Music Welcome to snoozecast. The podcast is designed to help you fall asleep. Find a set snoozecast.com and if you enjoy our show, please share us with a friend. This episode is brought to you by The Italian Quarter. Tonight, we'll read the second half to the adventure of the six Napoleon's written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle as part of 1903's The Return of Sherlock Holmes, the first half aired last week. In the previous episode, Sherlock Holmes is approached by Le Straude about a peculiar case involving a series of smashed plaster busts of Napoleon. While initially seeming trivial, the case escalates when a murder is discovered at the scene of one of the Braggins.

Holmes begins piecing together clues, tracing the busts origins, and uncovering connections to an eclimatic Italian craftsman hinting at a deeper motive behind the crimes. Let's get cozy.

Close your eyes. Relax your body into the softness of your bed. Now, take a few deep breaths. In rapid succession we passed through the fringe of fashionable London, hotel London, theatrical Theatrical London, Literary London, Commercial London, and finally Maritime London. Till we came to a riverside city of 100,000 souls, where the Tenement House is swerved and wreaked with the outcasts of Europe. Here in a broad thoroughfare, once the abode of wealthy city merchants, we found the sculpture works for which we searched. Outside was a considerable yard full of monumental masonry. Inside was a large room in which 50 workers were carving or molding. The manager, a big blonde German, received us civilly and

gave a clear answer to all Holmes' questions. A reference to his books showed that hundreds of casts had been taken from a marble copy of Divine's head of Napoleon. But that the three which had been sent to Morse Hudson a year or so before had been half of a batch of six, the other three being sent to Harding Brothers of Kensington. There was no reason why those six should be different from any of the other castes. He could suggest no possible cause why anyone should wish to destroy them. In fact, he laughed at the idea. Their wholesale price was six shillings, but the retailer would get twelve or more. The cast was taken in two molds from each side of the face, and then these two profiles of plaster of Paris were joined together to make the complete bust.

The work was usually done by Italians, in the room we were in. When finished, the busts were put on a table in the passage to dry, and afterwards stored, that was all he could tell us. But the production of the photograph had a remarkable effect upon the manager. His face flushed with anger, and his brows nodded over his blue eyes. Ah, the rascal, he cried. Yes, indeed, I know him very well. This has always been a respectable establishment, and the only time that we have ever had the police in it was over this very fellow. It was more than a year ago now. He assaulted another Italian in the street, and then he came to the works with the police on his heels, and he was taken there. Bepo was his name. His second name I ever knew. Serve me right for engaging a man with such a face. But he was a good workman, one of the best. What did he get? The man lived and he got off with a year. I have no doubt he's out now, but he is not dared to show his nose here. We have a cousin of his years. And I dare say he could tell you where he is. No, no, cried homes. Not a word to the cousin, not a word. I beg of you. The matter is very important. And the farther I go with it, the more important it seems to grow.

When you referred in your ledger to the sale of those casts, I observed that the date was June 3 of last year. Could you give me the date when Beppo was arrested? I could tell you roughly by the pay list, the manager answered. Yes, he continued, after some turning over of pages. He was paid last on May 20th. Thank you, said Holmes. I don't think that I need intrude upon your time and patience anymore. With the last word of caution that he should say nothing to our researchers, we turned our faces westward once more. The afternoon was far advanced before we were able to snatch a hasty luncheon at a restaurant. A news bill at the entrance announced Kensington Outrage. Madman on the loose. And the contents of the paper showed that Mr. Horace Harker had got his account into print after all. Two columns were occupied with a highly sensational and flowery rendering of the whole incident. Holmes propped it against the stand and read it while he ate. Once or twice he chuckled. This is all right, Watson," said he.

