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 Co. 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 that mask which he was wont 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. Sandeford, of Reading,
I suppose?" said he.
"Yes, sir, I fear that I am a little late; but the trains
were awkward. You wrote to me about a bust that is in my
possession."
"Exactly."
"I have your letter here. You said, 'I desire to possess a
copy of Devine's Napoleon, and am prepared to pay you ten 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 you honour, Mr. Sandeford.
But I have named that price, so I intend 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 bust
to me. I am a methodical man, you see, and you never know
what turn events might take afterwards. Thank you, Mr.
Sandeford; here is your money, and I wish you a very good
evening."
When our visitor had disappeared Sherlock Holmes's
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
centre 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 Borgias."
Lestrade and I sat silent for a moment, and then, with a
spontaneous impulse, we both broke out clapping as at the
well-wrought crisis of a play. A flush of colour sprang to
Holmes's pale cheeks, and he bowed to us like the master
dramatist who receives 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 disdain 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
a connected chain of inductive reasoning, to trace it from
the Prince of Colonna's bedroom at the Dacre Hotel, where
it was lost, to the interior of this, the last of the six
busts of Napoleon which were manufactured by Gelder and
Co., of Stepney. You will remember, Lestrade, the
sensation caused by the disappearance of this valuable
jewel, and the vain efforts of the London police 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 an 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 Lucretia
Venucci, 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 Beppo for some crime of
violence, an event which took place in the factory of
Gelder and Co., 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 presented 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 of 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 had only a few minutes in which to conceal
this enormously 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 skilful 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, for as the plaster was wet it was probable that
the pearl would adhere to it -- as, in fact, it has done.
Beppo did not despair, and he conducted his search with
considerable ingenuity and perseverance. Through a cousin
who works with Gelder he found out the retail firms wh
o 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
_employe_, {2} he succeeded in finding out where the other
three busts had gone. The first was at Harker's. There he
was dogged by his confederate, who held Beppo responsible
for the loss of the pearl, and he stabbed him in the
scuffle which followed."
"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 murder 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 a
lamp 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 that he would go for the London one first.
I warned the inmates 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
Borgia pearl that we were after. The name of the murdered
man linked the one event with the other. There only
remained a single bust -- the Reading 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 Lestrade, "I've seen you handle a good many
cases, Mr. Holmes, but I don't know that I ever knew a more
workmanlike 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 to-morrow 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 Conk-Singleton forgery case. 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."
{-------------------------------------------------------}
{--------------------- End of Text ---------------------}
{-------------------------------------------------------}
{-------------------- Textual Notes --------------------}
{1} {"idee fixe": the first e of "idee" has a forward}
{accent (/)}
{2} {"_employe_": the final e has a forward accent (/)}
{------------------ End Textual Notes ------------------}
{-------------------------------------------------------}
{3STU, Rev 4, 1/17/96 rms, 4th proofing}
{The Adventure of the Three Students, Arthur Conan Doyle}
{Source: The Strand Magazine, 27 (June 1904)}
{Etext prepared by Roger Squires
[email protected]}
{Braces({}) in the text indicate textual end-notes}
{Underscores (_) in the text indicate italics}
IX. -- The Adventure of the Three Students.
IT was in the year '95 that a combination of events, into
which I need not enter, caused Mr. Sherlock Holmes and
myself to spend some weeks in one of our great University
towns, and it was during this time that the small but
instructive adventure which I am about to relate befell us.
It will be obvious that any details which would help the
reader to exactly identify the college or the criminal
would be injudicious and offensive. So painful a scandal
may well be allowed to die out. With due discretion the
incident itself may, however, be described, since it serves
to illustrate some of those qualities for which my friend
was remarkable. I will endeavour in my statement to avoid
such terms as would serve to limit the events to any
particular place, or give a clue as to the people
concerned.
We were residing at the time in furnished lodgings close to
a library where Sherlock Holmes was pursuing some laborious
researches in early English charters -- researches which
led to results so striking that they may be the subject of
one of my future narratives. Here it was that one evening
we received a visit from an acquaintance, Mr. Hilton
Soames, tutor and lecturer at the College of St. Luke's.
Mr. Soames was a tall, spare man, of a nervous and
excitable temperament. I had always known him to be
restless in his manner, but on this particular occasion he
was in such a state of uncontrollable agitation that it was
clear something very unusual had occurred.
"I trust, Mr. Holmes, that you can spare me a few hours of
your valuable time. We have had a very painful incident at
St. Luke's, and really, but for the happy chance of your
being in the town, I should have been at a loss what to
do."
