"So we can link this man Beppo to three busts," said Holmes as we left Morse Hudson's shop. "Now, Watson, let's head for Gelder and Company, the sculpture works where the busts were made."
We found the factory down by the waterfront. Outside was a yard filled with sculptures. Inside was a large room where fifty workers were carving or molding. The manager checked his ledgers and said that hundreds of copies had been made of the Napoleon sculpture. About a year ago, six had been made; three were sold to Morse Hudson's shop and three to the Harding Brothers shop.
"Was there anything different about those six busts?" asked Holmes.
"No." The manager began to laugh. "I don't understand why anyone would want to steal them. They're just cheap plaster copies."
He explained that the cast was made in two molds from each side of the statue's face. Then those two profiles were joined together to complete the bust. Italian immigrants usually did the work in the room where we were standing. When finished, the busts were put on a table to dry, and then they were stored until sold.
"That's all I can tell you," said the manager.
Up until this point, he had calmly answered all Holmes' questions. But when Holmes showed him the photograph of Beppo, a remarkable change came over the manager. His face flushed with anger.
"Ah, the rascal!" he cried. "Yes indeed, I know him well. This has always been a respectable business, and the only time we've had the police here was because of this fellow. It was more than a year ago now."
The manager explained that Beppo had knifed another Italian man in the street. Then he fled to the sculpture factory, where the police arrested him.
"How long a prison sentence did he get?" I asked.
"The man he knifed didn't die, so Beppo was sentenced to only a year in prison," said the manager. "I have no doubt he's out now, but he hasn't dared to show his face around here. One of his cousins works for us and I suppose that man could tell you where he is."
"No, no!" cried Holmes. "Not a word to the cousin, not a word to anyone. This case is very important, and the farther I go with it, the more important it seems to grow. When you checked your ledgers for the sale of those six sculptures, I noticed that the date was June 3rd last year. Could you tell me the date when Beppo was arrested?"
"I could tell you roughly by the pay list." The manager turned some pages in another record book. "Yes, we paid his final wages on May 30th."
"Thank you," said Holmes. "I don't think that I need to intrude on your time and patience anymore."
At this point we left the factory and searched out a restaurant for a late lunch. We passed a newsboy hawking the latest edition of the newspaper. A sign at his feet announced the front page headline: "Kensington Outrage. Maniac Commits Murder."
Holmes bought a copy of the paper and read it while we ate. "Mr. Horace Harker has managed to write something after all," he said with a smile. "Harker says here that Lestrade and I agree that the murderer is a homicidal maniac with a fixation on Napoleon. The press can be a useful ally, Watson, if you know how to use it. This false clue will make the murderer feel that we are off his trail. And now, if you've finished eating, we'll return to Harding Brothers to ask Harding about the three Napoleon busts that he purchased."
This time Mr. Harding was in when we called. He had already read the account of the murder in newspapers. By consulting his ledger, he was able to tell us that he'd sold one bust to Mr. Harker, one to Mr. Brown in Chiswick, and one to Mr. Sandeford in Reading. Holmes showed him Beppo's photograph.
"No, I've never seen that man before," said Mr. Harding.
"Do you have any Italian immigrants on your staff?" asked Holmes. "And would they have access to that ledger?"
"Yes, we have several Italians among our workers. I guess they might take a look at that ledger if they wanted to; there's nothing to stop them."
Holmes had made some notes while Mr. Harding talked, and I could see that the detective was satisfied by the way things were going. As we left the shop, however, he said nothing except that we had to hurry or we'd be late for our appointment with Lestrade.
Sure enough when we reached Baker Street, we found Lestrade impatiently pacing our sitting room. I could tell from his expression that he was bursting to tell us something.
"Have you had any luck today, Mr. Holmes?" asked Lestrade.
"I can trace each of the busts now from the manufacturer to the owner."
"The busts!" cried Lestrade. "It's not for me to criticize your methods, but I think I've done a better day's work than you have. I've identified the dead man and found a motive for the crime!"
"Really?" said Holmes. "Splendid!"
"We have an inspector who knows the Italian Quarter well," explained Lestrade. "Inspector Hill recognized the dead man right away. His name is Pietro Venucci, and he's one of the most vicious murderers in London."
"Venucci," Holmes said quietly to himself.
Lestrade's theory was that the man in the photograph was probably another Italian whom Venucci wanted to kill for some reason.
"Venucci had the photograph so that he could identify the man to be killed; he wouldn't want to knife the wrong person," said Lestrade. "After seeing the man climb through the window at Harker's house, Venucci waited outside for him. When the man came out, they scuffled and Venucci was the one who ended up dead."
Holmes clapped his hands. "Excellent, Lestrade! But I don't quite see where the busts fit into your theory."
"The busts! Why can't you get those out of your head? I'm investigating a murder here, not a petty crime. Come down to the Italian Quarter with me and we'll find the murderer."
"I think the place to find the man will be Chiswick," said Holmes. "Come with me to Chiswick tonight, and if my plan fails, I'll go to the Italian Quarter with you tomorrow. Meanwhile, Watson, ring for an express messenger. I have an important letter that must be sent right away."
Holmes did not intend to leave for Chiswick before eleven o'clock, so he offered Lestrade supper and a place to nap for a few hours. In the meantime he spent the evening rummaging through his files of old newspapers. When he finished, he had a look of triumph in his eyes but he said nothing.
For my part, I remembered that one of the two remaining busts was sold to a man in Chiswick. The purpose of our late night journey was undoubtedly to catch the thief in the act of stealing another bust.
Later, after we stepped into the cab, Holmes turned to me. "I do hope you brought your revolver, Watson."