akorn - Mighty Old Tales Retold

Whose Body? - Ch 13 - THE END - Dorothy L Sayers

Whose Body? - Ch 13 - THE END
Dorothy L Sayers
“Dear Lord Peter—When I was a young man I used to play chess with an old friend of my father’s. He was a very bad, and a very slow, player, and he could never see when a checkmate was inevitable, but insisted on playing every move out. I never had any patience with that kind of attitude, and I will freely admit now that the game is yours. I must either stay at home and be hanged or escape abroad and live in an idle and insecure obscurity. I prefer to acknowledge defeat.”

Whose Body? - Chs 11 & 12 - Dorothy L Sayers

Whose Body? - Chs 11 & 12
Dorothy L Sayers
“A regular pea-souper, by Jove,” said Lord Peter.Parker grunted, and struggled irritably into an overcoat.“It affords me, if I may say so, the greatest satisfaction,” continued the noble lord, “that in a collaboration like ours all the uninteresting and disagreeable routine work is done by you.”Parker grunted again.“Do you anticipate any difficulty about the warrant?” inquired Lord Peter.Parker grunted a third time.“I suppose you’ve seen to it that all this business is kept quiet?”“Of course.”“You’ve muzzled the workhouse people?”“Of course.”“And the police?”“Yes.”

Whose Body? - Ch 10 - Dorothy L Sayers

Whose Body? - Ch 10
Dorothy L Sayers
Mr. Parker, a faithful though doubting Thomas, had duly secured his medical student: a large young man like an overgrown puppy, with innocent eyes and a freckled face. He sat on the Chesterfield before Lord Peter’s library fire, bewildered in equal measure by his errand, his surroundings and the drink which he was absorbing. His palate, though untutored, was naturally a good one, and he realized that even to call this liquid a drink—the term ordinarily used by him to designate cheap whisky, post-war beer or a dubious glass of claret in a Soho restaurant—was a sacrilege; this was something outside normal experience: a genie in a bottle.

Whose Body? - Ch 9 - Dorothy L Sayers

Whose Body? - Ch 9
Dorothy L Sayers
Mr. Parker, summoned the next morning to 110 Piccadilly, arrived to find the Dowager Duchess in possession. She greeted him charmingly.“I am going to take this silly boy down to Denver for the week-end,” she said, indicating Peter, who was writing and only acknowledged his friend’s entrance with a brief nod. “He’s been doing too much—running about to Salisbury and places and up till all hours of the night—you really shouldn’t encourage him, Mr. Parker, it’s very naughty of you—waking poor Bunter up in the middle of the night with scares about Germans, as if that wasn’t all over years ago, and he hasn’t had an attack for ages, but there! Nerves are such funny things, and Peter always did have nightmares when he was quite a little boy—though very often of course it was only a little pill he wanted; but he was so dreadfully bad in 1918, you know,”

Whose Body? - Ch 8 - Dorothy L Sayers

Whose Body? - Ch 8
Dorothy L Sayers
Lord Peter reached home about midnight, feeling extraordinarily wakeful and alert. Something was jigging and worrying in his brain; it felt like a hive of bees, stirred up by a stick. He felt as though he were looking at a complicated riddle, of which he had once been told the answer but had forgotten it and was always on the point of remembering.“Somewhere,” said Lord Peter to himself, “somewhere I’ve got the key to these two things. I know I’ve got it, only I can’t remember what it is. Somebody said it. Perhaps I said it. I can’t remember where, but I know I’ve got it. Go to bed, Bunter, I shall sit up a little. I’ll just slip on a dressing-gown.”

