“You will kindly sign that paper, Mr. Sandeford, in thepresence of these witnesses. It is simply to say that you transferevery possible right that you ever had in the bust to me. I am amethodical man, you see, and you never know what turn eventsmight take afterwards. Thank you, Mr. Sandeford; here is yourmoney, and I wish you a very good evening.”
When our visitor had disappeared, Sherlock Holmes’s movementswere such as to rivet our attention. He began by taking a cleanwhite cloth from a drawer and laying it over the table. Then heplaced his newly acquired bust in the centre of the cloth. Finally,he picked up his hunting-crop and struck Napoleon a sharp blowon the top of the head. The figure broke into fragments, andHolmes bent eagerly over the shattered remains. Next instant,with a loud shout of triumph he held up one splinter, in which around, dark object was fixed like a plum in a pudding.
“Gentlemen,” he cried, “let me introduce you to the famousblack pearl of the Borgias.”
Lestrade and I sat silent for a moment, and then, with aspontaneous impulse, we both broke at clapping, as at the wellwroughtcrisis of a play. A flush of colour sprang to Holmes’spale cheeks, and he bowed to us like the master dramatist whoreceives the homage of his audience. It was at such moments thatfor an instant he ceased to be a reasoning machine, and betrayedhis human love for admiration and applause. The same singularlyproud and reserved nature which turned away with disdain frompopular notoriety was capable of being moved to its depths byspontaneous wonder and praise from a friend.
“Yes, gentlemen,” said he, “it is the most famous pearl nowexisting in the world, and it has been my good fortune, by aconnected chain of inductive reasoning, to trace it from thePrince of Colonna’s bedroom at the Dacre Hotel, where it waslost, to the interior of this, the last of the six busts of Napoleonwhich were manufactured by Gelder & Co., of Stepney. You willremember, Lestrade, the sensation caused by the disappearanceof this valuable jewel and the vain efforts of the London police torecover it. I was myself consulted upon the case, but I was unableto throw any light upon it. Suspicion fell upon the maid of thePrincess, who was an Italian, and it was proved that she had abrother in London, but we failed to trace any connection betweenthem. The maid’s name was Lucretia Venucci, and there is nodoubt in my mind that this Pietro who was murdered two nightsago was the brother. I have been looking up the dates in the oldfiles of the paper, and I find that the disappearance of the pearlwas exactly two days before the arrest of Beppo, for some crimeof violence—an event which took place in the factory of Gelder& Co., at the very moment when these busts were being made.
Now you clearly see the sequence of events, though you see them,of course, in the inverse order to the way in which they presentedthemselves to me. Beppo had the pearl in his possession. He mayhave stolen it from Pietro, he may have been Pietro’s confederate,he may have been the go-between of Pietro and his sister. It is ofno consequence to us which is the correct solution.
“The main fact is that he had the pearl, and at that moment,when it was on his person, he was pursued by the police. He madefor the factory in which he worked, and he knew that he had onlya few minutes in which to conceal this enormously valuable prize,which would otherwise be found on him when he was searched.
Six plaster casts of Napoleon were drying in the passage. One ofthem was still soft. In an instant Beppo, a skilful workman, madea small hole in the wet plaster, dropped in the pearl, and witha few 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.