5 The Adventure of the Six Napoleons

The Adventure of the Six Napoleons Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard sat quietly. He often visited Sherlock Holmes and me when we shared rooms on Baker Street. Holmes was always eager to find out what was going on at police headquarters. And the inspector welcomed any help that Holmes might provide. "Are you working on anything interesting, Inspector?" asked Holmes. "No, nothing much," Lestrade replied.

"Well, perhaps there is something. But it may be a matter more for Dr. Watson than for you. I say that because it seems to be some form of madness I am dealing with. Why else would someone go out of his way to destroy images of the French Emperor Napoleon?" "Oh, really," said Holmes, disappointed. He sat back in his chair. "How else can you explain it?" asked Lestrade. "This person breaks into homes, doesn't steal anything, then smashes statues of Napoleon that he finds there." "This becomes more interesting," Holmes said, sitting up again. "Please, continue." "It all started four days ago," Lestrade began. "The first report came from a man named Morse Hudson. Mr. Hudson owns a small shop in the Kennington Road district where he sells paintings and small statues. It seems he and his assistant were in the back of

the shop when they heard a loud crash. They rushed to the front of the shop to see what had happened and found a small plaster statue of Napoleon on the floor. It was smashed to pieces. But there was no one in the shop." "Was it a statue?" asked Holmes. "Or was it a bust of just the head and shoulders?" "It was a bust," answered the inspector. "Mr. Hudson then went outside. Onlookers had seen someone run from the shop, but the person was long gone. The piece didn't cost much at all. So there didn't seem to be any real harm done. "But last night," Lestrade continued, "there was another report. A Dr. Barnicot lives just down the road from Mr. Hudson's shop. The doctor has a large collection of books, paintings, and other items about the French emperor. In fact, he bought two busts of

Napoleon from Mr. Hudson's shop. He had one in his home. He put the other in his office in Lower Brixton. "Well, this morning, someone broke into Dr. Barnicot's house. Strangely, nothing was stolen except the bust of Napoleon. It had been taken into the yard and smashed." Holmes grew more interested. "Go on, Inspector," he said. "It gets even stranger, gentlemen," said Lestrade. "This afternoon, Dr. Barnicot discovered that someone had broken into his office and destroyed his other Napoleon." "Tell me, Inspector," Holmes said. "Were Dr. Barnicot's Napoleons exactly the same as Mr. Hudson's?" "Yes, they were, Mr. Holmes," replied Lestrade. "Then the man you are after is not driven by a hatred of Napoleon," said Holmes.

"After all, there are thousands of images of the French Emperor in London. This man seems to be after identical Napoleons." "Or perhaps," suggested Lestrade, "he lives nearby. Perhaps he is just starting his mad attacks and happened to find these three first. What do you think, Dr. Watson?" "It's possible," I replied. "Perhaps he or someone in his family was injured or harmed in the great war. It's possible he blames Napoleon in some odd way." "But I find it interesting," interrupted Holmes, "that the man took Dr. Barnicot's Napoleon outside. Would a madman think to break the bust outside where it would not disturb the family? Then, in the doctor's office, he broke it inside because he knew no one was around to be disturbed. No, we are not dealing with madness, gentlemen. "And, I warn you," said Holmes sternly.

"These events may seem harmless and insignificant. But it is hard to say that anything is unimportant. Remember, Watson, the dreadful case of the Abernetty family? It all began when I noticed how deep the parsley had sunk into the butter on a hot day. No, nothing is without meaning. And I would appreciate it if you would keep me informed, Inspector." It wasn't long before we heard from Lestrade again. A message arrived from him the very next morning, asking us to come to 131 Pitt Street. Holmes and I rushed over as quickly as possible and saw a crowd gathered in front of the house. As we made our way through the onlookers, it was clear that the mystery had become more serious. Lestrade was already inside. "Well, Mr. Holmes," he said. "It has turned to murder. This is Mr. Horace Harker. He is the owner of the house and is also a reporter for a