It was a
perfect reproduction of Holmes. So amazed was I that I threw
out my hand to make sure that the man himself was standing
beside me. He was quivering with silent laughter.
"Well?" said he.
"Good heavens!" I cried. "It is marvellous."
"I trust that age doth not wither nor custom stale my infinite
variety,'" said he, and I recognised in his voice the joy and
pride which the artist takes in his own creation. "It really is
rather like me, is it not?"
"I should be prepared to swear that it was you."
"The credit of the execution is due to Monsieur Oscar Meunier,
of Grenoble, who spent some days in doing the moulding. It is a
bust in wax. The rest I arranged myself during my visit to
Baker Street this afternoon."
"But why?"
"Because, my dear Watson, I had the strongest possible reason
for wishing certain people to think that I was there when I was
really elsewhere."
"And you thought the rooms were watched?"
"I KNEW that they were watched."
"By whom?"
"By my old enemies, Watson. By the charming society whose leader
lies in the Reichenbach Fall. You must remember that they knew,
and only they knew, that I was still alive.
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