Appendix: Two Sherlock Holmes Parodies - Page 2

continued to smoke quietly, but evidently enjoyed my consternation.

'I see you are surprised. It is really too simple to talk about, but, from my position opposite the mirror, I can see the reflection of objects in the street. A man stopped, looked at one of my cards, and then glanced across the street. I recognised my card, because, as you know, they are all in scarlet. If, as you say, London is talking of this mystery, it naturally follows that he will talk of it, and the chances are he wished to consult with me upon it. Anyone can see that, besides there is always--Come in!

There was a rap at the door this time.

A stranger entered. Sherlaw Kombs did not change his lounging attitude.

'I wish to see Mr. Sherlaw Kombs, the detective,' said the stranger, coming within the range of the smoker's vision.

'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?'

'I rarely talk about these things,' said Kombs with great composure. 'But as the cultivation of the habit of observation may help you in your profession, and thus in a remote degree benefit me by making your paper less deadly dull, I will tell you. Your first and second fingers are smeared with ink, which shows that you write a great deal. This smeared class embraces two sub-classes, clerks or accountants, and journalists. Clerks have to be neat in their work. The ink smear is slight in their case. Your fingers are badly and carelessly smeared; therefore, you are a journalist. You have an evening paper in your pocket. Anyone might have any evening paper, but yours is a Special Edition, which will not be on the streets for half-an-hour yet. You must have obtained it before you left the office, and to do this you must be on the staff. A book notice is marked with a blue pencil. A journalist always despises every article in his own paper not written by himself; therefore, you wrote the article you have marked,