There were crimson roses on the bench; they looked like splashes of blood. The judge was an old man; so old, he seemed to have outlived time and change and death. His parrot face and parrot voice were...

The scramble for places subsided; the jury returned; the prisoner reappeared in the dock suddenly, like a jack-in-the-box; the judge resumed his seat. Some petals had spilt from the roses. The old voi...

“They won’t be long, I shouldn’t think,” said Waffles Newton, “it’s pretty damned obvious. Look here, old man, I’m going to push my stuff in. Will you let me know what happens?” “Sure,” said Salcombe ...

The following day was a Sunday, but Sir Impey Biggs cancelled an engagement to play golf (with the less regret as it was pouring cats and dogs), and held an extraordinary council of war. “Well, now, W...

“Well now,” said Wimsey, “why do people kill people?” He was sitting in Miss Katharine Climpson’s private office. The establishment was ostensibly a typing bureau, and indeed there were three efficien...

The next day dawned bright and fair, and Wimsey felt a certain exhilaration as he purred down to Tweedling Parva. “Mrs. Merdle” the car, so called because, like that celebrated lady, she was averse to...

Lord Peter Wimsey almost bounced into Holloway Prison next morning. Harriet Vane greeted him with a kind of rueful smile. “So you’ve reappeared?” “Good lord, yes! Surely you expected me to. I fancied ...

“Bunter!” “My lord?” Wimsey tapped with his fingers a letter he had just received. “Do you feel at your brightest and most truly fascinating? Does a livelier iris, winter weather notwithstanding, shin...

By what ingratiating means Mr. Bunter had contrived to turn the delivery of a note into the acceptance of an invitation to tea was best known to himself. At half past four on the day which ended so ch...

“Here you are, Peter,” said Chief Inspector Parker, “and here is the lady you are anxious to meet. Mrs. Bulfinch, allow me to introduce Lord Peter Wimsey.” “Pleased, I am sure,” said Mrs. Bulfinch. Sh...

Wimsey presented himself at Mr. Urquhart’s house at 9 o’clock the next morning, and found that gentleman at breakfast. “I thought I might catch you before you went down to the office,” said his lordsh...

Wimsey was accustomed to say, when he was an old man and more talkative even than usual, that the recollection of that Christmas at Duke’s Denver had haunted him in nightmares, every night regularly, ...

Miss Murchison felt a touch of excitement in her well regulated heart, as she rang the bell of Lord Peter’s flat. It was not caused by the consideration of his title or his wealth or his bachelorhood,...

Mr. Norman Urquhart glanced at the clock, which stood at 4:15, and called through the open door: “Are those affidavits nearly ready, Miss Murchison?” “I am just on the last page, Mr. Urquhart.” “Bring...

Lord Peter congratulated Miss Murchison and gave her a rather special lunch at Rules, where there is a particularly fine old Cognac for those that appreciate such things. Indeed, Miss Murchison was a ...

Mr. Crofts, excusably enough, said, “I told you so”; Sir Impey Biggs observed curtly, “Very unfortunate.” To chronicle Lord Peter Wimsey’s daily life during the ensuing week would be neither kind nor ...

Supper was over. It had been served in a beautiful old panelled room with an Adam ceiling and fireplace, and the food had been good. Miss Climpson felt braced and ready. “We’ll sit in my own room, sha...

It was, of course, useless for Miss Climpson to try to conceal from the boardinghouse ladies where she had been and what she had been doing. Her return at midnight in a taxi had already aroused the li...

Miss Climpson stayed the night in the spare bedroom. “The best thing,” she said, “will be for you to write a little letter to Mr. Urquhart, explaining about the séance, and saying that you thought it ...

“T’ch! t’ch!” said Mr. Pond, clicking his tongue against his denture. Miss Murchison looked up from her typewriter. “Is anything the matter, Mr. Pond?” “No, nothing,” said the head clerk, testily. “A ...

“Then you won’t marry me?” said Lord Peter. The prisoner shook her head. “No. It wouldn’t be fair to you. And besides⁠—” “Well?” “I’m frightened of it. One couldn’t get away. I’ll live with you, if yo...

“I have come round,” said Mr. Urquhart, “in answer to your letter. I am greatly interested to hear that you have some fresh information about my unfortunate cousin’s death. Of course I shall be deligh...

There were golden chrysanthemums on the judge’s bench; they looked like burning banners. The prisoner, too, had a look in her eyes that was a challenge to the crowded court, as the clerk read the indi...

See The Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club, published 1928. ↩ Valetta. ↩...