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. There was no
professional jealousy in him, such as characterises so many other men.
He filled his pipe, threw himself into his deep-seated armchair,
placed his feet on the mantel, and clasped his hands behind his head.
Pages:
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371