“Yes, but there is another empty house farther up the streetwhich he must have passed before he came to this one. Why didhe not break it there, since it is evident that every yard that hecarried 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 tothink of it, Dr. Barnicot’s bust was broken not far from his redlamp. Well, Mr. Holmes, what are we to do with that fact?”
“To remember it—to docket it. We may come on somethinglater which will bear upon it. What steps do you propose to takenow, Lestrade?”
“The most practical way of getting at it, in my opinion, is toidentify the dead man. There should be no difficulty about that.
When we have found who he is and who his associates are, weshould have a good start in learning what he was doing in PittStreet last night, and who it was who met him and killed him onthe doorstep of Mr. Horace Harker. Don’t you think so?”
“No doubt; and yet it is not quite the way in which I shouldapproach the case.”
“What would you do then?”
“Oh, you must not let me influence you in any way. I suggestthat you go on your line and I on mine. We can compare notesafterwards, and each will supplement the other.”
“Very good,” said Lestrade.
“If you are going back to Pitt Street, you might see Mr. HoraceHarker. Tell him for me that I have quite made up my mind,and that it is certain that a dangerous homicidal lunatic, withNapoleonic delusions, was in his house last night. It will be usefulfor 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 willinterest Mr. Horace Harker and the subscribers of the CentralPress Syndicate. Now, Watson, I think that we shall find that wehave a long and rather complex day’s work before us. I should beglad, Lestrade, if you could make it convenient to meet us at BakerStreet at six o’clock this evening. Until then I should like to keepthis photograph, found in the dead man’s pocket. It is possiblethat I may have to ask your company and assistance upon a smallexpedition which will have be undertaken to-night, if my chainof reasoning should prove to be correct. Until then good-bye andgood luck!”
Sherlock Holmes and I walked together to the High Street,where we stopped at the shop of Harding Brothers, whence thebust had been purchased. A young assistant informed us that Mr.
Harding would be absent until afternoon, and that he was himselfa newcomer, who could give us no information. Holmes’s faceshowed 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 doubtsurmised, endeavouring to trace these busts to their source, inorder to find if there is not something peculiar which may accountfor their remarkable fate. Let us make for Mr. Morse Hudson, ofthe Kennington Road, and see if he can throw any light upon theproblem.”
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 ratesand taxes for I don’t know, when any ruffian can come in andbreak one’s goods. Yes, sir, it was I who sold Dr. Barnicot his twostatues. Disgraceful, sir! A Nihilist plot—that’s what I make it.
No one but an anarchist would go about breaking statues. Redrepublicans—that’s what I call ‘em. Who did I get the statuesfrom? I don’t see what that has to do with it. Well, if you reallywant to know, I got them from Gelder & Co., in Church Street,Stepney. They are a well-known house in the trade, and have beenthis twenty years. How many had I? Three—two and one arethree—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-workman, 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 hecame from nor where he went to. I had nothing against him whilehe was here. He was gone two days before the bust was smashed.”
“Well, that’s all we could reasonably expect from MorseHudson,” said Holmes, as we emerged from the shop. “We havethis Beppo as a common factor, both in Kennington and inKensington, so that is worth a ten-mile drive. Now, Watson, let usmake for Gelder & Co., of Stepney, the source and origin of thebusts. I shall be surprised if we don’t get some help down there.”
In rapid succession we passed through the fringe of fashionableLondon, hotel London, theatrical London, literary London,commercial London, and, finally, maritime London, till we came toa riverside city of a hundred thousand souls, where the tenementhouses swelter and reek with the outcasts of Europe. Here, in abroad thoroughfare, once the abode of wealthy City merchants,we found the sculpture works for which we searched. Outsidewas a considerable yard full of monumental masonry. Inside wasa large room in which fifty workers were carving or moulding.
