03x07 - The Six Napoleons

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What are you doing down there, Beppo?

Porco!

Agh!

Stand back.

We have him at last.

Anything remarkable on hand, Lestrade?

No.

Nothing in particular.

Then tell us about it.

Now you come to mention it, Mr. Holmes, there's no denying there is something on my mind.

It first came to my notice four days ago.

A certain Morse Hudson has a shop in the sale of pictures and statues in the Kennington Road.

But what happened last night was more serious and also more singular.

Burglary.

Exactly.

Ah-ha.

The house of a Dr. Barnicot was broken into.

Now this bust was one of a pair purchased from Morse Hudson by Dr. Barnicot.

He had put it in his house.

The other he put two miles away in his surgery.

Later that same night...

This is certainly very novel.

Yes, I thought it would please you.

Though in my opinion, it comes more into Dr. Watson's line than ours.

Disease.

I should say madness.

q*eer sort of madness, too.

You wouldn't think there was anybody living nowadays, would you, that had such a hatred for Napoleon Bonaparte.

Ah, actually, there are no limits to the possibilities of monomania.

You see, there is the condition that the modern French psychologists have called an idée fixe.

Now, if someone became obsessed with, say, an injustice committed to an ancestor during the Napoleonic wars, he might form an idée fixe, and under its influence, he might be capable of any fantastic outrage.

My dear, Watson, that won't do.

How do you explain it, then?

I don't attempt to do so.

There, you see.

I would simply observe there's a certain method in this gentleman's eccentric madness.

I mean, for example, Barnicot's house, where a sound might arouse the sleeping family, the bust was taken outside before being broken, whereas in the surgery, where there was less danger of alarm, it was smashed where it stood.

I only mention it because you usually have a taste for all that is out of the common, no matter how trivial.

I dare call nothing trivial, Lestrade.

Some of my most classic cases have had the least promising commencement.

Yeah, that dreadful business with the Abernetty family.

I hardly call the dismemberment of an entire family "Trivial."

Watson, would you be so kind as to explain?

What?

Well, the point is that it only came to Holmes' notice because of the depth to which the parsley had sunk into the butter on a hot day.

So you see, I cannot afford to smile at your three busts, Lestrade.

However, I would be obliged if you would keep me informed as to developments.

Listen to this, Holmes.

"Come instantly, 131 Pitt Street, Kensington, Lestrade."

What's it about?

It could be anything, but I suspect it's a sequel to his story of last night, you know, my idée fixe.

Finish your coffee.

There's a cab at the door.

Two minutes.

It's attempted m*rder, at least.

Nothing less would hold a London message boy.

There's a deed of v*olence in that young fellow's round shoulders and outstretched neck.

Lestrade will soon tell us.

Look at this, Watson.

The bottom step's swilled down and the other's dry.

Footsteps enough, anyhow.

Yes, but whose?

It's the Napoleon bust business again, gentlemen.

They've smashed another?

I'm afraid the affair has taken a graver turn.

This way.

Mr. Harker.

Allow me to present Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson.

Mr. Horace Harker of the Central Press Syndicate.

Good of you to come, gentlemen.

Please forgive my agitation.

No apology necessary, Mr. Harker.

A body on one's front doorstep is always unsettling.

You've told him, then?

Not a word.

Now tell us exactly what occurred.

Extraordinary thing.

All my life, I've been collecting other people's news.

Now, I have a real-life story of my own, and I can't put two words together.

If I had been a journalist and walked in through that door, I would have interviewed myself and had two columns in every London newspaper.

And here I am giving away valuable copy by telling my story over and over again to a string of different people.

However, I've heard of your name, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

So if you could explain this q*eer business, I'd be more than paid for my trouble in telling you my story.

A great deal of my journalistic work is done at night in my den in that room adjacent to this one.

At some time, in the small hours of this morning...

I shall live that moment over and over again in my dreams.

Do we know who the m*rder*d man was?

Not yet, but you can see the body at the mortuary, if you wish.

Where did you purchase your bust, Mr. Harker?

