et to the open window. We will nab him as he climbs out,"
Lestrade whispered.

But before we could move, the man had emerged again. As he came out into
the glimmering patch of light, we saw that he carried something white
under his arm. He looked stealthily all round him. The silence of the
deserted street reassured him. Turning his back upon us he laid down
his burden, and the next instant there was the sound of a sharp tap,
followed by a clatter and rattle. The man was so intent upon what he was
doing that he never heard our steps as we stole across the grass plot.
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, like the one which we had seen that morning, and it had been
broken into similar fragments. 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 himself.

"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. We locked every door on the inside and awaited developments. Well,
I'm very glad to see that you have got the rascal. I hope, gentlemen,
that you will come in and have some refreshment."

However, Lestrade was anxious to get his man into safe quarters, so
within a few minutes our cab had been summoned and we were all four upon
our way to London. Not a word would our captive say, but he glared at us
from the shadow of his matted hair, and once, when my hand seemed within
his reach, he snapped at it like a hungry wolf. We stayed long enough
at the police-station to learn that a search of his clothing revealed
nothing save a few shillings and a long sheath knife, the handle of
which bore copious traces of recent blood.

"That's all right," said