Sherlock Holmes, The Adventure of the Six Napoleons 1: Crime or Illness?
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It was not unusual for Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard to spend the evening at our Baker Street lodgings. The great detective Sherlock Holmes welcomed these visits because they enabled him to keep up on everything that was happening at police headquarters. In return, Holmes was always ready to listen to the details of any case that was puzzling Lestrade. My friend could sometimes give Lestrade a helpful suggestion without actually getting involved in the case.
On this particular evening Lestrade had talked about the weather and the newspaper headlines. Then the inspector had fallen silent, puffing thoughtfully on his cigar. Holmes looked keenly at him.
"Do you have any unusual cases right now?" asked Holmes.
"Oh, no, Mr. Holmes. Nothing at all."
"Then tell me about it," urged Holmes.
Lestrade laughed.
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"Well, Mr. Holmes, there's no use denying that something is on my mind. And yet it's such an absurd business that I hesitate to bother you about it. In fact, the case may be of more interest to Dr. Watson than to you."
"Does it involve an illness?" I asked.
"Possibly insanity," said Lestrade. "And a strange form of insanity too. There is a man with such a strong hatred of Napoleon. He's destroying every statue of the emperor he sees."
Holmes sank back into his chair. "That's not a case for me."
"Exactly. That's what I thought," said Lestrade. "But when the man commits burglary in order to break the statues, then the case becomes something for the police, not the doctor."
"Burglary!" Holmes sat up straight. "This is more interesting. Let me hear the details."
Lestrade took out his official notebook.
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He refreshed his memory by glancing through his notes. "The first case was reported four days ago at the shop of Morse Hudson, a dealer in pictures and statues."
Hudson's shop consisted of two rooms: the sales area at the front of the shop and a back room that served as an office and stockroom. The sales clerk had just stepped into the back room for a moment when he heard a crash from the front of the store. Hurrying out, he found a plaster bust of Napoleon lying in fragments on the counter, where it had stood with several other works of art.
The clerk then rushed into the street. Several passersby said that they had noticed a man running from the shop. But the sales clerk could neither see the man nor find any way to identify him. It seemed to be one of those senseless acts of vandalism that occur from time to time, and that's how the sales clerk reported it to the police.
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"The plaster cast was not worth more than a few shillings," said Lestrade. "The whole affair didn't appear to be worth much investigation. The second case, however, was more serious and also more unusual. It occurred just last night."
Lestrade said that within a few hundred yards of Morse Hudson's shop, there lived a well-known physician named Dr. Barnicot. His residence and main office were in the same building, but he also had a smaller, second office two miles away.
"This Dr. Barnicot is an enthusiastic admirer of Napoleon, and his house is full of books, pictures, and historical objects relating to the emperor," explained Lestrade. A while ago the doctor purchased two identical plaster casts of a famous bust of Napoleon. He placed one of these in the front hall of his house and the other on the mantel in his office two miles away.
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"When Dr. Barnicot came downstairs this morning, he was astonished to find that his house had been broken into overnight," said Lestrade. "Nothing had been taken except the plaster cast in the front hall. It had been carried outside and dashed savagely against the garden wall. The broken pieces of the statue were found at the base of the wall."
Holmes rubbed his hands together. "This is certainly very unusual."
"I thought it would interest you, Holmes, but I'm not yet at the end of the story," said Lestrade. "After working at his main office in the morning, Dr. Barnicot was due at his second office at noon. Imagine his amazement when he arrived and found that a window had been opened during the night! Broken pieces of the second bust were strewn all over the room; it had been smashed to bits."
"Was there anything to give you a clue about the person who had done the mischief?" Holmes asked.
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"No," said Lestrade. "Now that you have all the facts, Mr. Holmes, what do you make of them?"
"They are unusual," admitted Holmes. "Were the two busts belonging to Dr. Barnicot identical to the one that was destroyed in Morse Hudson's shop?"
"They were made from the same mold," said Lestrade. "What do you think of the case, Dr. Watson?"
"Anything can happen when someone becomes obsessed with one idea," I said. "A person may appear sane in every other way, and yet become fixated on one subject or one person such as Napoleon."
"That doesn't explain this situation," said Holmes. "No matter how obsessed this person was with Napoleon, how could he have known where the busts were?"
"Well, how do you explain it?" I asked him with some irritation.
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"I don't attempt to explain it," answered Holmes. "I merely observe that there is a certain method in the man's eccentric actions. For example, in Dr. Barnicot's front hall, where a noise might awaken the family sleeping upstairs, the bust was taken outside before being broken. At the office, where there was less danger of anyone hearing anything, it was smashed right where it stood."
Lestrade and I agreed that the whole affair seemed absurdly insignificant when compared to other crimes, but Holmes was not yet ready to dismiss the case.
"When I consider that some of my most famous cases had the least promising beginnings, I don't dare to call anything trivial," said Holmes. "You will remember, Watson, how the dreadful business of the Abernetty family was brought to my attention by how deep the parsley had sunk into the butter on a hot day. I can't afford, therefore, to smile at your three broken busts, Lestrade.
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I shall be very much obliged if you will let me hear of any fresh developments."
The next development came more quickly, and in a more tragic form, than Holmes could have imagined. I was still dressing in my bedroom the next morning when there was a tap on my door. Holmes entered with a telegram in his hand. He read it aloud: Come instantly, 131 Pitt Street, Kensington.–Lestrade
"What does it mean?" I asked, hurrying into my jacket.
"I don't know. It could be anything, but I suspect there are new developments in the story of the busts. In that case our vandal has begun operations in another part of London."
Holmes turned to leave my room. "There's coffee on the table, Watson, and I have a cab waiting at the door."