educting half the length of the train, as
this carriage is in the middle, you will find the pistol.'

'Wonderful!' I exclaimed.

'Commonplace,' he murmured.

At this moment the whistle sounded shrilly, and we felt the grind of
the air-brakes.

'The Pegram signal again,' cried Kombs, with something almost like
enthusiasm. 'This is indeed luck. We will get out here, Whatson, and
test the matter.'

As the train stopped, we got out on the right-hand side of the line.
The engine stood panting impatiently under the red light, which
changed to green as I looked at it. As the train moved on with
increasing speed, the detective counted the carriages, and noted down
the number. It was now dark, with the thin crescent of the moon
hanging in the western sky throwing a weird half-light on the shining
metals. The rear lamps of the train disappeared around a curve, and
the signal stood at baleful red again. The black magic of the lonesome
night in that strange place impressed me, but the detective was a most
practical man. He placed his back against the signal-post, and paced
up the line with even strides, counting his steps. I walked along the
permanent way beside him silently. At last he stopped, and took a
tape-line from his pocket. He ran it out until the ten feet six inches
were unrolled, scanning the figures in the wan light of the new moon.
Giving me the end, he placed his knuckles on the metals, motioning me
to proceed down the embankment. I stretched out the line, and then
sank my hand in the damp grass to mark the spot.

'Good God!' I cried, aghast, 'what is this?'

'It is the pistol,' said Kombs quietly.

It was!!

* * * * *

Journalistic London will not soon forget the sensation that was caused
by the record of the investigations of Sherlaw Kombs, as printed at
length in the next day's _Evening Blade_. Would that my story ended
here. Alas! Kombs contemptuously turned over the pistol to Scotland
Yard. The meddlesome officials, actuated, as I always hold, by
jealousy, found the name of the seller upon it. They investigated. The
seller testified that it had never been in the possession of Mr
Kipson, as far as he knew. It was sold to a man whose description
tallied with that of a criminal long watched by the police. He was
arrested, and turned Queen's evidence in the hope of hanging his pal.
It seemed that Mr. Kipson, who was a gloomy, taciturn man, and usually
came home in a compar