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Mr. Lestrade from London’s Metropolitan Police was a frequent visitor at 221B Baker Street, the home I shared with my friend, the famous detective Sherlock Holmes. Holmes always liked these visits because Lestrade would tell him all the latest news from the world of crime. In return, Holmes might give Lestrade some helpful suggestions for whatever case he was trying to solve.

 

On one evening in June 1900, Lestrade was embarrassed when Holmes asked him what case he was working on. “It’s so ridiculous and stupid that I’m not sure if I want to even tell you,” he said. “On the other hand, although it’s not very important, it’s also strange, and I know you are interested in strange cases. In fact, it might be of more interest to Dr. Watson than to us.”

 

I looked up when I heard my name. “Is it about disease, then?” I asked.

 

“Disease of the mind, maybe,” said Lestrade, “only a madman would hate Napoleon so much that he would want to destroy every statue of him that he can find.”

 

“You mean Napoleon Bonaparte, the former emperor of France?” I exclaimed.

 

“That’s correct,” said Lestrade. “It’s become a case for the police because this man isn’t smashing his own statues of the French emperor—he’s committing burglary to destroy those belonging to other people.”

 

“This does sound very interesting, Lestrade,” said Holmes. “Please tell me more.”

 

Lestrade took out a notebook to look through the details. “The first case was reported four days ago,” he said. “It took place at Harrison’s Art and Antiques, a shop on Kennington Road in London. The assistant went into the back office for a moment when he heard a crash from the main shop. Hurrying back in, he found a plaster bust of Napoleon, which had been standing on the counter, lying in fragments on the floor. He rushed into the street but saw no sign of who did it.

 

“The bust was very cheap, and it seemed like one of those random acts of vandalism that happen from time to time and are not worth investigating. The second case, however, was more serious and, in its way, strange. It happened only last night.”

 

“Just a short distance from the shop I just mentioned lives a doctor by the name of Barnicot. This man is an admirer of Napoleon, and his house is full of books and pictures of the French emperor. Some time ago, he purchased two plaster busts of Napoleon exactly the same from Harrison’s Art and Antiques. One of these he placed in the hall of his house, and the other in his doctor’s surgery in Lower Brixton.

 

“This morning, Dr. Barnicot woke up and discovered his house had been burgled in the night, but nothing had been taken except the bust of Napoleon. It had been carried out into the garden and thrown against the wall, beneath which he found its remains.”

 

Holmes happily rubbed his hands. “This is fascinating,” he murmured.

 

 “You’ve not heard the end yet,” said Lestrade. “At midday, Dr. Barnicot arrived at his surgery, and you can imagine his amazement when he found the window open and broken pieces of the second Napoleon bust all over the room. In neither case could we find any clues as to the person who carried out these bizarre crimes. And those, Mr. Holmes, are the facts of the case.”

 

“And very strange facts they are, too,” said Holmes. “Tell me, were Dr. Barnicot’s busts exactly the same as of the one destroyed in the Harrison shop?”

 

“Yes. Exactly the same.”

 

“This suggests the criminal isn’t motivated by a general hatred of Napoleon. Think of how many statues of Napoleon there must be in London. Surely it’s too much of a coincidence that the three he happened to destroy are all identical.”

 

“I’m not so sure,” said Lestrade. “There may be hundreds of statues of Napoleon in London, but as far as we know Harrison’s is the only shop selling them in that area of the city. Therefore, a local Napoleon-hater would begin with them. What do you think, Watson?”

 

“I suppose it’s pos