had been fastened. As we turned him over I saw a hideous,

sallow 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. Josiah Brown, I suppose?" said Holmes.

"Yes, sir; and you, no doubt, are Mr. Sherlock Holmes? I had

16.05.2007