The Exploits of Solar Pons

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“Many a slip, Parker, many a slip!”

I looked up from my corner of the first-class railway carriage and smiled at my friend Solar Pons as he sat opposite me, spare and trim in a tweed country suit.

“I do not understand you, Pons.”

My companion blew a plume of fragrant blue smoke up to the roof of the compartment.

“It would not be the first time, Parker. I was referring merely to that contraption you were fiddling with.”

“I see!”

I held it up so that he could have a closer look.

“What on earth is it?”

I smiled again.

“I thought you were supposed to be the detective, Pons.” My friend looked at me with eyes in which little flecks of irony were dancing.

“Muck Parker. You are developing a very pretty wit of late. I must confess I am in turn developing a taste for it.”

“You flatter me, Pons, but you have still not answered my question.”

“It was I who questioned you,” Pons corrected me. “I am on holiday, remember, and giving my ratiocinative faculties a rest.

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