From Mr. Hudson of Kennington Road.

Do we know what became of it?

The officer at the door tells me it's been found in the front garden of an empty house in Campden House Road.

I was just going around to see it.

Will you come?

In a moment, Lestrade.

Well, the intruder had either very long legs or was the most active man.

With that area beneath, it was no mean feat to climb up to this ledge, let alone to open the window.

Mr. Harker, will you come with us to see the remains of your bust?

I must make something of it, although I've no doubt that every newspaper in London will be on the street with a full and detailed account.

Just my luck.

Do you remember when the stand fell down at the Doncaster Races?

I was the only journalist in that stand, and my journal was the only one that didn't have a published account, because I was too shaken to write a word.

And now, I should be too late with a m*rder on my own doorstep.

Well?

We have a long way to go, but there is one suggestive fact.

He didn't smash this in the house or immediately outside it.

Well, perhaps he was so rattled and bustled by meeting this other fellow, that he hardly knew what he was doing.

That's likely enough.

But why did he choose to destroy it outside this particular house?

It's empty.

So he knew he wouldn't be disturbed.

Yeah, but there's another empty house further up the street he must have passed.

Why not destroy it there?

The lamp.

By Jove, you're right.

What are we to make of that?

Holmes.

Remember it.

Docket it.

We may come on something later which will bear upon it.

Meanwhile, before we go our separate ways, I suggest we make one last concerted visit.

Where to?

The morgue.

They've made nothing of his identity up to now.

He was poorly dressed but doesn't seem to be a laborer.

Whoever's responsible did a nasty job on the fellow's throat.

That was the m*rder w*apon, had a serrated blade.

Though whether it belonged to the m*rder*r or the dead man we don't yet know.

Anything in his pockets to help identify him?

Precious little.

If it might interest you, Mr. Holmes.

Forgive me, Lestrade, I was just contemplating the one mystery that not even I can solve:

Death itself. Pray continue.

As you can see, he carried very little, an apple, some string, a shilling map of London, and a photograph.

Well, part of one. It's torn.

Look.

Ugly-looking devil, positively simian.

What steps do you propose next, Lestrade?

Well, the most practical way of getting at it, in my opinion, is to identify the dead man.

Once we know who he is and who his associates are, we should have a good start in learning who k*lled him on the doorstep of Mr. Horace Harker.

Don't you think so, Mr. Holmes?

No doubt.

It is not the way that I would conduct the case.

Oh, what would you do?

Don't let me influence you, Lestrade.

I suggest you follow your line of inquiry and I mine.

Then we can compare notes and each supplement the other, but if you are returning to Pitt Street, I would be grateful if you would tell Mr. Harker that I have quite made up my mind

in this matter.

I am certain that it was a dangerous homicidal lunatic with Napoleonic delusions at his house last night.

It will help him in his article.

You don't seriously believe that, Holmes?

Don't 1? Well, perhaps not.

I'm sure it will please Horace Harker and the subscribers to the Central Press Agency.

I would be grateful, Lestrade, if you could make it convenient to come round to Baker Street this 6 o'clock this evening.

Until then, I would like to keep this photograph found on the dead man's pocket.

Oh, Mr. Holmes, that might be a vital clue.

I trust it is.

Otherwise, it's of no interest to me.

Good luck, Lestrade.

What we pay our taxes for I don't know when any ruffian can walk in and break one's goods under one's nose.

A superb bit of craftsmanship it was, too, taken from a marble copy of the emperor's head by Devine.

Are you familiar, by any chance, with that great artiste?

Yes, indeed. Speaking of familiarity, do you recognize the man in this photograph?

Man in the photograph?

Ah, yes, indeed, I do, Mr. Holmes.

The name's Beppo?

Beppo?

Yes, he was a sort of Italian piecework man who made himself useful here in the shop.

Oh, he could carve a bit and frame and gild.

I took him on about ten days ago, but he only stayed a week and then just disappeared, didn't even collect his wages.

Perhaps, he was responsible for the breakages.

Responsible for the breakages?

Responsible for the breakages?

