The Misadventure of Shelrock Holmes Read Online Free PDF

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. "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. Your first and second fingers are smeared with ink, which shows that you write a great deal. This smeared class embraces two subclasses, clerks or accountants, and journalists. Clerks have to be neat in their work, The ink smear is slight in their case. Your fingers are badly and carelessly smeared; therefore, you are a journalist. You have an evening paper in your pocket. Anyone might have any evening paper, but yours is a Special Edition, which will not be on the street? for half an hour yet. You must have obtained it before you left the office, and to do this you must be on the staff. A book notice is marked with a blue pencil. A journalist always despises every article in hi; own paper not written by himself; therefore, you wrote the artick you have marked, and doubtless are about to send it to the author oi the book referred to. Your paper makes a speciality of abusing al books not written by some member of its own staff. That the authoi is a friend of yours, I merely surmised. It is all a trivial example oi ordinary observation."
    "Really, Mr. Kombs, you are the most wonderful man on earth You are the equal of Gregory, by Jove, you are."
    A frown marred the brow of my friend as he placed his pipe or the sideboard and drew his self-cocking. six-shooter.
    "Do you mean to insult me, sir?"
    "I do not — I — I assure you. You are fit to take charge of Scotlanc 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!"
    "Perhaps you are right," remarked the detective, flinging his revolver carelessly beside his pipe, much to the relief of the third party. Then, turning to the journalist, he said, with his customary bland courtesy —
    "You wanted to see me, I think you said. What can I do for you, Mr. Wilber Scribbings?"
    The journalist started.
    "How do you know my name?" he gasped.
    Kombs waved his hand impatiently.
    "Look inside your hat if you doubt your own name."
    I then noticed for the first time that the name was plainly to be seen inside the top-hat Scribbings held upside down in his hands.
    "You have heard, of course, of the Pegram mystery —"
    "Tush," cried the detective; "do not, I beg of you, call it a mystery. There is no such thing. Life would become more tolerable if there ever was a mystery. Nothing is original. Everything has been done before. What about the Pegram affair?"
    "The Pegram — ah — case has baffled everyone. The Evening Blade wishes you to investigate, so that it may publish the result. It will pay you well. Will you accept the commission?"
    "Possibly. Tell me about the case."
    "I thought everybody knew the particulars. Mr. Barrie Kipson lived at Pegram. He carried a first-class season ticket between the terminus and that station. It was his custom to leave for Pegram on the 5.30 train each evening. Some weeks ago, Mr. Kipson was brought down by the influenza. On his first visit to the City after his recovery, he drew something like ^300 in notes, and left the office at his usual hour to catch the 5.30. He was never seen again alive, as far as the public have been able to learn. He was found at Brewster in a first-class compartment on the Scotch Express, which does not stop between London and Brewster. There was a bullet in his head,
    and his money was gone, pointing