The Misadventure of Shelrock Holmes Read Online Free PDF Page A

this expression of seraphic calm indicated that Kombs had been deeply annoyed about something. Such, indeed, proved to be the case, for one of the morning papers had contained an article eulogizing the alertness and general competence of Scotland Yard. So great was Sherlaw Kombs's contempt for Scotland Yard that he never would visit Scotland during his vacations, nor would he ever admit that a Scotchman was fit for anything but export.
    He generously put away his violin, for he had a sincere liking for me, and greeted me with his usual kindness.
    "I have come," I began, plunging at once into the matter on my mind, "to hear what you think of the great Pegram mystery."
    "I haven't heard of it," he said quietly, just as if all London were not talking of that very thing. Kombs was curiously ignorant on some subjects, and abnormally learned on others. I found, for instance, that political discussion with him was impossible, because he did not know who Salisbury and Gladstone were. This made his friendship a great boon. "The Pegram mystery has baffled even Gregory, of Scotland
    Yard."
    "I can well believe it," said my friend, calmly. "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. 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.
    "Tell me about it," he said simply.
    "Old Barrie Kipson," I began, "was a stock-broker 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. I was really so interested in your recital that I spoke before I thought, which a detective should never do. The fact is, a man will be here in a moment who will tell me all about diis crime, and so you will be spared further effort in that line."
    "Ah, you have an appointment. In that case I will not intrude," I said, rising.
    "Sit down; I have no appointment. I did not know until I spoke that he was coming."
    I gazed at him in amazement. Accustomed as I was to his extraordinary talents, the man was a perpetual surprise to me. He continued to smoke quietly, but evidently enjoyed my consternation.
    "I see you are surprised. It is really too simple to talk about, but, from my position opposite die mirror, I can see die reflection of objects in the street. A man stopped, looked at one of my cards, and then glanced across die street. I recognized my card, because, as you know, they are all in scarlet. If, as you say, London is talking of this mystery, it naturally follows diat he will talk of it, and the chances are he wished to consult with me upon it. Anyone can see that, besides there is always — Come in!"
    There was a rap at the door diis time.
    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 condemning the book of a friend. He will feel bad
    about it, and you will condole with him. He will never know who stabbed him unless I tell him."
    "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