Six plaster casts of Napoleon were drying in the passage. One ofthem was still soft. In an instant Beppo, a skilful workman, madesmall hole in the wet plaster, dropped in the pearl, and withfew touches covered over the aperture once more. It was anadmirable hiding-place. No one could possibly find it. But Beppowas condemned to a year’s imprisonment, and in the meanwhilehis six busts were scattered over London. He could not tell whichcontained his treasure. Only by breaking them could he see. Evenshaking would tell him nothing, for as the plaster was wet it wasprobable that the pearl would adhere to it—as, in fact, it hasdone. Beppo did not despair, and he conducted his search withconsiderable ingenuity and perseverance. Through a cousin whoworks with Gelder, he found out the retail firms who had boughtthe busts. He managed to find employment with Morse Hudson,and in that way tracked down three of them. The pearl was notthere. Then, with the help of some Italian employee, he succeededin finding out where the other three busts had gone. The first wasat Harker’s. There he was dogged by his confederate, who heldBeppo responsible for the loss of the pearl, and he stabbed him inthe scuffle which followed.”
“If he was his confederate, why should he carry his photograph?”
I asked.
“As a means of tracing him, if he wished to inquire about himfrom any third person. That was the obvious reason. Well, afterthe murder I calculated that Beppo would probably hurry ratherthan delay his movements. He would fear that the police wouldread his secret, and so he hastened on before they should getahead of him. Of course, I could not say that he had not foundthe pearl in Harker’s bust. I had not even concluded for certainthat it was the pearl, but it was evident to me that he was lookingfor something, since he carried the bust past the other houses inorder to break it in the garden which had a lamp overlooking it.
Since Harker’s bust was one in three, the chances were exactlyas I told you—two to one against the pearl being inside it. Thereremained two busts, and it was obvious that he would go for theLondon one first. I warned the inmates of the house, so as toavoid a second tragedy, and we went down, with the happiestresults. By that time, of course, I knew for certain that it was theBorgia pearl that we were after. The name of the murdered manlinked the one event with the other. There only remained a singlebust—the Reading one—and the pearl must be there. I bought itin your presence from the owner—and there it lies.”
We sat in silence for a moment.
“Well,” said Lestrade, “I’ve seen you handle a good many cases,Mr. Holmes, but I don’t know that I ever knew a more workmanlikeone than that. We’re not jealous of you at Scotland Yard. No, sir, weare very proud of you, and if you come down to-morrow, there’s nota man, from the oldest inspector to the youngest constable, whowouldn’t be glad to shake you by the hand.”
“Thank you!” said Holmes. “Thank you!” and as he turned away,it seemed to me that he was more nearly moved by the softerhuman emotions than I had ever seen him. A moment later hewas the cold and practical thinker once more. “Put the pearl inthe safe, Watson,” said he, “and get out the papers of the Conk-Singleton forgery case. Good-bye, Lestrade. If any little problemcomes your way, I shall be happy, if I can, to give you a hint or twoas to its solution.”
The Adventure of the Three Students
It was in the year ‘95 that a combination of events, into whichI need not enter, caused Mr. Sherlock Holmes and myself tospend some weeks in one of our great university towns, and it wasduring this time that the small but instructive adventure which998 The Complete Sherlock Holmes am about to relate befell us. It will be obvious that any detailswhich would help the reader exactly to identify the college or thecriminal would be injudicious and offensive. So painful a scandalmay well be allowed to die out. With due discretion the incidentitself may, however, be described, since it serves to illustrate someof those qualities for which my friend was remarkable. I willendeavour, in my statement, to avoid such terms as would serveto limit the events to any particular place, or give a clue as to thepeople concerned.
We were residing at the time in furnished lodgings close tolibrary where Sherlock Holmes was pursuing some laboriousresearches in early English charters—researches which led toresults so striking that they may be the subject of one of myfuture narratives. Here it was that one evening we received a visitfrom an acquaintance, Mr. Hilton Soames, tutor and lecturer atthe College of St. Luke’s. Mr. Soames was a tall, spare man, of anervous and excitable temperament. I had always known him tobe restless in his manner, but on this particular occasion he was insuch a state of uncontrollable agitation that it was clear somethingvery unusual had occurred.
“I trust, Mr. Holmes, that you can spare me a few hours of yourvaluable time. We have had a very painful incident at St. Luke’s,and really, but for the happy chance of your being in town, Ishould have been at a loss what to do.”
“I am very busy just now, and I desire no distractions,” myfriend answered. “I should much prefer that you called in the aidof the police.”
“No, no, my dear sir; such a course is utterly impossible. Whenonce the law is evoked it cannot be stayed again, and this is justone of those cases where, for the credit of the college, it is mostessential to avoid scandal. Your discretion is as well known as yourpowers, and you are the one man in the world who can help me. Ibeg you, Mr. Holmes, to do what you can.”
My friend’s temper had not improved since he had beendeprived of the congenial surroundings of Baker Street. Withouthis scrapbooks, his chemicals, and his homely untidiness, he wasan uncomfortable man. He shrugged his shoulders in ungraciousacquiescence, while our visitor in hurried words and with muchexcitable gesticulation poured forth his story.
