“TOBIAS GREGSON.”

 

“Gregson is the smartest of the Scotland Yarders,” my friend remarked; “he and

Lestrade are the pick of a bad lot. They are both quick and energetic, but

conventional—shockingly so. They have their knives into one another, too. They

are as jealous as a pair of professional beauties. There will be some fun over

this case if they are both put upon the scent.”

 

I was amazed at the calm way in which he rippled on. “Surely there is not a

moment to be lost,” I cried, “shall I go and order you a cab?”

 

“I’m not sure about whether I shall go. I am the most incurably lazy devil that

ever stood in shoe leather—that is, when the fit is on me, for I can be spry

enough at times.”

 

“Why, it is just such a chance as you have been longing for.”

 

“My dear fellow, what does it matter to me. Supposing I unravel the whole

matter, you may be sure that Gregson, Lestrade, and Co. will pocket all the

credit. That comes of being an unofficial personage.”

 

“But he begs you to help him.”

 

“Yes. He knows that I am his superior, and acknowledges it to me; but he would

cut his tongue out before he would own it to any third person.