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    Whose Body?
    Whose Body?
    Whose Body?
    Ebook331 pages5 hours

    Whose Body?

    By Dorothy L. Sayers

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    In the debut mystery in Dorothy L. Sayers’s acclaimed Lord Peter Wimsey series, the case of a dead bather draws Lord Peter into the 1st of many puzzling mysteries

    Lord Peter Wimsey spends his days tracking down rare books, and his nights hunting killers. Though the Great War has left his nerves frayed with shellshock, Wimsey continues to be London’s greatest sleuth—and he’s about to encounter his oddest case yet.
     
    A strange corpse has appeared in a suburban architect’s bathroom, stark naked save for an incongruous pince-nez. When Wimsey arrives on the scene, he is confronted with a once-in-a-lifetime puzzle. The police suspect that the bathtub’s owner is the murderer, but Wimsey’s investigation quickly reveals that the case is much stranger than anyone could have predicted.
     
    Published in 1923, during detective fiction’s Golden Age, Whose Body? introduced a character and a series that would make Dorothy L. Sayers famous. To this day, Lord Peter remains 1 of the genre’s most beloved and brilliant characters.
     
    Whose Body? is the 1st book in the Lord Peter Wimsey Mysteries, but you may enjoy the series by reading the books in any order.
     
    This ebook features an illustrated biography of Dorothy L. Sayers including rare images from the Marion E. Wade Center at Wheaton College.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOpen Road Media
    Release dateApr 9, 2013
    ISBN9781480417168
    Author

    Dorothy L. Sayers

    Dorothy L. Sayers, the greatest of the golden age detective novelists, was born in Oxford in 1893. Her aristocratic detective, Lord Peter Wimsey, became one of the most popular fictional heroes of the twentieth century. She devoted the last 20 years of her life to playwriting, Christian scholarship, and a new translation of Dante. She died in 1957.

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    Reviews for Whose Body?

