know how to use it. And now, if you have quite finished,we will hark back to Kensington and see what the manager of HardingBrothers has to say to the matter."
The founder of that great emporium proved to be a brisk, crisp littleperson, very dapper and quick, with a clear head and a ready tongue.
"Yes, sir, I have already read the account in the evening papers. Mr.Horace Harker is a customer of ours. We supplied him with the bust somemonths ago. We ordered three busts of that sort from Gelder and Co., ofStepney. They are all sold now. To whom? Oh, I dare say by consultingour sales book we could very easily tell you. Yes, we have the entrieshere. One to Mr. Harker, you see, and one to Mr. Josiah Brown, ofLaburnum Lodge, Laburnum Vale, Chiswick, and one to Mr. Sandeford, ofLower Grove Road, Reading. No, I have never seen this face which youshow me in the photograph. You would hardly forget it, would you, sir,for I've seldom seen an uglier. Have we any Italians on the staff? Yes,sir, we have several among our workpeople and cleaners. I dare saythey might get a peep at that sales book if they wanted to. There is noparticular reason for keeping a watch upon that book. Well, well, it'sa very strange business, and I hope that you'll let me know if anythingcomes of your inquiries."
Holmes had taken several notes during Mr. Harding's evidence, and Icould see that he was thoroughly satisfied by the turn which affairswere taking. He made no remark, however, save that, unless we hurried,we should be late for our appoi
ntment with Lestrade. Sure enough, whenwe reached Baker Street the detective was already there, and we foundhim pacing up and down in a fever of impatience. His look of importanceshowed that his day's work had not been in vain.
"Well?" he asked. "What luck, Mr. Holmes?"
"We have had a very busy day, and not entirely a wasted one," my friendexplained. "We have seen both the retailers and also the wholesalemanufacturers. I can trace each of the busts now from the beginning."
"The busts!" cried Lestrade. "Well, well, you have your own methods, Mr.Sherlock Holmes, and it is not for me to say a word against them, butI think I have done a better day's work than you. I have identified thedead man."
"You don't say so?"
"And found a cause for the crime."
"Splendid!"
"We have an inspector who makes a specialty of Saffron Hill and theItalian quarter. Well, this dead man had some Catholic emblem round hisneck, and that, along with his colour, made me think he was from theSouth. Inspector Hill knew him the moment he caught sight of him. Hisname is Pietro Venucci, from Naples, and he is one of the greatestcut-throats in London. He is connected with the Mafia, which, as youknow, is a secret political society, enforcing its decrees by murder.Now you see how the affair begins to clear up. The other fellow isprobably an Italian also, and a member of the Mafia. He has brokenthe rules in some fashion. Pietro is set upon his track. Probably thephotograph we found in his pocket is the man himself, so that he may notknife the wrong person. He dogs the fellow, he sees him enter a house,he waits outside for him, and in the scuffle he receives his owndeath-wound. How is that, Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"
Holmes clapped his hands approvingly.
"Excellent, Lestrade, excellent!" he cried. "But I didn't quite followyour explanation of the destruction of the busts."
"The busts! You never can get those busts out of your head. After all,that is nothing; petty larceny, six months at the most. It is the murderthat we are really investigating, and I tell you that I am gathering allthe threads into my hands."