The Mind of Mr. J. G. Reeder

He is somewhat over fifty, a long-faced gentleman with sandy-grey hair and a slither of side whiskers that mercifully distract attention from his large outstanding ears. A high and flat-crowned bowler hat matches and yet does not match a frockcoat tightly buttoned across his sparse chest. His boots are square-toed, his cravat is ready-made. In short, he seems to be a rather harmless, somewhat eccentric gentleman. But it is fatal to underestimate Mr. J. G. Reeder . . .