    3.5/5

    1,356 ratings95 reviews

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    • 5/5
      Very happy to discover Dorothy L. Sayers, a true master of classic cozy mystery.
    • 4/5
      Lord Peter Wimsey is the epitome of the elegant, eccentric sleuth, and one of the great characters of mystery fiction. In Whose Body, Dorothy L. Sayers' first book, Wimsey himself views the stark naked body lying in the tub. And of course, the brilliant detective untangles the ghastly murder in spite of incorrect assumptions by the police. Started slow but kept me guessing until the end. Good mystery with twists and turns, humor and wit. Well plotted with engaging characters. Sayers is a beautiful writer and I would recommend to those who love English mystery.
    • 4/5
      I remember adoring Sayers and her Lord Wimsey, but I admit upon reacquaintance I found his aristocratic manner irksome at first, and I was put off with his attitude that this was a hobby and puzzle. It's akin to an attitude you see in Sherlock Holmes, but somehow seemed more callous in a wealthy aristocrat who seems equally as diverted by collecting rare books. However, more and more as I read the novel it came back to me why I did love Sayers' Wimsey novels, and I got glints of why eventually Wimsey is more than a dilettante, yet a charmer. The mystery plot hangs together well, but what's most striking is that there's a lightness, a deft humor and wordplay that sets Sayers apart from Christie or Doyle. I should mention there are anti-semitic views expressed by characters in this book--but given the positive depiction of the Jewish character in the book, I think that's meant to reflect on those characters and the times, and not the views of the author. And there's something wonderful to look forward to in the later novels when his love, Harriet Vane, comes upon the scene.
    • 4/5
      Why haven't I read Sayers before? This is so good!!!
    • 2/5
      naked body with only pince eres found in bath tub, Lord Peter Wimsey series
    • 2/5
      I really expected to like this book better. I found it a bit dull and the character of Lord Peter Wimsey to be somewhat difficult to like. Not that impressed.
    • 4/5
      This first of the Lord Peter Wimsey series was very well done with well written characters and good psychological and sociological assessments.
    • 3/5
      This is the first Lord Peter Wimsey book it was pretty good ,not as good as I was expecting but still good .I will be reading more of this series as I've heard they do get much better.
    • 5/5
      This is early Sayers, when murder is black and white and probably prinicipled a la Raskolnikov, in a Western civilization quite possible on the brink after WWI. Peter is a long-nosed twit without a lot of depth, but he more than compensates for it with sparkle.
    • 4/5
      My first and still one of my favorite Lord Peter mysteries.
    • 4/5
      Rereading Sayers’ first Wimsey book, Whose Body? reminding this reviewer why it was they had so loved this genre of story. Sayers’ writing style is unobtrusively good. One is seldom consciously aware of the fact that the author has managed to draw deep and nuanced word portraits in a few sentences. Words are used carefully yet the author seldom makes a point of her erudition save for her choice not to translate the portions of a conversation that take place in French.Although the method by which the murderer carried out his plans strains credulity Sayers does not resort to the all too common plot device of a massive international criminal conspiracy that one encounters among so many of English mystery writers of this time. This murderer’s motivations are almost mundane in comparison to those found in many of the author’s contemporaries. A number of things stand out to this reader.First, there is a base level of anti-Semitism in the Britain of the 1920s that may take a modern reader aback. People are described as “Hebrew” as if that was an identifier no different from “blond.” And many of the characters in this book are clearly prejudiced against Jews. Yet Sir Reuben Levy, the “self-made” and wealthy Jew around whose disappearance much of the book revolves, is not characterized as miserly or money-grubbing. Yes, he holds to the personal economies that helped him become a very wealthy man but he is also shown to be extremely generous to his wife and daughter. His marriage is portrayed as happy and sound and his wife, who braved criticism when she chose to marry a Jew is shown as having never had a reason to regret that decision.Second, near the end of this book there is a short and stunningly effective depiction of PTSD. It was at that time known as shell-shock but there can be no question that that is what Lord Peter is victim of. This PTSD functions as the reason why he sometimes withdraws in apparent fatuity. As a man who knows that deep emotions may trigger flashbacks he uses a variety of techniques to dampen down those emotions at moments of stress. This grounds Wimsey’s behaviour, and the acceptance of that behaviour on the part of those around him, not in his “class” or the fashion of his social circle but in their knowledge that he has, in a sense, earned the right to sometimes withdraw both intellectually and emotionally.Third, Sayers treats her non-aristocratic characters as intelligent and rational people. One understands why Lord Peter would find Mr. Parker an enjoyable person to dine with. Parker himself is well-educated and is shown to read books that are as intellectually challenging as those that interest Wimsey. Indeed, when he and Lord Peter discuss the morality and rationale of detective work and law on a serious level it is often Parker who seems to make the better argument.Bunter, is another character who, written by a lesser author, could easily fall into caricature rather than characterization. Bunter does not drop letters from his speech and fall back on cant and argot. He, it is pointed out in the text, has been educated well. And the last line in the “shell-shock” scene makes it clear that what ties Bunter to Wimsey is not loyalty based on a class relationship but the loyalty that is forged by shared experiences in combat and physical deprivation.Whose Body? is not the “perfect” mystery novel the plot is over complicated and the denouement under impressive. This is, however, an impressive first outing for a detective, and a cast of characters, whose motivations and psychologies are better drawn in a scant few hundred pages than other authors can achieve after several books.
    • 3/5
      The body of the title is a naked (except for a pair of glasses) corpse lounging in someone's bathtub. Indeed, who is it? A Jewish business man who has been reported missing? The corpse looks Jewish, but doesn't look like a business man.I downloaded this audio book from my library's Hoopla account, and I did it by accident: I thought it was the first Harriet Vane book, Strong Poison. Instead, it was the first Peter Wimsey book, and like many first books in a series, it lacks the richness of later books and was much more of a simple puzzle-mystery. Still, Wimsey was Wimsey from the start, a brilliant and sensitive man disguised as an upper-class twit. It's amusing just to hear him speak, and his banter with Bunter is delicious.
    • 5/5
      The first of the Lord Peter Wimsey books, this is one of my favourites. It perfectly captures the postwar world--superficiality and despair perfectly balanced. Wimsey, in his introduction, is a likeable character, outwardly a prattling fool, but inwardly a shell-shocked, pain-wracked soul torturing himself over his experiences in the war. The mystery is a trifle obvious, but the characters are likeable and fun. More importantly, the book really captures the atmosphere and troubling questions that were faced in the society of postwar England.
    • 3/5
      Not her best, to be sure. I enjoyed the characters though I feel they could have been drawn with more detail (especially Peter, I can't wait to read more about him). I like her use of language and the set of society she's chosen to represent is great fun. The conclusion is a little frustrating seeing as the murderer confesses all in a letter but Sayer's humour really saves the mystery from being commonplace. I'll definitely continue reading the books in the series.
    • 4/5
      1st outing for amateur sleuth Lord Peter Wimsey. Enjoyable although dated and interesting twist by addition of 1st world war shell shock to Wimsey.
    • 4/5
      Peter Wimsey is pleasantly engaging, and the rather old-fashioned mystery is charming. I can see why these have held up well over time - while there are aspects that are depressingly dated (I couldn't help but wince a bit at the discussions of Jews,) a solid love-or-money motive and fastidious sleuthing are always perfect for a bit of light reading.
    • 4/5
      Whose Body is the first of Dorothy Sayers’ Lord Peter Wimsey mysteries. The book is shorter than later novels in the series, but it stands the test of time well, told with beautifully English voice, combining good manners and bad deeds in a truly enticing blend, and introducing a great protagonist. Lord Peter proves he loves books, reveals his wounded WWI psyche, and retires to his country home… but first there’s a body to be buried and a name to be given. There’s satisfaction in following the arguments, guessing their resolutions, and seeing the pleasing interactions whereby the truth will be revealed. Great characters, great time and place, and the promise of much much more to come.Disclosure: As a treat, I’ve decided to read all the Lord Peter Wimsey novels in order, so this is where I start, and I’m enjoying the ride.
    • 5/5
      I haven't read a bad Dorothy Sayers yet, so I'm not surprised that this kept me on the edge of my seat. A little more raw and physical than some of her other Lord Peter Wimsey mysteries and as always an exploration of the nature of evil.
    • 3/5