Listen to this. It is satisfactory to know that there can be no difference of opinion upon this case. Since Mr. Lestrade, one of the most experienced members of the official force, and Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the well-known consulting expert, have each come to the conclusion that the Grotesque series of incidents, which have ended in so tragic a fashion, arise from lunacy rather than from deliberate crime. No explanation-safe mental aberration can cover the facts. The press Watson is a most valuable institution, if you only know how to use it, and now, if you have quite finished, we will hark back to Kensington and see what the manager of Harding Brothers has to say on the matter. The founder of the great Emporium proved to be a brisk, crisp little person, very dapper and quick, with a clear head and a ready tongue. And yes, sir, I have already read the account in the evening papers. Mr. Horace Harker as a customer of ours. We supplied him with the bus to some months ago. We ordered three buss of that sort from Gelder and Company. They are all sold now. To whom? Oh, I dare say, by consulting our salesbooks, we could very easily tell you, yes, we have the entries here. The one to Mr. Harker, you see, and one to Mr. Hoseyabrown, and one to Mr. Sandford, a lower-growth road. No, I have never seen this face, which you show me in the photograph. You would hardly forget it, would you, sir, for I've seldom seen an uglier. Have we any Italians on the staff? Yes, sir, we have several among our workpeople and cleaners. I dare say they might get a peep at the salesbooks if they wanted to. There's no particular reason for keeping a watch upon that book. Well, well, it's a very strange business, and I hope that you will let me know if anything comes of your inquiries. Homes had taken several notes during Mr. Harding's evidence, and I could see that he was thoroughly satisfied by the turn which affairs were taking. He made no remark, however, save that unless we heard, we should be late for our appointment with Lestrade. Sure enough, when we reached Baker Street, the detective was already there, and we found him pacing up and down in a fever of impatience. His look of importance showed that his day's work had not been in vain. Well, he asked, what luck, Mr. Holmes? We have had a very busy day, and not entirely a wasted one. My friend explained. We have seen both the retailers, and also the wholesale manufacturers. I can trace each of the busts now from the beginning. The busts, Critele Strodd, well, well, you have your own methods, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and it is not for me to say a word against them, but I think I have done a better day's work than you. I have identified the body. You don't say so, and found a cause for the crime. Splendid. We have an inspector who makes a specialty of Safran Hill and the Italian quarter. Well, this man had some Catholic emblem around his neck, and that, along with his color, made me think that he was from the south. Inspector Hill knew him the moment he got sight of him. His name is Pietro Venucci from Naples, and he is one of the

greatest cutthroats in London. He is connected with the Mafia, which as you know is a secret political

society enforcing its degrees. Now you see how the affair begins to clear up. The other fellow

