He had hashed
up an old story of how this regrettable hound of his had saved the
household from being burnt to death in their beds the night before.
I did not listen very attentively, but I gathered it had smelt smoke, and,
going into the dining-room, had found the place on fire and had promptly
gone round to the police-station.
When he had finished I got up and lit a pipe.
"Not one of your best, Geoffrey, I'm afraid--not so good, for instance, as
that one about the coastguard and the sea-gulls; still, I could see you
were trying. Now I'll tell you about Leopold's extraordinary acuteness
yesterday afternoon.
"We--he and I--were out on the parade, taking a little gentle after-
luncheon exercise, when I saw him suddenly stop and start to point at a man
sitting on one of the benches a hundred yards in front of us; but not in
his usual rigid fashion; he seemed to be puzzled and uncertain whether,
after all, he wasn't making a mistake."
Here Geoffrey was unable to contain himself, as I knew he would be.
"Lord! That chestnut! You went and asked the man his name and he told you
that it was Partridge."
"No," I said, "you are wrong, Geoffrey; his name, on inquiry, proved to be
Quail. But that was only half the problem solved. Why, I thought, should
Leopold have been so puzzled? And then an idea struck me. I went back to
the man on the bench and, with renewed apologies, asked him if he would
mind telling me how he spelt his name.
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