My dear sir, this is an international conspiracy, a nihilist plot.

Red Republicans, I call 'em.

Yes, no one but an anarchist would go about breaking statues.

Did they break every one that you sold?

Break everyone I sold?

Well, hardly that.

Just the two bought by a local doctor and the one left here in my shop.

If anything had happened to the other three, I know nothing of it.

Three, so there were six to begin with?

Six to begin with, yes, yes, a batch of six.

I ordered them especially from Gelder and Company of Stepney.

They, uh, they do excellent molding work.

Do you happen to know the names and addresses of the other customers?

My ledges, Mr. Holmes, are confidential.

Mr. Hudson, if your theory is correct, oughtn't we to warn these people of this, this most dangerous plot?

And who better to do that than Mr. Sherlock Holmes?

Mr. Sherlock Holmes?

Yes, quite right, quite right, sir.

Yes, the country slumbers, but we shall remain vigilant.

Follow me, sir.

Yes, here we are, Mr. Josiah Brown of Chiswick and Mrs. Sandeford of Reading.

Mrs.? Yes.

Mr. Hudson.

Did your two busts differ in any way from the other four?

Differ from the other four?

No, no, they were all identical and all with a beautiful decoration which I ordered especially.

Apart from the decoration, were your six busts the same as all the others?

The same as all the others? Well, I suppose so.

But you'd have to apply direct to Gelder and Company to find that out in person.

Excellent idea.

Uh, gentlemen, gentlemen.

When you meet the manager, would you be good enough to warn him of the conspiracy?

With all the busts they have on the premises, the Red Republicans could have a field day.

Normally, we sell the busts without decoration, but Mr. Hudson ordered that the whole uniform be painted.

It was expertly done and made into a very special issue.

In terms of the construction, however, there is no reason why the six Napoleons we sold to him should be different from hundreds of others.

You see, the two molds are poured together and filled with plaster to make each bust.

Are they solid?

Solid?

Yes, of course.

Then they are placed in a special room to dry and afterwards stored.

The wholesale price is 6 shillings, but retail will get 12 or more.

I can't think of a reason someone would wish to destroy them.

Or m*rder for them.

m*rder?

So,

your interest in the molding process had ulterior motives.

Herr Mendelstam, I wonder if you happen to recognize the man in this photograph.

Huh, the rascal.

Yes, indeed, I know him very well.

This has always been a respectable establishment, and the only time we ever had the police in here was over this fellow.

About a year ago, he knifed another Italian in the street and ran in here with the police on his heels.

Was his name Beppo, by any chance?

Beppo, yes.

His second name I never knew.

Serve me right for employing a man with such a face.

But he was a good workman, one of the best.

Do you happen to remember exactly when he was arrested?

I could check the pay lists.

According to Morse Hudson's records, you sent him six Napoleons on June the 3rd of last year.

Now, let's see. That is correct.

Beppo last collected his wages on may the 20th of that same year.

Then he must have been arrested sometime the following week.

Well, no doubt the police have the exact details.

The young Italian survived, so Beppo went only to prison for one year.

We have a cousin of his working here.

Perhaps, you would wish to speak with him?

No.

Not a word to the cousin, I beg of you.

The matter is very important, and the further I go with it, the more important it seems.

So yeah.

I really thought his cousin might know when Beppo is to be released.

Herr Mendelstam, if my surmises are correct, our friend Beppo has been out of jail for at least 11 days.

Standard. Read all about it.

Hey, hey!

Watson, Harker has baited the trap.

What do you mean?

The press is a very valuable institution if one knows how to use it.

Read all about it.

Standard.

Very cunning, Holmes.

Thank you, Watson.

Lestrade.

Mr. Holmes, Doctor.

Please, sit down.

Oh, thank you.

Well um...

What luck, Mr. Holmes?

We've had a very busy day, not entirely wasted.

I can trace each of the busts now from the beginning.

The busts.

Well, of course, you have your own methods, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

Not for me to say a word against them, but I think I've done a better day's work than you.

I've identified the dead man.

Splendid.

Who is it?

