"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 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 stockbroker 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