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."




THE GREAT PEGRAM MYSTERY.


(_With apologies to Dr. Conan Doyle, and our mutual and lamented
friend the late Sherlock Holmes_.)

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. I found him playing the violin with a look of sweet peace
and serenity on his face, which I never noticed on the countenances of
those within hearing distance. I knew 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.