"Well, well, we can't expect to always win, Watson," he said, at last. "If Mr. Harding will not be here until the afternoon, we must come back then. As you have probably guessed, I'm trying to find out where each of these busts came from, in order to find if there is something peculiar which may explain the strange thing that happened to them. Let go to Mr. Morse Hudson, of the Kennington Road, and see if he can throw any light upon the problem."

A drive of an hour brought us to the picture-dealer's establishment. He was a small, stout man with a red face, and he was rather bad-tempered.

"Yes, sir. Right here on the counter, sir," he said. "Why we pay our taxes I don't know, when any vandal can come in and break our goods. Yes, sir, it was I who sold Dr. Barnicot his two statues. What happened is disgraceful, sir! A terrorist plot - that's what I think it is. No one but an anarchist would go about breaking statues. Communists - that's what I call them.'

Who did I get the statues from? I don't see why that is important. Well, if you really want to know, I got them from Gelder & Co., in Church Street, Stepney. They are well-known in this business, and have been around for twenty years.

How many statues did I have? Three - two and one are three - two of Dr. Barnicot's, and one smashed in broad daylight on my own counter. Do I know that photograph? No, I don't. Wait, yes, I do. It's Beppo. He was a kind of Italian odd-job man, who made himself useful in the shop. He could carve a bit, and paint and so on. He left me last week, and I've heard nothing of him since. No, I don't know where he came from nor where he went. I had no problems with him while he was here. He was already gone for two days before the bust was smashed."