is probably an Italian also, and a member of the Mafia. He has broken the rules in some fashion. Pietro is set upon his track. Probably the photograph we found in his pocket is the man himself, so that he may not knife the wrong person. He dogs the fellow. He sees him into our house and waits for him. And in the scuffle, he receives his own wound. How is that, Mr. Sherlock Holmes? Holmes clapped his hands approvingly. Excellent, Lestrade. Excellent. He cried. But I didn't quite follow your explanation of the destruction of the busts. The busts, you never can get those busts out of your head. After all, that is nothing. Petty larceny, six months at the most. It is the homicide that we are really investigating, and I tell you that I am gathering all the threads to my hands. And the next stage is a very simple one. I shall go down with Hill to the Italian quarter, find the man whose photograph we have got, and arrest him. Will you come with us? I think not. I fancy we can attain our end in a simpler way. I can't say for certain because it all depends. Well, it all depends upon a factor which is completely outside our control. But I have great hopes. In fact, the betting is exactly two to one. That if you will come with us tonight, I shall be able to help you delay him by the heels." In the Italian Quarter? No, I fancy Chiswick is in a dress which is more likely to find him. If you will come with me to Chiswick tonight, Lestrod, I'll promise to go to the Italian Quarter with you tomorrow, and no harm will be done by the delay. And now, I think that a few hours sleep would do us all good, for I do not propose to leave before 11 o'clock, and it is unlikely that we shall be back before morning. You'll dine with us, Lestrade. And then you are welcome to the sofa until it is time for us to start. In the meantime, Watson, I should be glad if you would ring for an express messenger, for I have a letter to send, and it is important that it should go at once. Holmes spent the evening in rummaging, among the files of the old daily papers, with which one of our lumber rooms was packed. When at last he descended, it was with triumph in his eyes, but he said nothing to either of us. For my own part, I had followed, step by step, the methods by which he had traced the various whistings of this complex case. And though I could not yet perceive the goal, which we would reach, I understood clearly that Holmes expected this criminal to make an attempt upon the two remaining busts, one of which I remembered was at Chiswick. No doubt the object of our journey was to catch him in the very act, and I could not but admire the cunning with which my friend had inserted a wrong clue in the evening paper, so as to give the fellow the idea that he could continue his scheme with impunity. I was not surprised when Holmes suggested that I should take my revolver with me. He had himself picked up the loaded hunting crop, which was his favorite weapon. A four-wheeler was at the door at eleven, and in it we drove to a spot at the other end of Hammer Smith Bridge. Here the cabman was directed to wait. A short walk brought us to a secluded road. In the light of a street lamp we read, LeBernam Villa, upon the gatepost of one of them. The wooden fence which separated the grounds from the road through a dense black shadow upon the inner side, and here it was that we crouched. I fear that you'll have a long wait, Holmes whispered, we may thank our stars that it is not raining. I don't think we can even venture to smoke to pass the time. However, it's a two-to-one chance that we get something to pay us for our trouble. It proved, however, that our vigil was not to be so long as Holmes had led us to fear, and it ended in a very sudden and singular fashion. In an instant, without the least sound to warn us of his coming, the garden gates swung open, and a light figure rushed up the garden path. We sought whisk past the light brown from over the door and disappeared against the black shadow of the house. There was a long pause during which we held our breath, and then a very gentle creaking sound came to our ears. The window was being opened. The noise ceased, and again there was a long silence. The fellow was making his way into the house. We saw the sudden flash of a dark lantern inside the room. What he saw was evidently not there. For again, we saw the flash through another blind, and then through another. Let us get to the open window. We will nab him as he climbs out, the stradwispered. But before we could move, the man had emerged again, and he came out into the glimmering patch of light. We saw that he carried something white under his arm. He looked all around him. The silence of the deserted street reassured him. Turning his back upon us, he laid down his burden, and the next instant there was the sound of a sharp tap, followed by a clatter and a rattle. The man was so intent upon what he was doing that he never heard our steps as we stole across the grass plot. With a bound of a tiger, Holmes was on his back, and an instant later, Lestrade and I had him by either wrist, and the handcuffs had been fastened.

As we turned them over, I saw a hideous face, with writhing, furious features glaring up at us, and I knew that it was indeed the man of the photograph whom we had secured. But it was not our prisoner to whom Holmes was giving his attention. squatted on the doorstep, he was engaged in most carefully examining that which the man had brought from the house. It was a bust of Napoleon, like the one which we had seen that morning, and it had been broken into similar fragments. Carefully Holmes held each separate shard to the light, but in no way did it differ from any other shattered piece of plaster. He had just completed his examination when the hall lights flew up, the door opened, and the owner of the house, a jovial, rotund figure, in shirt and trousers presented himself. Mr. Hoseya Brown, I suppose? Yes, sir, and you know doubt our Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I had the note which you sent by the express messenger, and I did exactly what you told me. We locked every door on the inside and awaited developments. Well, I'm very glad to see that you have got the rascal. I hope gentlemen that you will come in and have some refreshment. However, Lestrade was anxious to get his man into safe quarters. So within a few minutes our cab had been summoned and we were all four upon our way to London. Not a word would our captives say, but he glared at us from the shadow of his matted hair. And once, when my hand seemed within his reach, he snapped at it, like a hungry wolf. We stayed long enough at the police station to learn that a search of his clothing revealed nothing save a few shillings and a long sheath knife. That's all right," said Lestrade, as we parted. He'll know all these gentry, and he will give a name to him. You'll find that my theory of the mafia will work out all right, but I'm sure I am exceedingly obliged to you, Mr. Holmes, for the workmen like way in which you laid hands upon him. I don't quite understand it all yet. I fear it is rather too late an hour for explanations," said Holmes. Besides, there are one or two details which are not finished off, and it is one of those cases which are worth working out to the very end. If you will come around once more to my rooms at 6 o'clock tomorrow, I think I shall be able to show you that even now, you have not grasped the entire meaning of this business, which presents some features which make it absolutely original in the history of crime. If ever I permit you to chronicle any more of my little problems Watson, I foresee that you will enliven your pages by an account of the singular adventure of the Napoleonic Busts. When we met again next evening, LeSt strawd was furnished with much information concerning