      Unbelievably, this was my third try with Sayers' first Lord Peter Wimsey story. Repeated attempts are only explained because I was curious about how the series started and how the character grew. Although I liked Wimsey and his manservant Bunter, the story was less appealing than I expected - or maybe it was exactly what I expected.
    • 4/5
      Much better than the book I read next (Five Red Herrings). Had some Dowager Duchess, besides the piffle. Somewhat obvious motive for the crime, but it was fun watching them make sure about the means and so on. Also some amusing offscreen gore at the end.
    • 4/5
      I decided it's time to re-read the Lord Peter mysteries, in publication order. This one is a lot of fun, and Sayers deftly sets up the elements and characters that will serve so well in the coming novels: Bunter, who is capable, efficient, and secretly soft-hearted; Detective Parker, stolid but an excellent detective in his own right; the delightful Dowager Duchess; and of course Lord Peter Wimsey himself, both fascinated by crime and conflicted by the idea that his hobby of choice is putting people behind bars.
    • 3/5
      Another Wimsey re-read. In this one there's a missing financier and a mystery body - are the two related? It seems unlikely, but with Parker working on the missing man from the police end and Wimsey working on the mystery body from the end of the family who had this dumped in their bath the two cases work their way together. I like this one with the excpetion of the final chapter, where the criminal confesses in a letter being written as he was arrested and prior to his intended flight form justice. Having it laid out like that somehow takes the gloss off it. But with that quibble aside, this is interesting for several elements, the incidence of Wimsey's shell shock being one that stands out. So one of the best puzzles, but the ending, to my mind, lets it down slightly.
    • 4/5
      I'd been wanting to read Lord Peter Wimsey for ages and started with the first book (when I finally found it). I found it a bit hard going in parts to begin with but by half way through the book I was hooked. Lord Peter is an addictive character and the mystery has so many strands that all make sense in the end. I've started another DLS now and am even more hooked.
    • 3/5
      I suspect I judged Whose Body? differently, after studying Victorian crime fiction - my expectations of a murder mystery have altered and the lack of main female characters and any romantic subplottheir absence did not bother me at all. The plot is intriguing - Lord Peter is looking into the case of a man who has been found dead in a bathtub wearing nothing but a pince-nez, and his friend Parker (who is a professional Scotland Yard detective) is looking for a missing business man. They swap notes - swap aspects of their investigations, even, and Peter begins to feel that the two are connected. Certain discoveries were unsurprising, and aspects about the ending weren't completely satisfactory. However, the mystery progressed quickly and it is told in such an interesting and entertaining manner that it does not really matter. Peter is a unemployed, unattached aristocrat who is amused by the intellectual challenge his hobby of investigating crimes provides - but not so much by the implications that involves catching a man who will invariably hanged. He is confident, quick-witted and sociable, with an entertaining manner of speech. His conversations with Parker and his interactions with his manservant are quite amusing. I have managed to read the first Lord Peter Wimsey practically last, and was interested to observe Peter is portrayed as a much younger man - as he should be; Whose Body? was written (and set) over a decade before Gaudy Night*. It is interesting to see the sort of person he was; he was both more flippant and more serious than I expected him to be. I was interested that the story included information about his shell-shock and how it affects him - it makes him more human and likable, somehow.Peter's mother, the Dowager Duchess, makes more than one appearance and is delightfully charming and verbose. Other points of interest include an interview with a medical student which is mostly written in the second person ("you" being the slightly bewildered doctor-to-be), an inquest, a detective called Sugg who embodies the "stupid police stereotype" and gets in Lord Peter's way, and the historical context - the mannerisms and social mores of the times.I liked it a lot. It's not Gaudy Night, but it isn't trying to be. It's an entertaining mystery, and while it manages to hold up better on the "entertaining" rather than the "mystery" side of things, I see no reason to hold that against it.* One of the last Lord Peter Wimsey mysteries, and one of my very favourite books.
    • 5/5
      I originally started trying to read Sayer's Lord Peter Wimsey mysteries about 10-15 years ago, and only got about a 1/3 of the way through. It was a thoroughly delightful surprise then to go back, and find out how good these are.The stories are set in 1920's England (for all of you Downton fans, a perfect setting). The characters are superb. One can spend hours chuckling at the interaction between Lord Peter and Bunter, his valet. One also finds the origins of the strong friendship between the two.Overall, a simply delightful book - and I now understand why these are classics of the golden age of British mysteries.
    • 3/5
      Overall interesting, though a bit on the bland side at first.
    • 4/5
      It all started when Lord Peter Wimsey's mother phoned him to tell him she couldn't have tea with the church's architect that morning as he'd found a body in his bath tub. The infinitely resourceful Lord Peter worms his way into the murder investigation for a lark, and feels obligated to continue since he's convinced the police have made a mistake. Set in the London of the 1920s, this story is crackling with droll British humor, and only the first in a fantastic series of classic mysteries.
    • 4/5
      I finished Whose Body? by Dorothy L. Sayers today. This is the first Lord Peter Wimsey novel published. It was very much an "introducing the characters" type of book. The story was first published in 1923 and the 1935 edition, which appears to be the one my 1973 edition is based on, includes a biography of Lord Peter which was supposedly written by Lord Peter's uncle, Paul Austin Delagardie, his mother's brother. I can see that this "biography" was added to support overarching plot lines and to provide back story that supports elements found in later Wimsey tales. Apparently the 1935 edition also incorporated some corrections from the author.An enjoyable story with quotations from poems in the early chapters of the book that probably have allusions and meaning that I am not aware of, but that is more to do with my being a Philistine when it comes to all things poetry related more than any obscurity of the verses concerned.The first volume of Sayers's translation of Dante's Inferno was published in 1949, some 26 years after "Whose Body?" However, in "Whose Body?", she demonstrates Lord Peter Wimsey's interest in books, or more correctly, his bibliophilia, by describing how keen he is to purchase a rare edition of Dante's Inferno at an auction for a significant sum of money. I suspect all Sayers's references to rare books in "Whose Body?" are accurate and will stand up to investigation. Rare books would have been something she would have been knowledgeable about and it is interesting to see her inserting some of her personal interests into the novel.It is an interesting first novel and it is interesting to see how the characters are being introduced and described. It will be interesting to see their development as I read more of the Wimsey books.The first Bertie Wooster/Jeeves story by P.G. Wodehouse was published in 1915. Sayers was obviously familiar with the character and it would appear she modelled Lord Peter on Bertie but added sufficient intelligence to give her character more gravitas and wisdom while still having flights of whimsy, if you excuse the near-pun. While reading "Whose Body?" it was hard not to hear Lord Peter's words in the voice of Hugh Laurie's depiction of Bertie Wooster in the BBC TV series.Bunter, Lord Peter's "Man", appears to be as wise and reliable as Jeeves but much more sombre and serious.
    • 5/5
      I must admit that my familiarity with Lord Peter Wimsey began with the Masterpiece Theater series of mysteries featuring the character, although I didn't watch them all that much. I think I was too young at the time to really appreciate him. Later I read Gaudy Night and fell in love with him and with the book. It's a novel not quite like anything else, a truly intellectual romance, an exploration of cloistered academic life, and a mystery tied up into a beautiful homage to Oxford and the possibility of returning home. After that I read Busman's Holiday, but never any of the real mysteries - those without Harriet Vane.Whose Body? is Sayers' first installment in the Lord Peter Wimsey mysteries. In it we are introduced to the characters who will recur throughout the books - in particular, Lord Peter and his man - Bunter. I know lots of people consider Jeeves from PG Wodehouse's books to be the quintessential butler, but for me it's Bunter. Bunter was Lord Peter's batman during the Great War. Bunter saved Lord Peter's life during the war and their partnership continues after the war. Bunter is the butler's butler - a man filled with dignity, grace, and impeccable taste. He is a talented photographer and forensic scientist and becomes Lord Peter's partner in crimesolving throughout the books.Whose Body? is a closed room myster - a naked, unidentified man found in a bath wearing a pair of golden pince nez. Sayers takes this very simple premise and expands it into an entertaining and turntwisting whodunit. A wonderful read and a taste of what was to come.
    • 2/5
      I wasn't too impressed and found this to be rather boring.

