With
the bound of a tiger Holmes was on his back, and an instant later
Lestrade and I had him by either wrist, and the handcuffs 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. Iike the one which we had
seen that morning, and it had been broken into similar frag-
ments. 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 himseli.
"Mr. Josiah Brown, I suppose?" said Holmes.
"Yes, sir and you, no doubt, are Mr. Sherlock Holmes? I had
the note which you sent by the express messenger, and I did
exactly what you told me.
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