our prisoner. His name, it appeared, was Beppo, a second name unknown. He was a well-known near-do-well among the Italians. He had once been a skillful sculptor and had earned an honest living, but he had taken the evil courses and had twice already been in jail.

Once for a petty theft, and once as we had already heard for stabbing a fellow countryman. He could talk English perfectly well, his reasons for destroying the busts were still unknown, and he refused to answer any questions upon the subject. But the police had discovered that these same busts might very well have been made by his own hands, since he was engaged in this class of work at the establishment of Gelder and Company. To all this information, much of which we already knew, Holmes listened with polite attention, but I, who knew him so well, could clearly see that his thoughts were elsewhere, and I detected a mixture of mingled uneasiness and expectation beneath the mask which he has want to assume. At last he started in his chair, and his eyes brightened. There had been a ring at the bell. A minute later we heard steps upon the stairs, and an elderly red-faced man with grizzled side whiskers was ushered in. In his right hand he carried an old-fashioned carpet bag which he placed upon the table.

Is Mr. Sherlock Holmes here, my friend bowed and smiled. Mr. Sandafferde of Redding, I suppose, said he, Yes, sir, I fear that I am a little late, but the trains were awkward. He wrote to me about a bust that is in my possession? Exactly. I have your letter here. You said I desired to possess a copy of Divine's Napoleon and I'm prepared to pay you 10 pounds for the one which is in your possession. Is that right? Certainly. I was very much surprised at your letter for I could not imagine how you knew that I owned such a thing. Of course, you must have been surprised, but the explanation is very simple. Mr. Harding of Harding Brothers said that they had sold you their last copy, and he gave me your address. Oh, that was it, was it? Did he tell you what I paid for it? No, he did not. Well, I am an honest man. Though not a very rich one, I only gave fifteen shillings for the bust, and I think you ought to know that before I take ten pounds from you. I am sure the scruple does your honor, Mr. Sandford, but I have named that price so I intend it to stick to it. Well, it is very handsome of you, Mr. Holmes. I brought the bust up with me, as you asked me to do. Here it is. He opened his bag, and at last we saw placed upon our table a complete specimen of that bust, which we had already seen more than once in fragments. Holmes took a paper from his pocket and laid a ten-pound note upon the table. You will kindly sign that paper Mr. Sandeford in the presence of these witnesses. It is simply to say that you transfer every possible right that you ever had in the bus to me. I'm a methodical man you see and you never know what turn of events might take afterwards. Thank you, Mr. Sandford. Here's your money. And I wish you a very good evening. When our visitor had disappeared, Sherlock Holmes' movements were such as to rivet our attention. He began by taking a clean white cloth from a drawer and laying it over the table. Then he placed his newly acquired bust in the center of the cloth. Finally, he picked up his hunting crop and struck Napoleon a sharp blow on the top of the head. The figure broke into fragments, and Holmes bent eagerly over the shattered remains. Next instant, with a loud shout of triumph, he held up one splinter in which a round dark object was fixed, like a plum in a pudding. Gentlemen, he cried, let me introduce you to the famous black pearl of the Borges. Lestrod and I sat silent for a moment, and then, with the spontaneous impulse, we both broke at clapping, as at the well-wrought crisis of a play, a flush of color spraying to Holmes' pale cheeks, and he bowed to us like the master dramatist who received the homage of his audience. It was at such moments that for an instant he ceased to be a reasoning machine, and betrayed his human love for admiration and applause. The same singularly proud and reserved nature which turned away with this stain from popular notoriety was capable of being moved to its depths by spontaneous wonder and praise from a friend. Yes, gentlemen, said he, it is the most famous pearl now existing in the world, and it has been my good fortune by connected chain of inductive reasoning to trace it from the prince of Colonna's bedroom at the Dockrah Hotel where it was lost to the interior of this, the last of the six busts of Napoleon which were manufactured by Gilder in company. You will remember Le Stroud this sensation caused by the disappearance of this valuable jewel and the vain efforts of the London Belize to recover it. I was myself consulted upon the case, but I was unable to throw any light upon it. Suspicion fell upon the maid of the princess, who was Italian, and it was proved that she had a brother in London, but we failed to trace any connection between them. The maid's name was Lucri Shavanucci, and there is no doubt in my mind that this Pietro, who was murdered two nights ago, was the brother. I have been looking up the dates in the old files of the paper, and I find that the disappearance of the pearl was exactly two days before the arrest of Vepo, an event which took place in the factory of Gilder and Company, 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 present at themselves to me, Beppo had the pearl in his possession. He may have 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 no 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 made for the factory in