    Book preview

    Whose Body? - Dorothy L. Sayers

    Whose Body?

    A Lord Peter Wimsey Mystery

    Dorothy L. Sayers

    To M. J.

    Dear Jim:

    This book is your fault. If it had not been for your brutal insistence, Lord Peter would never have staggered through to the end of this enquiry. Pray consider that he thanks you with his accustomed suavity.

    Yours ever,

    D. L. S.

    Contents

    Chapter I

    Chapter II

    Chapter III

    Chapter IV

    Chapter V

    Chapter VI

    Chapter VII

    Chapter VIII

    Chapter IX

    Chapter X

    Chapter XI

    Chapter XII

    Chapter XIII

    Preview: Clouds of Witness

    A Biography of Dorothy L. Sayers

    CHAPTER I

    OH, DAMN! SAID LORD Peter Wimsey at Piccadilly Circus. Hi, driver!

    The taxi man, irritated at receiving this appeal while negotiating the intricacies of turning into Lower Regent Street across the route of a 19 ’bus, a 38-B and a bicycle, bent an unwilling ear.

    I’ve left the catalogue behind, said Lord Peter deprecatingly. Uncommonly careless of me. D’you mind puttin’ back to where we came from?

    To the Savile Club, sir?

    No—110 Piccadilly—just beyond—thank you.

