met those of Holmes, and
he put his finger to his lips as we turned away from the window.

THE ADVENTURE OF THE SIX NAPOLEONS

It was no very unusual thing for Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, to
look in upon us of an evening, and his visits were welcome to Sherlock
Holmes, for they enabled him to keep in touch with all that was going on
at the police headquarters. In return for the news which Lestrade would
bring, Holmes was always ready to listen with attention to the
details of any case upon which the detective was engaged, and was able
occasionally, without any active interference, to give some hint or
suggestion drawn from his own vast knowledge and experience.

On this particular evening, Lestrade had spoken of the weather and
the newspapers. Then he had fallen silent, puffing thoughtfully at his
cigar. Holmes looked keenly at him.

"Anything remarkable on hand?" he asked.

"Oh, no, Mr. Holmes--nothing very particular."

"Then tell me about it."

Lestrade laughed.

"Well, Mr. Holmes, there is no use denying that there IS something on my
mind. And yet it is such an absurd business, that I hesitated to
bother you about it. On the other hand, although it is trivial, it is
undoubtedly queer, and I know that you have a taste for all that is out
of the common. But, in my opinion, it comes more in Dr. Watson's line
than ours."

"Disease?" said I.

"Madness, anyhow. And a queer madness, too. You wouldn't think there was
anyone living at this time of day who had such a hatred of Napoleon the
First that he would break any image of him that he could see."

Holmes sank back in his chair.

"That's no business of mine," said he.

"Exactly. That's what I said. But then, when the man commits burglary
in order to break images which are not his own, that brings it away from
the doctor and on to the policeman."

Holmes sat up again.

"Burglary! This is more interesting. Let me hear the details."

Lestrade took out his official notebook and refreshed his memory from
its pages.

"The first case reported was four days ago," said he. "It was at the
shop of Morse Hudson, who has a place for the sale of pictures and
statues in the Kennington Road. The assistant had left the front shop
for an instant, when he heard a crash, and hurrying in he found a
plaster bust of Napoleon, which stood with several other works of art
upon the counter, lying shivered into fragments. He rushed out into the
road, but, although