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'Tell me about it, he said simply. 'Old Barrie Kipson, I began, 'was a stockbroker in the City. He lived in Pegram, and it was his custom to 'COME IN! shouted Kombs, without changing his position, but with a suddenness that startled me. I had heard no knock. 'Excuse me, said my friend, laughing, 'my invitation to enter was a trifle premature.
A stranger entered. Sherlaw Kombs did not change his lounging attitude. 'I wish to see Mr. Sherlaw Kombs, the detective, said the stranger, coming within the range of the smoker's vision. 'This is Mr. Kombs, I remarked at last, as my friend smoked quietly, and seemed half-asleep. 'Allow me to introduce myself, continued the stranger, fumbling for a card. 'There is no need.
You are a journalist, said Kombs. 'Ah, said the stranger, somewhat taken aback, 'you know me, then. 'Never saw or heard of you in my life before. 'Then how in the world 'Nothing simpler. You write for an evening paper. You have written an article slating the book of a friend. He will feel badly about it, and you will condole with him. He will never know who stabbed him unless I tell him.
"Perpetual motion, or squaring the circle, would baffle Gregory. He's an infant, is Gregory." This was one of the things I always liked about Kombs. There was no professional jealousy in him, such as characterizes so many other men. He filled his pipe, threw himself into his deep-seated arm-chair, placed his feet on the mantel, and clasped his hands behind his head.
You are a journalist," said Kombs. "Ah," said the stranger, somewhat taken aback, "you know me, then." "Never saw or heard of you in my life before." "Then how in the world " "Nothing simpler. You write for an evening paper. You have written an article slating the book of a friend. He will feel badly about it, and you will condole with him. He will never know who stabbed him unless I tell him."
You are fit to take charge of Scotland Yard to-morrow . I am in earnest, indeed I am, sir." "Then Heaven help you," cried Kombs, slowly raising his right arm. I sprang between them. "Don't shoot!" I cried. "You will spoil the carpet. Besides, Sherlaw, don't you see the man means well. He actually thinks it is a compliment!"
'Would you object to telling me how you know these particulars about a man you say you have never seen? 'I rarely talk about these things, said Kombs with great composure. 'But as the cultivation of the habit of observation may help you in your profession, and thus in a remote degree benefit me by making your paper less deadly dull, I will tell you.
Some moments after the pallid Minister looked over the work of destruction, but no trace of humanity was there except himself. "I could not do otherwise," he murmured, "It was too great a risk to run." I dropped in on my friend, Sherlaw Kombs, to hear what he had to say about the Pegram mystery, as it had come to be called in the newspapers.
'The devil! cried the journalist, sinking into a chair and mopping his brow, while his face became livid. 'Yes, drawled Kombs, 'it is a devil of a shame that such things are done. But what would you? as we say in France. When the journalist had recovered his second wind he pulled himself together somewhat.
You are fit to take charge of Scotland Yard tomorrow . I am in earnest, indeed I am, sir. 'Then heaven help you, cried Kombs, slowly raising his right arm. I sprang between them. 'Don't shoot! I cried. 'You will spoil the carpet. Besides, Sherlaw, don't you see the man means well. He actually thinks it is a compliment!
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