At last he started in his chair and his
eyes brightened. There had been a ring at the bell. A minute
later we heard steps upon the stairs, and an elderly, red-faced
man with grizzled side-whiskers was ushered in. In his right
hand he carried an old-fashioned carpet-bag, which he placed
upon the table.
"Is Mr. Sherlock Holmes here?"
My friend bowed and smiled. "Mr. Sandeford, of Reading, I suppose?"
said he.
"Yes, sir, I fear that I am a little late; but the trains were
awkward. You wrote to me about a bust that is in my possession."
"Exactly."
"I have your letter here. You said, `I desire to possess a copy
of Devine's Napoleon, and am prepared to pay you ten pounds for
the one which is in your possession.' Is that right?"
"Certainly."
"I was very much surprised at your letter, for I could not
imagine how you knew that I owned such a thing."
"Of course you must have been surprised, but the explanation is
very simple. Mr. Harding, of Harding Brothers, said that they
had sold you their last copy, and he gave me your address."
"Oh, that was it, was it? Did he tell you what I paid for it?"
"No, he did not.
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