Pietro Venucci, son of a respectable Italian tradesman but involved with a secret political society.

Red anarchists?

Oh, you've been talking to Morse Hudson, haven't you?

Do go on, Lestrade.

I refer, of course, to the mafia.

Which as you may know, enforces its decrees by assassination.

Obviously, our m*rder*r broke the rules in some fashion and Pietro is put on his track, possibly with that photograph to aid identification.

They meet.

But Pietro receives his own death wound in the scuffle.

Excellent, Lestrade, but I don't quite follow your explanation of the destruction of the busts.

The busts!

You never can get those busts out of your head.

The busts are nothing.

Petty larceny, six months at most.

No, no, no, it's m*rder we're really investigating, and I tell you, I am gathering all the threads into my hands.

And the next stage?

Oh, well now.

We have an inspector who's made a specialty of the Italian quarter.

I shall go down there with him, find the man in that photograph you're carrying, arrest him for m*rder.

What do you say, Mr. Holmes?

Will you come with us?

I think not.

I fancy Chiswick as the address most likely to find him.

Chiswick?

If you and some of your men will come with us to Chiswick tonight, I will go to the Italian quarter with you tomorrow, and there will be no harm in the delay.

I suggest you dine with us, and then you're welcome to the sofa.

A few hours' sleep will do us all good.

I don't intend to leave the house before 11.

And it is unlikely that we should be home before morning.

But Mr. Holmes--

In the meantime, I have a letter to send by express messenger.

Mrs. Hudson? Mrs. Hudson?

Chiswick?

No!

Papa!

11 o'clock, gentlemen, on your feet.

Come along, Lestrade.

Watson, I think you've been overgenerous with the port.

You've been frugal enough with your information.

Ah, that would be our four-wheeler.

Don't forget the revolver, Watson, and bring the rugs.

This outing wouldn't be inspired by your idée fixe, would it?

Idée fixe.

Yes.

Those plaster busts.

I have great hopes, Lestrade.

In fact, I'm betting it's exactly 2-to-1 t hat if you come with us tonight, you'll have the m*rder*r in custody before the sun rises.

I'm not a betting man, Mr. Holmes.

Then you have nothing to lose by it, do you?

Except a good night's sleep.

Watson, if you've caught a cold, it's your fault.

You left the rugs behind.

Sorry, Holmes.

Is that 2 o'clock?

Don't suppose we can smoke, can we?

Nope.

No, thought as much.

Are your men in position?

Oh, yes.

Have a humbug, Lestrade.

Watson.

This is no time for humbugs.

Look!

Is that who you were expecting?

His name's Beppo.

Good name for a monkey.

He'll leave by the back door.

How do you know that?

Because all the other doors are locked.

Oh, dear, it's smashed.

Mr. Josiah Brown, I presume.

Yes, sir.

And you, no doubt, are Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

I had the note you sent by the express messenger, and I did exactly as you told me.

Following your instructions, we locked every door so as to lead him into the back.

And I'm very glad to see you have the rascal.

Now, I hope, gentlemen, that you will come in and partake in some refreshment.

Thank you, Mr. Brown.

The hour is rather late.

Good night.

Oh, good night.

Come, Watson, we have work to do.

Work?

What work?

Lestrade, if you will come round to Baker Street tonight at 6 o'clock, I hope to be able to show you that you still have not grasped the full meaning of this business.

Oh, I think you'll find my theory of the mafia will work out all right, Mr. Holmes.

Good night, Lestrade.

Come along now.

Baker Street, please.

And now, Watson, I commend to you the universal answer to almost all problems.

What is that, Holmes?

Sleep.

Ecco, signor Holmes.

Grazie, signor.

Morning, Watson.

Since the manager of Gelder and Company was mainly responsible for Beppo's initial arrest, we see the breaking of the busts as a pathetic attempt to revenge himself.

And it was possibly the senseless acts of v*olence which transgressed the mafia's code of behavior and led to the m*rder of young Venucci.

There.

I think that takes care of those details you mentioned last night?

Don't you, Mr. Holmes?

