The House Without a Key quotes

Miss Minerva Winterslip was a Bostonian in good standing, and long past the romantic age.

Yet beauty thrilled her still, even the semi-barbaric beauty of a Pacific island.

“And tomorrow never comes,” said Amos. “You’ve been taken in by the tropics. Some people are.”

“Weak people, I presume you mean,” snapped Miss Minerva. “Well, I’ve never been weak. Ask anybody on Beacon Street.”

He smiled wanly. “It’s a strain in the Winterslips,” he said. “Supposed to be Puritans, but always sort of yearning toward the lazy latitudes.”

He smiled wanly. “It’s a strain in the Winterslips,” he said.

“Supposed to be Puritans, but always sort of yearning toward the lazy latitudes.”

“I know,” answered Miss Minerva, her eyes on that exotic shore line. “It’s what sent so many of them adventuring out of Salem harbor. Those who stayed behind felt that the travelers were seeing things no Winterslip should look at.

“And rich,” added Amos bitterly. “And I’m poor. Yes, that’s the way it often goes in this world. But there’s a world to come, and over there I reckon Dan’s going to get his.”

Hardy soul though she was, Miss Minerva was somewhat frightened by the look of hate on his thin face.

She saw the uselessness of further argument. “Goodbye, Amos,” she said. “I wish I might persuade you to come East some day—” He gave no sign of hearing, but hurried along the white stretch of sand.

Miss Minerva sniffed.

“I’ve tramped Boston in galoshes too many winters,” she reminded him, “to lose my head over talk like that.”

“Forget Boston,” he urged. “We’re all young in Hawaii. Look at me.”

Miss Minerva smiled.

“Dan, compared with that boy, Gibraltar wabbles occasionally.”

“He invented discretion. That’s what I’m telling you. I love him—but a little bit of recklessness now and then—However, I’m afraid it’s too late now. John Quincy is nearly thirty.”

An expression of intense dislike crossed the captain’s face. “Ah, yes, Dan. Alive and prospering, I presume?”

“Isn’t it damnable,” remarked Cope, “how the wicked thrive?”

An uncomfortable silence fell. John Quincy was familiar with the frankness of Englishmen, but he was none the less annoyed by this open display of hostility toward his prospective host. After all, Dan’s last name was Winterslip.

The frail, gay-colored bond was breaking now. A thin veined hand at John Quincy’s side waved a handkerchief. He turned to find Mrs. Maynard. There were tears on her cheeks.

“Silly old woman,” she said. “Sailed away from this town a hundred and twenty-eight times. Actual count⁠—I keep a diary. Cried every time. What about? I don’t know.”

The ship was well out in the harbor now. Barbara came along, Jennison trailing her. The girl’s eyes were wet.

She had gone halfway to the hall door when she stopped, her heart in her mouth. For not five feet away she saw the luminous dial of a watch, and as she stared at it with frightened eyes, it moved.

Not for nothing had Miss Minerva studied restraint through more than fifty years.

Many women would have screamed and fainted, Miss Minerva’s heart pounded madly, but that was all. Standing very still, she studied that phosphorescent dial. Its movement had been slight, it was now at rest again. A watch worn on someone’s wrist.

He looked at her sleepily.

“What is to be, will be,” he replied in a high, singsong voice.

“I know—that’s your Confucius,” she snapped. “But it’s a do-nothing doctrine, and I don’t approve of it.”

He looked at her sleepily. “What is to be, will be,” he replied in a high, singsong voice.

“I know⁠—that’s your Confucius,” she snapped. “But it’s a do-nothing doctrine, and I don’t approve of it.”

A faint smile flickered over the Chinaman’s face. “Do not fear,” he said. “The fates are busy, and man may do much to assist. I promise you there will be no do-nothing here.” He came closer.

He stared at her. “Some of those bonds you left with me have matured. I haven’t known just what you wanted me to do about them.”

“What,” inquired Miss Minerva, “is a bond?”

That sort of wild reckless talk never did make a hit with John Quincy. “It’s about time somebody came out here and brought you to your senses,” he remarked.

