3 Tracing the Source

Chapter 3 Tracing the Source An hour's drive took us to Harrison's Art and Antiques on Kennington Road. The owner, Mr. Mort Harrison, was a small, stout man with a red face. He was still angry about the vandalism that had taken place in his shop. "It was on this very counter, sir," he said. "It's shocking how someone could just come in off the street and do that." "Did Dr. Barnicot buy his two statues from you?" asked Holmes. "Yes, sir."

"Where did you get the statues from?" "I don't see what that's got to do with anything, but they came from Gelder & Co., on Church Street, Stepney. I ordered three in total— the two I sold to Dr. Barnicot and the one smashed on my counter." When Holmes showed him the photo found in the dead man's pocket, Harrison recognized him immediately. "That's Beppo! He helped out in my shop for a while. He could carve a bit, and gild and frame. He left me last week, two days before the bust was smashed. I don't know where he came from or where he went, but he gave me no trouble." "There were some useful nuggets of information there, amidst all the bluster," said Holmes as we emerged from Harrison's. "We now know that Beppo was in both Kennington and Kensington, making him a common factor in these crimes. Let's head for Gelder & Co., the makers of the busts, and see what they can tell us."

It took us another hour to reach the riverside district of Stepney in London's East End, where the tenement dwellings were crowded with poor immigrant families from Europe. Gelder & Co. was a sculpture works on the main thoroughfare. Its yard was filled with large statues and tombstones. Inside its cavernous workshop, some fifty workers busily carved and shaped stone. The manager, a big, blond German fellow, invited us into his office. He told us they had made hundreds of casts of Napoleon, copied

from a famous marble bust by the French sculptor Henri Devine. The three bought by Mort Harrison were half of a batch of six. The other three had gone to Harding Brothers of Kensington. He could think of no reason why those six should be different from all the other casts, nor why anyone should wish to destroy them. In fact, he laughed at the idea. He explained that the plaster cast was made by joining together two halves of Napoleon's face, formed from the original bust. This was usually carried out by Italian workers. When finished, the casts were placed on a table in the passage to

dry before being stored in the warehouse. That was all he could tell us. The manager was calm and polite, but his manner changed abruptly when Holmes showed him the photograph. His cheeks reddened and his blue eyes flashed with anger. "That rascal!" he cried. "Yes, I know him. The only time we've ever had the police in here was because of him. It was more than a year ago now. He knifed another Italian man in the street, then came in here with the police on his heels, and here they arrested him. Beppo was his name. I wish I'd never hired him, although he was a talented worker—one of the best."

"Did he go to prison?" The manager nodded. "I've no doubt he's out by now, though he hasn't dared show his face around here. His cousin is one of our workers. He could probably tell you where he is." "No, no!" cried Holmes. "Don't say a word to the cousin, I beg of you." The manager raised his eyebrows at this response, but promised he wouldn't. "I noticed when you were looking at your records," said Holmes, "that you sold those casts on June 3rd last year. Could you tell me when Beppo was arrested?"