which he worked, and he knew that he only had a few minutes in which to conceal this valuable

prize, which would otherwise be found on him when he was searched. Six plaster casts of Napoleon were drying in the passage. One of them was still soft. In an instant Beppo, a skillful workman, made a small hole in the wet plaster, dropped in the pearl, and with a few touches covered over the aperture once more. It was an admirable hiding place. No one could possibly find it. But Beppo was condemned to a year's imprisonment, and in the meanwhile his six busts were scattered over London. He could not tell which contained his treasure, only by breaking them could he see. Even shaking would tell him nothing, whereas the plaster was wet, it was probable that the pearl would adhere to it. As in fact, it has done. But Bo did not despair. He had conducted his search with considerable ingenuity and perseverance. Through a cousin who works with Geldr, he found out the retail firms who had bought the busts. He managed to find employment with Morse Hudson, and in that way tracked down three of them. The pearl was not there. Then, with the help of some Italian employee, he succeeded in finding out where the other three busts had gone. The first was at Harcours. There, he was dogged by his Confederate, who held Bepo for the loss of the Pearl. 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 him from any third person, that was the obvious reason. Well, after the incident, I calculated that Beppo would probably hurry rather than delay his movements. He would fear that the police would read his secret, and so he hastened on before they should get ahead of him. Of course I could not say that he had not found the pearl in Harker's bust. I had not even concluded for certain that it was the pearl, but it was evident to me that he was looking for something, since he carried the bust past the other houses in order to break it in the garden which had it lay up overlooking it. Since Harker's bust was one in three, the chances were exactly as I told you, two to one against the pearl being inside it. There remained two busts, and it was obvious he would go for the London one first. I warned the residents of the house so as to avoid a second tragedy, and we went down with the happiest results. By that time, of course, I knew for certain

that it was the Borgiaw Pearl that we were after. The name of the man linked the one event with the other. Their only remained a single bust, the redding one, and the pearl must be there. I bought it in your presence from the owner, and there it lies. We sat in silence for a moment. Well, said Lestron, I've seen you handle a good many cases, Mr. Holmes, but I don't know that I ever knew a more workman like one than that. We're not jealous of you at Scotland Yard. No, sir, we are very proud of you. And if you come down tomorrow, there's not a man from the oldest inspector to the youngest constable who wouldn'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 softer human emotions than I had ever seen him. A moment later, he was the cold and practical thinker once more.

Put the pearl in the safe Watson, said he, and get out the papers of the Kong Singleton

forgery case.

Goodbye, Lestrade.

If any little problem comes your way, I shall be happy if I can, to give you a hint or

two, as to its solution.

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