A four-wheeler was at the door at eleven, and in it we drove to aspot at the other side of Hammersmith Bridge. Here the cabmanwas directed to wait. A short walk brought us to a secluded roadfringed with pleasant houses, each standing in its own grounds. Inthe light of a street lamp we read “Laburnum Villa” upon the gatepostof one of them. The occupants had evidently retired to rest,for all was dark save for a fanlight over the hall door, which shedsingle blurred circle on to the garden path. The wooden fencewhich separated the grounds from the road threw a dense blackshadow upon the inner side, and here it was that we crouched.
“I fear that you’ll have a long wait,” Holmes whispered. “Wemay thank our stars that it is not raining. I don’t think we caneven venture to smoke to pass the time. However, it’s a two to onechance that we get something to pay us for our trouble.”
It proved, however, that our vigil was not to be so long asHolmes had led us to fear, and it ended in a very sudden andsingular fashion. In an instant, without the least sound to warn usof his coming, the garden gate swung open, and a lithe, dark figure,as swift and active as an ape, rushed up the garden path. We sawwhisk past the light thrown from over the door and disappearagainst the black shadow of the house. There was a long pause,during which we held our breath, and then a very gentle creakingsound came to our ears. The window was being opened. The noiseceased, and again there was a long silence. The fellow was makinghis 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 throughanother.
“Let us get to the open window. We will nab him as he climbsout,” Lestrade whispered.
But before we could move, the man had emerged again. Ashe came out into the glimmering patch of light, we saw that hecarried something white under his arm. He looked stealthily allround him. The silence of the deserted street reassured him.
Turning his back upon us he laid down his burden, and the nextinstant there was the sound of a sharp tap, followed by a clatterand rattle. The man was so intent upon what he was doing thathe never heard our steps as we stole across the grass plot. Withthe bound of a tiger Holmes was on his back, and an instant laterLestrade and I had him by either wrist, and the handcuffs hadbeen fastened. As we turned him over I saw a hideous, sallow face,with writhing, furious features, glaring up at us, and I knew that itwas indeed the man of the photograph whom we had secured.
But it was not our prisoner to whom Holmes was giving hisattention. Squatted on the doorstep, he was engaged in mostcarefully examining that which the man had brought from thehouse. It was a bust of Napoleon, like the one which we had seenthat morning, and it had been broken into similar fragments.
Carefully Holmes held each separate shard to the light, but in noway did it differ from any other shattered piece of plaster. He hadjust completed his examination when the hall lights flew up, thedoor opened, and the owner of the house, a jovial, rotund figure inshirt and trousers, presented himself.
“Mr. Josiah Brown, I suppose?” said Holmes.
“Yes, sir; and you, no doubt, are Mr. Sherlock Holmes? I had thenote which you sent by the express messenger, and I did exactlywhat you told me. We locked every door on the inside and awaiteddevelopments. Well, I’m very glad to see that you have got therascal. I hope, gentlemen, that you will come in and have somerefreshment.”
However, Lestrade was anxious to get his man into 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, buthe glared at us from the shadow of his matted hair, and once, whenmy 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 ofhis 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, as we parted. “Hill knows all thesegentry, and he will give a name to him. You’ll find that my theoryof the Mafia will work out all right. But I’m sure I am exceedinglyobliged to you, Mr. Holmes, for the workmanlike way in which youlaid 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, andis one of those cases which are worth working out to the veryend. If you will come round once more to my rooms at six o’clockto-morrow, I think I shall be able to show you that even nowyou have not grasped the entire meaning of this business, whichpresents some features which make it absolutely original in thehistory of crime. If ever I permit you to chronicle any more of mylittle problems, Watson, I foresee that you will enliven your pagesby an account of the singular adventure of the Napoleonic busts.”
When we met again next evening, Lestrade was furnished withmuch information concerning our prisoner. His name, it appeared,was Beppo, second name unknown. He was a well-known ne’erdo-well among the Italian colony. He had once been a skilfulsculptor and had earned an honest living, but he had taken toevil courses and had twice already been in jail—once for a pettytheft, and once, as we had already heard, for stabbing a fellowcountryman.