    Thought you was in a hurry, said the man, overcome with a sense of injury.

    I’m afraid it’s an awkward place to turn in, said Lord Peter, answering the thought rather than the words. His long, amiable face looked as if it had generated spontaneously from his top hat, as white maggots breed from Gorgonzola.

    The taxi, under the severe eye of a policeman, revolved by slow jerks, with a noise like the grinding of teeth.

    The block of new, perfect and expensive flats in which Lord Peter dwelt upon the second floor, stood directly opposite the Green Park, in a spot for many years occupied by the skeleton of a frustrate commercial enterprise.

    As Lord Peter let himself in he heard his man’s voice in the library, uplifted in that throttled stridency peculiar to well-trained persons using the telephone.

    I believe that’s his lordship just coming in again—if your Grace would kindly hold the line a moment.

    What is it, Bunter?

    Her Grace has just called up from Denver, my lord. I was just saying your lordship had gone to the sale when I heard your lordship’s latchkey.

    Thanks, said Lord Peter; and you might find me my catalogue, would you? I think I must have left it in my bedroom, or on the desk.

    He sat down to the telephone with an air of leisurely courtesy, as though it were an acquaintance dropped in for a chat.

    Hullo, Mother—that you?

    Oh, there you are, dear, replied the voice of the Dowager Duchess. I was afraid I’d just missed you.

    Well, you had, as a matter of fact. I’d just started off to Brocklebury’s sale to pick up a book or two, but I had to come back for the catalogue. What’s up?

    Such a quaint thing, said the Duchess. I thought I’d tell you. You know little Mr. Thipps?

    Thipps? said Lord Peter. Thipps? Oh, yes, the little architect man who’s doing the church roof. Yes. What about him?

    Mrs. Throgmorton’s just been in, in quite a state of mind.

    Sorry, Mother, I can’t hear. Mrs. Who?

    Throgmorton—Throgmorton—the vicar’s wife.

    Oh, Throgmorton, yes?

    Mr. Thipps rang them up this morning. It was his day to come down, you know.

    Yes?

    He rang them up to say he couldn’t. He was so upset, poor little man. He’d found a dead body in his bath.

    Sorry, Mother, I can’t hear; found what, where?

    A dead body, dear, in his bath.

    What?—no, no, we haven’t finished. Please don’t cut us off. Hullo! Hullo! Is that you, Mother? Hullo!—Mother!—Oh, yes—sorry, the girl was trying to cut us off. What sort of body?

    A dead man, dear, with nothing on but a pair of pince-nez. Mrs. Throgmorton positively blushed when she was telling me. I’m afraid people do get a little narrow-minded in country vicarages.

    Well, it sounds a bit unusual. Was it anybody he knew?

    No, dear, I don’t think so, but, of course, he couldn’t give her many details. She said he sounded quite distracted. He’s such a respectable little man—and having the police in the house and so on, really worried him.

    Poor little Thipps! Uncommonly awkward for him. Let’s see, he lives in Battersea, doesn’t he?

    Yes, dear; 59, Queen Caroline Mansions; opposite the Park. That big block just round the corner from the Hospital. I thought perhaps you’d like to run round and see him and ask if there’s anything we can do. I always thought him a nice little man.

    Oh, quite, said Lord Peter, grinning at the telephone. The Duchess was always of the greatest assistance to his hobby of criminal investigation, though she never alluded to it, and maintained a polite fiction of its nonexistence.

    What time did it happen, Mother?

    I think he found it early this morning, but, of course, he didn’t think of telling the Throgmortons just at first. She came up to me just before lunch—so tiresome, I had to ask her to stay. Fortunately, I was alone. I don’t mind being bored myself, but I hate having my guests bored.

    Poor old Mother! Well, thanks awfully for tellin’ me. I think I’ll send Bunter to the sale and toddle round to Battersea now an’ try and console the poor little beast. So-long.

    Good-bye, dear.

    Bunter!

    Yes, my lord.

    Her Grace tells me that a respectable Battersea architect has discovered a dead man in his bath.

    Indeed, my lord? That’s very gratifying.

    Very, Bunter. Your choice of words is unerring. I wish Eton and Balliol had done as much for me. Have you found the catalogue?

    Here it is, my lord.

    "Thanks. I am going to Battersea at once. I want you to attend the sale for me. Don’t lose time—I don’t want to miss the Folio Dante* nor the de Voragine—here you are—see? ‘Golden Legend’—Wynkyn de Worde, 1493—got that?—and, I say, make a special effort for the Caxton folio of the ‘Four Sons of Aymon’—it’s the 1489 folio and unique. Look! I’ve marked the lots I want, and put my outside offer against each. Do your best for me. I shall be back to dinner."

    Very good, my lord.

