I let him talk; I could afford to be generous this morning. He had hashed
up an old story of how this regrettable hound of his had saved the
household from being burnt to death in their beds the night before.

I did not listen very attentively, but I gathered it had smelt smoke, and,
going into the dining-room, had found the place on fire and had promptly
gone round to the police-station.

When he had finished I got up and lit a pipe.

"Not one of your best, Geoffrey, I'm afraid--not so good, for instance, as
that one about the coastguard and the sea-gulls; still, I could see you
were trying. Now I'll tell you about Leopold's extraordinary acuteness
yesterday afternoon.

"We--he and I--were out on the parade, taking a little gentle after-
luncheon exercise, when I saw him suddenly stop and start to point at a man
sitting on one of the benches a hundred yards in front of us; but not in
his usual rigid fashion; he seemed to be puzzled and uncertain whether,
after all, he wasn't making a mistake."

Here Geoffrey was unable to contain himself, as I knew he would be.

"Lord! That chestnut! You went and asked the man his name and he told you
that it was Partridge."

"No," I said, "you are wrong, Geoffrey; his name, on inquiry, proved to be
Quail. But that was only half the problem solved. Why, I thought, should
Leopold have been so puzzled? And then an idea struck me. I went back to