"I am very busy just now, and I desire no distractions," my
friend answered. "I should much prefer that you called in
the aid of the police."
"No, no, my dear sir; such a course is utterly impossible.
When once the law is evoked it cannot be stayed again, and
this is just one of those cases where, for the credit of
the college, it is most essential to avoid scandal. Your
discretion is as well known as your powers, and you are the
one man in the world who can help me. I beg you, Mr.
Holmes, to do what you can."
My friend's temper had not improved since he had been
deprived of the congenial surroundings of Baker Street.
Without his scrap-books, his chemicals, and his homely
untidiness, he was an uncomfortable man. He shrugged his
shoulders in ungracious acquiescence, while our visitor in
hurried words and with much excitable gesticulation poured
forth his story.
"I must explain to you, Mr. Holmes, that to-morrow is the
first day of the examination for the Fortescue Scholarship.
I am one of the examiners. My subject is Greek, and the
first of the papers consists of a large passage of Greek
translation which the candidate has not seen. This passage
is printed on the examination paper, and it would naturally
be an immense advantage if the candidate could prepare it
in advance. For this reason great care is taken to keep
&nb
sp; the paper secret.
"To-day about three o'clock the proofs of this paper
arrived from the printers. The exercise consists of half a
chapter of Thucydides. I had to read it over carefully, as
the text must be absolutely correct. At four-thirty my
task was not yet completed. I had, however, promised to
take tea in a friend's rooms, so I left the proof upon my
desk. I was absent rather more than an hour.
"You are aware, Mr. Holmes, that our college doors are
double -- a green baize one within and a heavy oak one
without. As I approached my outer door I was amazed to see
a key in it. For an instant I imagined that I had left my
own there, but on feeling in my pocket I found that it was
all right. The only duplicate which existed, so far as I
knew, was that which belonged to my servant, Bannister, a
man who has looked after my room for ten years, and whose
honesty is absolutely above suspicion. I found that the
key was indeed his, that he had entered my room to know if
I wanted tea, and that he had very carelessly left the key
in the door when he came out. His visit to my room must
have been within a very few minutes of my leaving it. His
forgetfulness about the key would have mattered little upon
any other occasion, but on this one day it has produced the
most deplorable consequences.
"The moment I looked at my table I was aware that someone
had rummaged among my papers. The proof was in three long
slips. I had left them all together. Now I found that one
of them was lying on the floor, one was on the side table
near the window, and the third was where I had left it."
Holmes stirred for the first time.
"The first page on the floor, the second in the window, the
third where you left it," said he.
"Exactly, Mr. Holmes. You amaze me. How could you
possibly know that?"
"Pray continue your very interesting statement."
"For an instant I imagined that Bannister had taken the
unpardonable liberty of examining my papers. He denied it,
however, with the utmost earnestness, and I am convinced
that he was speaking the truth. The alternative was that
someone passing had observed the key in the door, had known
that I was out, and had entered to look at the papers. A
large sum of money is at stake, for the scholarship is a
very valuable one, and an unscrupulous man might very well
run a risk in order to gain an advantage over his fellows.
"Bannister was very much upset by the incident. He had
nearly fainted when we found that the papers had
undoubtedly been tampered with. I gave him a little brandy
and left him collapsed in a chair while I made a most
careful examination of the room. I soon saw that the
intruder had left other traces of his presence besides the
rumpled papers. On the table in the window were several
shreds from a pencil which had been sharpened. A broken
tip of lead was lying there also. Evidently the rascal had
copied the paper in a great hurry, had broken his pencil,
and had been compelled to put a fresh point to it."
"Excellent!" said Holmes, who was recovering his
good-humour as his attention became more engrossed by the
case. "Fortune has been your friend."
"This was not all. I have a new writing-table with a fine
surface of red leather. I am prepared to swear, and so is
Bannister, that it was smooth and unstained. Now I found a
clean cut in it about three inches long -- not a mere
scratch, but a positive cut. Not only this, but on the
table I found a small ball of black dough, or clay, with
specks of something which looks like sawdust in it. I am
convinced that these marks were left by the man who rifled
the papers. There were no footmarks and no other evidence
as to his identity. I was at my wits' ends, when suddenly
the happy thought occurred to me that you were in the town,
and I came straight round to put the matter into your
hands. Do help me, Mr. Holmes! You see my dilemma.
Either I must find the man or else the examination must be