    Take my cab and tell him to hurry. He may for you; he doesn’t like me very much. Can I, said Lord Peter, looking at himself in the eighteenth-century mirror over the mantelpiece, "can I have the heart to fluster the flustered Thipps further—that’s very difficult to say quickly—by appearing in a top-hat and frock-coat? I think not. Ten to one he will overlook my trousers and mistake me for the undertaker. A grey suit, I fancy, neat but not gaudy, with a hat to tone, suits my other self better. Exit the amateur of first editions; new motive introduced by solo bassoon; enter Sherlock Holmes, disguised as a walking gentleman. There goes Bunter. Invaluable fellow—never offers to do his job when you’ve told him to do somethin’ else. Hope he doesn’t miss the ‘Four Sons of Aymon.’ Still, there is another copy of that—in the Vatican.** It might become available, you never know—if the Church of Rome went to pot or Switzerland invaded Italy—whereas a strange corpse doesn’t turn up in a suburban bathroom more than once in a lifetime—at least, I should think not—at any rate, the number of times it’s happened, with a pince-nez, might be counted on the fingers of one hand, I imagine. Dear me! it’s a dreadful mistake to ride two hobbies at once."

    He had drifted across the passage into his bedroom, and was changing with a rapidity one might not have expected from a man of his mannerisms. He selected a dark-green tie to match his socks and tied it accurately without hesitation or the slightest compression of his lips; substituted a pair of brown shoes for his black ones, slipped a monocle into a breast pocket, and took up a beautiful Malacca walking-stick with a heavy silver knob.

    That’s all, I think, he murmured to himself. Stay—I may as well have you—you may come in useful—one never knows. He added a flat silver matchbox to his equipment, glanced at his watch, and seeing that it was already a quarter to three, ran briskly downstairs, and, hailing a taxi, was carried to Battersea Park.

    Mr. Alfred Thipps was a small, nervous man, whose flaxen hair was beginning to abandon the unequal struggle with destiny. One might say that his only really marked feature was a large bruise over the left eyebrow, which gave him a faintly dissipated air incongruous with the rest of his appearance. Almost in the same breath with his first greeting, he made a self-conscious apology for it, murmuring something about having run against the dining-room door in the dark. He was touched almost to tears by Lord Peter’s thoughtfulness and condescension in calling.

    I’m sure it’s most kind of your lordship, he repeated for the dozenth time, rapidly blinking his weak little eyelids. I appreciate it very deeply, very deeply, indeed, and so would Mother, only she’s so deaf, I don’t like to trouble you with making her understand. It’s been very hard all day, he added, with the policemen in the house and all this commotion. It’s what Mother and me have never been used to, always living very retired, and it’s most distressing to a man of regular habits, my lord, and reely, I’m almost thankful Mother doesn’t understand, for I’m sure it would worry her terribly if she was to know about it. She was upset at first, but she’s made up some idea of her own about it now, and I’m sure it’s all for the best.

    The old lady who sat knitting by the fire nodded grimly in response to a look from her son.

    I always said as you ought to complain about that bath, Alfred, she said suddenly, in the high, piping voice peculiar to the deaf, and it’s to be ’oped the landlord’ll see about it now; not but what I think you might have managed without having the police in, but there! you always were one to make a fuss about a little thing, from chicken-pox up.

    There now, said Mr. Thipps apologetically, you see how it is. Not but what it’s just as well she’s settled on that, because she understands we’ve locked up the bathroom and don’t try to go in there. But it’s been a terrible shock to me, sir—my lord, I should say, but there! my nerves are all to pieces. Such a thing has never ’appened—happened to me in all my born days. Such a state I was in this morning—I didn’t know if I was on my head or my heels—I reely didn’t, and my heart not being too strong, I hardly knew how to get out of that horrid room and telephone for the police. It’s affected me, sir, it’s affected me, it reely has—I couldn’t touch a bit of breakfast, nor lunch neither, and what with telephoning and putting off clients and interviewing people all morning, I’ve hardly known what to do with myself.

    I’m sure it must have been uncommonly distressin’, said Lord Peter, sympathetically, especially comin’ like that before breakfast. Hate anything tiresome happenin’ before breakfast. Takes a man at such a confounded disadvantage, what?

    That’s just it, that’s just it, said Mr. Thipps, eagerly. "When I saw that dreadful thing lying there in my bath, mother-naked, too, except for a pair of eyeglasses, I assure you, my lord, it regularly turned my stomach, if you’ll excuse the expression. I’m not very strong, sir, and I get that sinking feeling sometimes in the morning, and what with one thing and another I ’ad—had to send the girl for a stiff brandy, or I don’t know what mightn’t have happened. I felt so queer, though I’m anything but partial to spirits as a rule. Still, I make it a rule never to be without brandy in the house, in case of emergency, you know?"

    Very wise of you, said Lord Peter, cheerfully. You’re a very far-seein’ man, Mr. Thipps. Wonderful what a little nip’ll do in case of need, and the less you’re used to it the more good it does you. Hope your girl is a sensible young woman, what? Nuisance to have women faintin’ and shriekin’ all over the place.

