The Adventure of the Six Napoleons - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (0:00)

The Adventure of the Six Napoleons.

It was no very unusual thing for Mr. Lestrade of Scotland Yard to look in upon us of an evening, and his visits were welcome to Sherlock Holmes, for they enabled him to keep in touch with all that was going on at the police headquarters. In return for the news which Lestrade would bring, Holmes was always ready to listen with attention to the details of any case upon which the detective was engaged, and was able occasionally, without any active interference, to give some hint or suggestion drawn from his own vast knowledge and experience. On this particular evening Lestrade had spoken of the weather and the newspapers. Then he had fallen silent, puffing thoughtfully at his cigar. Holmes looked keenly at him. Anything remarkable on hand? he asked. Oh, no, Mr. Holmes. Nothing very particular. Then tell me about it. Lestrade laughed. Well, Mr. Holmes, there is no use denying that there is something on my mind, and yet it is such an absurd business that I hesitated to bother you about it.

On the other hand, although it is trivial, it is undoubtedly queer, and I know that you have a taste for all that is out of the common. But, in my opinion, it comes more in Dr. Watson's line than ours. Disease, said I. Madness, anyhow. And a queer madness, too. You wouldn't think there was anyone living at this time of day who was such a hatred of Napoleon I that he would break any image of him that he could see. Holmes sank back in his chair. That's no business of mine, said he.

Exactly. That's what I said. But then when the man commits burglary in order to break images which are not his own, that brings it away from the doctor and on to the policeman. Holmes sat up again. Burglary? This is more interesting. Let me hear the details. Lestrade took out his official notebook and refreshed his memory from its pages. The first place reported was four days ago, said he. It was at a shop of Morse Hudson. It was a place for the sale of pictures and statues in the Kennington Road.

The assistant had left the front shop for an instant, when he heard a crash, and, hurrying in, he found a plaster bust of Napoleon which stood with several other works of art upon the counter, lying shivered into fragments. He rushed out into the road, but although several passers-by reclared that they had noticed a man run out of the shop, he could neither see anyone, nor could he find any means of identifying the rascal. It seemed to be one of those senseless acts of hooliganism which occur from time to time, and it was reported to the constable on the beat as such. The plaster cast was not worth more than a few shillings, and the whole affair appeared to be too childish for any particular investigation.

The second case, however, was more serious, and also more singular. It occurred only last night. In Kennington Road and within a few hundred yards of Morse Hudson's shop there lives a well-known medical practitioner named Dr. Barnicott, who is one of the largest practices upon the south side of the Stemms. His residence and principal consulting room is at Kennington Road. But he has a branch surgery and dispensary at Lower Brixton Road, two miles away. This Dr. Barnicott is an enthusiastic admirer of Napoleon, and his house is full of books, pictures, and relics of the French Emperor. Some little time ago he purchased from Morse Hudson two duplicate plaster casts of the famous head of Napoleon by the French sculptor de Vigne. One of these he placed in his hall, in the house at Kennington Road, and the other on the mantelpiece of the surgery at Lower Brixton. Well, when Dr. Barnicott came down this morning, he was astonished to find that his house had been burgled during the night, but that nothing had been taken save the plaster head from the hall. It had been carried out, and had been dashed savagely against the garden wall, under which its splintered fragments were discovered.

Holmes rubbed his hands. This is certainly very novel, said he. I thought it would please you, but I have not got to the end yet. Dr. Barnicott was due at his surgery at twelve o'clock, and you can imagine his amazement when on arriving there. He found that the window had been opened in the night, and that the broken pieces of his second bust were strewn all over the room. It had been smashed to atoms where it stood. In neither case were there any signs which could give us a clue as to the criminal or lunatic who had done the mischief. Now, Mr. Holmes, you have got the facts. They are singular, not to say grotesque, said Holmes. May I ask whether the two busts smashed in Dr. Barnicott's rooms were the exact duplicates of the one which was destroyed in Morse Hudson's shop? They were taken from the same mould.