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The Face and the Mask by Robert Barr
page 123 of 280 (43%)

"This is Mr. Kombs," I remarked at last, as my friend smoked quietly,
and seemed half-asleep.

"Allow me to introduce myself," continued the stranger, fumbling for a
card.

"There is no need. You are a journalist," said Kombs.

"Ah," said the stranger, somewhat taken aback, "you know me, then."

"Never saw or heard of you in my life before."

"Then how in the world----"

"Nothing simpler. You write for an evening paper. You have written an
article slating the book of a friend. He will feel badly about it, and
you will condole with him. He will never know who stabbed him unless I
tell him."

"The devil!" cried the journalist, sinking into a chair and mopping his
brow, while his face became livid.

"Yes," drawled Kombs, "it is a devil of a shame that such 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?"

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