Whose Body? - Ch 7 - Dorothy L Sayers

Whose Body? - Ch 7
Dorothy L Sayers
On returning to the flat just before lunch-time on the following morning, after a few confirmatory researches in Balham and the neighbourhood of Victoria Station, Lord Peter was greeted at the door by Mr. Bunter (who had gone straight home from Waterloo) with a telephone message and a severe and nursemaid-like eye.“Lady Swaffham rang up, my lord, and said she hoped your lordship had not forgotten you were lunching with her.”“I have forgotten, Bunter, and I mean to forget. I trust you told her I had succumbed to lethargic encephalitis suddenly, no flowers by request.”“Lady Swaffham said, my lord, she was counting on you. She met the Duchess of Denver yesterday—”

Whose Body? - Ch 6 - Dorothy L Sayers

Whose Body? - Ch 6
Dorothy L Sayers
It was, in fact, inconvenient for Mr. Parker to leave London. He had had to go and see Lady Levy towards the end of the morning, and subsequently his plans for the day had been thrown out of gear and his movements delayed by the discovery that the adjourned inquest of Mr. Thipps’s unknown visitor was to be held that afternoon, since nothing very definite seemed forthcoming from Inspector Sugg’s inquiries. Jury and witnesses had been convened accordingly for three o’clock. Mr. Parker might altogether have missed the event, had he not run against Sugg that morning at the Yard and extracted the information from him as one would a reluctant tooth. Inspector Sugg, indeed, considered Mr. Parker rather interfering; moreover, he was hand-in-glove with Lord Peter Wimsey, and Inspector Sugg had no words for the interferingness of Lord Peter.

Whose Body? - Ch 5 - Dorothy L Sayers

Whose Body? - Ch 5
Dorothy L Sayers
Mr. Parker was a bachelor, and occupied a Georgian but inconvenient flat at No. 12A Great Ormond Street, for which he paid a pound a week. His exertions in the cause of civilization were rewarded, not by the gift of diamond rings from empresses or munificent cheques from grateful Prime Ministers, but by a modest, though sufficient, salary, drawn from the pockets of the British taxpayer. He awoke, after a long day of arduous and inconclusive labour, to the smell of burnt porridge. Through his bedroom window, hygienically open top and bottom, a raw fog was rolling slowly in, and the sight of a pair of winter pants, flung hastily over a chair the previous night, fretted him with a sense of the sordid absurdity of the human form. The telephone bell rang, and he crawled wretchedly out of bed and into the sitting-room, where Mrs. Munns, who did for him by the day, was laying the table, sneezing as she went.Mr. Bunter was speaking.“His lordship says he’d be very glad, sir, if you could make it convenient to step round to breakfast.”

Whose Body? - Ch 4 - Dorothy L Sayers

Whose Body? - Ch 4
Dorothy L Sayers
“—So there it is, Parker,” said Lord Peter, pushing his coffee-cup aside and lighting his after-breakfast pipe; “you may find it leads you to something, though it don’t seem to get me any further with my bathroom problem. Did you do anything more at that after I left?”“No; but I’ve been on the roof this morning.”“The deuce you have—what an energetic devil you are! I say, Parker, I think this co-operative scheme is an uncommonly good one. It’s much easier to work on someone else’s job than one’s own—gives one that delightful feelin’ of interferin’ and bossin’ about, combined with the glorious sensation that another fellow is takin’ all one’s own work off one’s hands. You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours, what? Did you find anything?”

Whose Body? - Ch 3 - Dorothy L Sayers

Whose Body? - Ch 3
Dorothy L Sayers
Lord Peter finished a Scarlatti sonata, and sat looking thoughtfully at his own hands. The fingers were long and muscular, with wide, flat joints and square tips. When he was playing, his rather hard grey eyes softened, and his long, indeterminate mouth hardened in compensation. At no other time had he any pretensions to good looks, and at all times he was spoilt by a long, narrow chin, and a long, receding forehead, accentuated by the brushed-back sleekness of his tow-coloured hair. Labour papers, softening down the chin, caricatured him as a typical aristocrat.“That’s a wonderful instrument,” said Parker.“It ain’t so bad,” said Lord Peter, “but Scarlatti wants a harpsichord. Piano’s too modern—all thrills and overtones. No good for our job, Parker. Have you come to any conclusion?”“The man in the bath,” said Parker, methodically, “was not a well-off man careful of his personal appearance.”