Holmes.

Ha!

Yes, Watson.

Well, what do you think of Lestrade's theories?

I'm sure that they have the greatest interest, but I regret to say I have not listened to a word of them.

Forgive my inattention, Lestrade.

I had a rather late night.

What do you think I had?

Come in.

Is Mr. Sherlock Holmes here?

I fear 1 am a little late, but the trains were very awkward.

No matter. No matter.

Have you brought the item?

Well, these are my friends and colleagues, Dr. Watson and Inspector Lestrade of Scotland yard.

You may speak freely in front of them.

Gentlemen.

You said in your telegram that Mr. Hudson had given you my address.

Mr. Sandeford of reading. The same, sir.

How do you do?

It's those busts again.

Correct, Lestrade.

Did he also tell you just how much my wife paid for it?

No, he did not.

Well, sir, I am an honest man, though not a very rich one.

And she only gave 15 shillings for it, and I think you ought to know that before I take the £10 from you that you offered in your telegram.

Oh, your scruple does you much honor, Mr. Sandeford, but I have stated my price, and I shall stick to it.

Oh, thank you, Mr. Holmes. That's very handsome of you.

Your bust, sir.

You know, my wife has always maintained that there is a marked resemblance between myself and the emperor.

Can't say I see it myself.

Sixth Napoleon.

I contacted Mr. Sandeford by telegram this morning.

Now, if you will sign this paper in front of witnesses.

It is simply to say that you transfer every possible rights that you would ever have in the bust to me.

Happy to, Mr. Holmes. Happy, happy, happy.

I am a methodical man, and one never knows what turn events may take afterwards.

Here is your 10-pound notes, and good evening, Mr. Sandeford.

Oh, thank you very much, Mr. Holmes.

Good evening, gentlemen.

Okay.

And it's very, very kind of you, and thank you so much...

Now, gentlemen, if you will give me your undivided attention.

Gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to one of the most precious objects in the world,

the famous Black Pearl of the Borgias.

Bravo, Holmes, bravo.

Oh, your legende de mer rivals that of Mascalin himself.

Oh, this surpasses it.

The Borgias pearl has been missing since it disappeared from the Prince of Colonna's bedroom in that Dacre Hotel over a year ago.

As you may remember, Lestrade, I was consulted upon the case at the time.

Observe and learn.

The moment the name Venucci surfaced in this case, I immediately became intrigued.

The Princess of Colonna's maid for some time had been one Lucretia Venucci, suspicion fell on her.

And it was proved that she had a brother in London, but we failed to trace any connection between them.

Beppo was the connection.

He had been courting Lucretia Venucci for some time.

Where did you get that?

Papa Venucci.

Oh, I see.

When the Venucci family planned to steal the black pearl, they used Beppo as a go-between for Lucretia and her brother.

Beppo gleaned enough information to execute the robbery himself and make off with the pearl.

Pietro Venucci, the brother, caught up with him outside Gelder's workshop.

Beppo stabbed him.

He then fled into the warehouse and took refuge in the drying room.

He knew he only had moments in which to conceal the pearl, which would otherwise be found on him when he was searched.

Among all the plaster casts drying that day, he made for a batch of six that had been earmarked for Morse Hudson.

And the base of one of them was still soft.

It was an admirable hiding place.

As soon as Beppo got out of prison, he managed to find employment with Mr. Morse Hudson and set about tracking the six Napoleons down.

He found and destroyed three of them.

But the night he located Harker's, Pietro Venucci, intent on vengeance, accosted him, and this time, Beppo slit his throat.

With only two busts left, it was likely he would try the London one first.

Hence our visit to Chiswick.

Exactly, Watson.

That left only the Reading bust.

I bought it in your presence from the owner, and there it lies.

Well, Mr. Holmes,

I've seen you handle a good many cases in my time, but 1 don't know that I ever knew a more workmanlike one than this.

We're not jealous of you, you know, at Scotland Yard.

No, sir, we are 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.

Thank you.

Would you get down the Conk-Singleton forgery case, please, Watson?

Good-bye, 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.