“As good as a man’s,” he added.

“Oh, now you’ve spoiled it. Good morning.”

The three men went through the screen door into the bright sunshine of the garden. John Quincy was aware that he was not in high favor with his aunt.

John Quincy glanced at his watch. “Good lord—it’s only ten o’clock!” A great calm had settled over the house, there was no sound save the soft lapping of waves on the beach outside. “What, in heaven’s name, do you do out here?”

“Oh, you’ll become accustomed to it shortly,” Miss Minerva answered. “At first, you just sit and think. After a time, you just sit.”

“Sounds fascinating,” said John Quincy sarcastically.

“We gathered that,” John Quincy told her.

“You’ll meet a man on the beach,” said Miss Minerva, “who stopped over between boats to have his laundry done. That was twenty years ago, and he’s still here.”

“Probably they haven’t finished his laundry,” suggested John Quincy, yawning openly. “Ho, hum. I’m going up to my room to change, and after that I believe I’ll write a few letters.” He rose with an effort and went to the door. “How’s Barbara?” he asked.

Chan grinned broadly. “You are educated, maybe you know,” he said.

“Chinese most psychic people in the world. Sensitives, like film in camera. A look, a laugh, a gesture perhaps. Something go click.”

John Quincy was aware of a sudden disturbance at the door of the All American Restaurant. Bowker, the steward, gloriously drunk, was making a noisy entrance. He plunged into the room, followed by a dark, anxious-looking youth.

She shook her head. “Not yet. It really isn’t so bad, the work. We haven’t many guests, you know. I could be quite happy—if it weren’t for poor dad.” She sighed.

“Ever since I can remember,” she added, “my happiness has had an if in it.”

He led her on to speak about herself, there in the calm night by that romantic beach.

“None in the world,” agreed Steve. His facetious manner returned.

“Speaking for myself,” he added, “innocent is my middle name.”

“Good night, all,” said Mrs. Compton, and they went out.

Chan shook his head. “Begging most humble pardon,” he said, “that are wrong attitude completely.

Detective business made up of unsignificant trifles.

One after other our clues go burst in our countenance. Wise to pursue matter of Mr. Saladine.”

“So he tried to tell me that Monday afternoon. But there was something in his tone—I may be in Hawaii, but I’m not quite mad. Youth, John Quincy, youth doesn’t return, whatever they may say out here.” She pressed his hand, and stood.

“If your chance comes, dear boy,” she added, “don’t be such a fool.”

She moved hastily away through the garden, and John Quincy looked after her with a new affection in his eyes.

Chan smiled.

“Patience are a very lovely virtue,” he remarked.

“Seem that way to me. But maybe that are my Oriental mind. Your race, I perceive, regard patience with ever-swelling disfavor.”

“Oh, yes, I could,” he assured her.

“I’m a Winterslip, a wandering Winterslip. Any old place we hang our hats⁠—”

This time he did lean rather close. “I could be happy anywhere—” he began. He wanted to add “with you.” But Agatha’s slim patrician hand was on his shoulder. “Anywhere,” he repeated, with a different inflection. A gong sounded from the Reef and Palm.

“When my teeth were knocked out twenty years ago in a football game, I was brokenhearted, but the loss has been a great help to me in my work.

A man hunting his bridge work in the water is a figure of ridicule and mirth. No one ever thinks of connecting him with serious affairs.

He can prowl about a beach to his heart’s content. Mr. Winterslip, I am a special agent of the Treasury Department sent out here to break up the opium ring. My name, of course, is not Saladine.”

He’s coming in here in a moment, and I propose to reveal my whole hand to him, from start to finish. That may seem foolish, but it isn’t.

For I hold aces, all aces, and he’ll know it as quickly as anyone.

”

“So it is,” Greene answered. “But we’re not in court. We can conjecture if we like. Suppose, Miss Winterslip, the will was concerned with Jennison in some way. What do you imagine the connection to have been?”

“I don’t have to imagine,” replied Miss Minerva. “I know.”

“Ah, that’s good. You know. Go on.”