    Oh, Gladys is a good girl, said Mr. Thipps, very reasonable indeed. She was shocked, of course; that’s very understandable. I was shocked myself, and it wouldn’t be proper in a young woman not to be shocked under the circumstances, but she is reely a helpful, energetic girl in a crisis, if you understand me. I consider myself very fortunate these days to have got a good, decent girl to do for me and Mother, even though she is a bit careless and forgetful about little things, but that’s only natural. She was very sorry indeed about having left the bathroom window open, she reely was, and though I was angry at first, seeing what’s come of it, it wasn’t anything to speak of, not in the ordinary way, as you might say. Girls will forget things, you know, my lord, and reely she was so distressed I didn’t like to say too much to her. All I said was: ‘It might have been burglars,’ I said, ‘remember that, next time you leave a window open all night; this time it was a dead man,’ I said, ‘and that’s unpleasant enough, but next time it might be burglars,’ I said, ‘and all of us murdered in our beds.’ But the police-inspector—Inspector Sugg, they called him, from the Yard—he was very sharp with her, poor girl. Quite frightened her, and made her think he suspected her of something, though what good a body could be to her, poor girl, I can’t imagine, and so I told the Inspector. He was quite rude to me, my lord—I may say I didn’t like his manner at all. ‘If you’ve got anything definite to accuse Gladys or me of, Inspector,’ I said to him, ‘bring it forward, that’s what you have to do,’ I said, ‘but I’ve yet to learn that you’re paid to be rude to a gentleman in his own ’ouse—house.’ Reely, said Mr. Thipps, growing quite pink on the top of his head, he regularly roused me, regularly roused me, my lord, and I’m a mild man as a rule.

    Sugg all over, said Lord Peter. I know him. When he don’t know what else to say, he’s rude. Stands to reason you and the girl wouldn’t go collectin’ bodies. Who’d want to saddle himself with a body? Difficulty’s usually to get rid of ’em. Have you got rid of this one yet, by the way?

    It’s still in the bathroom, said Mr. Thipps. Inspector Sugg said nothing was to be touched till his men came in to move it. I’m expecting them at any time. If it would interest your lordship to have a look at it—

    Thanks awfully, said Lord Peter. I’d like to very much, if I’m not puttin’ you out.

    Not at all, said Mr. Thipps. His manner as he led the way along the passage convinced Lord Peter of two things—first, that, gruesome as his exhibit was, he rejoiced in the importance it reflected upon himself and his flat, and secondly, that Inspector Sugg had forbidden him to exhibit it to anyone. The latter supposition was confirmed by the action of Mr. Thipps, who stopped to fetch the door-key from his bedroom, saying that the police had the other, but that he made it a rule to have two keys to every door, in case of accident.

    The bathroom was in no way remarkable. It was long and narrow, the window being exactly over the head of the bath. The panes were of frosted glass; the frame wide enough to admit a man’s body. Lord Peter stepped rapidly across to it, opened it and looked out.

    The flat was the top one of the building and situated about the middle of the block. The bathroom window looked out upon the back-yards of the flats, which were occupied by various small outbuildings, coal-holes, garages, and the like. Beyond these were the back gardens of a parallel line of houses. On the right rose the extensive edifice of St. Luke’s Hospital, Battersea, with its grounds, and, connected with it by a covered way, the residence of the famous surgeon, Sir Julian Freke, who directed the surgical side of the great new hospital, and was, in addition, known in Harley Street as a distinguished neurologist with a highly individual point of view.

    This information was poured into Lord Peter’s ear at considerable length by Mr. Thipps, who seemed to feel that the neighbourhood of anybody so distinguished shed a kind of halo of glory over Queen Caroline Mansions.

    We had him round here himself this morning, he said, about this horrid business. Inspector Sugg thought one of the young medical gentlemen at the hospital might have brought the corpse round for a joke, as you might say, they always having bodies in the dissecting-room. So Inspector Sugg went round to see Sir Julian this morning to ask if there was a body missing. He was very kind, was Sir Julian, very kind indeed, though he was at work when they got there, in the dissecting-room. He looked up the books to see that all the bodies were accounted for, and then very obligingly came round here to look at this—he indicated the bath—and said he was afraid he couldn’t help us—there was no corpse missing from the hospital, and this one didn’t answer to the description of any they’d had.

    Nor to the description of any of the patients, I hope, suggested Lord Peter casually.

    At this grisly hint Mr. Thipps turned pale.

    I didn’t hear Inspector Sugg inquire, he said, with some agitation. What a very horrid thing that would be—God bless my soul, my lord, I never thought of it.

    Well, if they had missed a patient they’d probably have discovered it by now, said Lord Peter. Let’s have a look at this one.

    He screwed his monocle into his eye, adding: I see you’re troubled here with the soot blowing in. Beastly nuisance, ain’t it? I get it, too—spoils all my books, you know. Here, don’t you trouble, if you don’t care about lookin’ at it.

    He took from Mr. Thipps’s hesitating hand the sheet which had been flung over the bath, and turned it back.

