We met again the next evening. By then Lestrade had found out a lot about our prisoner. His name was Beppo, though no-one knew what his second name was. He was well-known among the Italians in London as a useless and bad person. He had once been a good sculptor and had worked honestly in that job. Then he had become a criminal and had been in prison twice already. Once was for a small theft and the second time, as we had already heard, was for stabbing another Italian. He could talk English perfectly well.

No-one knew why he had been destroying the busts, and he refused to answer any questions about it. However the police had discovered that Beppo himself might have made these same busts, because that had been his job while he was working for Gelder and Co. We already knew most of this information, but Holmes listened politely anyway. But I knew Holmes very well, and I could clearly see that he was thinking about something else. I noticed a mixture of uneasiness and expectation in his manner, although he kept his face as calm as a mask.

At last he sat up suddenly in his chair and his eyes brightened. There had been a ring on the doorbell. A minute later we heard steps upon the stairs. Then an elderly, red-faced man with grey whiskers was shown into the room. In his right hand he carried an old-fashioned bag, which he put on the table.