    The body which lay in the bath was that of a tall, stout man of about fifty. The hair, which was thick and black and naturally curly, had been cut and parted by a master hand, and exuded a faint violet perfume, perfectly recognisable in the close air of the bathroom. The features were thick, fleshy and strongly marked, with prominent dark eyes, and a long nose curving down to a heavy chin. The clean-shaven lips were full and sensual, and the dropped jaw showed teeth stained with tobacco. On the dead face the handsome pair of gold pince-nez mocked death with grotesque elegance; the fine gold chain curved over the naked breast. The legs lay stiffly stretched out side by side; the arms reposed close to the body; the fingers were flexed naturally. Lord Peter lifted one arm, and looked at the hand with a little frown.

    Bit of a dandy, your visitor, what? he murmured. Parma violet and manicure. He bent again, slipping his hand beneath the head. The absurd eyeglasses slipped off, clattering into the bath, and the noise put the last touch to Mr. Thipps’s growing nervousness.

    If you’ll excuse me, he murmured, it makes me feel quite faint, it reely does.

    He slipped outside, and he had no sooner done so than Lord Peter, lifting the body quickly and cautiously, turned it over and inspected it with his head on one side, bringing his monocle into play with the air of the late Joseph Chamberlain approving a rare orchid. He then laid the head over his arm, and bringing out the silver matchbox from his pocket, slipped it into the open mouth. Then making the noise usually written Tut-tut, he laid the body down, picked up the mysterious pince-nez, looked at it, put it on his nose and looked through it, made the same noise again, readjusted the pince-nez upon the nose of the corpse, so as to leave no traces of interference for the irritation of Inspector Sugg; rearranged the body; returned to the window and, leaning out, reached upwards and sideways with his walking-stick, which he had somewhat incongruously brought along with him. Nothing appearing to come of these investigations, he withdrew his head, closed the window, and rejoined Mr. Thipps in the passage.

    Mr. Thipps, touched by this sympathetic interest in the younger son of a duke, took the liberty, on their return to the sitting-room, of offering him a cup of tea. Lord Peter, who had strolled over to the window and was admiring the outlook on Battersea Park, was about to accept, when an ambulance came into view at the end of Prince of Wales Road. Its appearance reminded Lord Peter of an important engagement, and with a hurried By Jove! he took his leave of Mr. Thipps.

    My mother sent kind regards and all that, he said, shaking hands fervently; hopes you’ll soon be down at Denver again. Good-bye, Mrs. Thipps, he bawled kindly into the ear of the old lady. Oh, no, my dear sir, please don’t trouble to come down.

    He was none too soon. As he stepped out of the door and turned towards the station, the ambulance drew up from the other direction, and Inspector Sugg emerged from it with two constables. The Inspector spoke to the officer on duty at the Mansions, and turned a suspicious gaze on Lord Peter’s retreating back.

    Dear old Sugg, said that nobleman, fondly, dear, dear old bird! How he does hate me, to be sure.

    * This is the first Florence edition, 1481, by Niccolo di Lorenzo. Lord Peter’s collection of printed Dantes is worth inspection. It includes, besides the famous Aldine 8vo. of 1502, the Naples folio of 1477—edizione rarissima, according to Colomb. This copy has no history, and Mr. Parker’s private belief is that its present owner conveyed it away by stealth from somewhere or other. Lord Peter’s own account is that he picked it up in a little place in the hills, when making a walking-tour through Italy.

    **Lord Peter’s wits were wool-gathering. The book is in the possession of Earl Spencer. The Brocklebury copy is incomplete, the last five signatures being altogether missing, but is unique in possessing the colophon.

    CHAPTER II

    EXCELLENT, BUNTER, SAID LORD Peter, sinking with a sigh into a luxurious armchair. I couldn’t have done better myself. The thought of the Dante makes my mouth water—and the ‘Four Sons of Aymon.’ And you’ve saved me £60—that’s glorious. What shall we spend it on, Bunter? Think of it—all ours, to do as we like with, for as Harold Skimpole so rightly observes, £60 saved is £60 gained, and I’d reckoned on spending it all. It’s your saving, Bunter, and properly speaking, your £60. What do we want? Anything in your department? Would you like anything altered in the flat?

    Well, my lord, as your lordship is so good—the manservant paused, about to pour an old brandy into a liqueur glass.

    Well, out with it, my Bunter, you imperturbable old hypocrite. It’s no good talking as if you were announcing dinner—you’re spilling the brandy. The voice is Jacob’s voice, but the hands are the hands of Esau. What does that blessed darkroom of yours want now?

    There’s a Double Anastigmat with a set of supplementary lenses, my lord, said Bunter, with a note almost of religious fervour. If it was a case of forgery now—or footprints—I could enlarge them right up on the plate. Or the wide-angled lens would be useful. It’s as though the camera had eyes at the back of its head, my lord. Look—I’ve got it here.

    He pulled a catalogue from his pocket, and submitted it, quivering, to his employer’s gaze.

    Lord

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