The Wrong Letter quotes

Even Sinclair, the coolest head in the service, was staggered for a moment.

There was not a trace of hurry or emotion in the voice. It might have been inviting him to tea.

Before he could collect himself, the voice began again.

“Who is speaking?” he said. He heard a laugh and then the voice—

“Oh, no one in particular, just the murderer,” and then silence.

He rang his bell, and his assistant, or “familiar” as he was termed, Lewis, entered.

“Why, what would you have done, then?”

“Charged up and asked him if he were dead by any chance.”

Lewis had been listening to them.

Collins placed his finger on the postmark.

“Two forty-five,” said he. “This was sent off before the murder took place.”

The three men looked at each other in silence.

“Read that,” he said, and for all his coolness there was a tremble in his voice.

“You are both on the wrong track. Poor fools,” and that was all.

“Come,” said Collins, incisively. “We must search the flat.”

“Have you any theory as to who did the murder?” said Sanders.

“I never allow myself the luxury of theories,” said Collins.

“Prig,” said the other under his breath.

“I am glad I am not mixed up with crime.”

“I have not any great sense of horror of crime, murder least of all. There are so many reasons for that,” and he looked straight at the other man.

“Miss Watson will be down soon. I hope it has not upset her too much. You are an old friend. Wouldn’t you like to go up and see.”

“It won’t do, Mrs. Simmons. You were asked whether anyone else had come to see Sir James after that, and you said ‘No.’ That was a lie.”

If one has seen a child’s balloon touched with a lighted cigarette, the collapse of this woman was not more complete.

She seemed to shrivel up. She tried to speak, but all she could do was to lick her lips and open her mouth.

“Do you mean whether he is guilty or not? But that is too dreadful.”

“If a man once gets into the clutches of the Law it doesn’t matter much whether he’s guilty or not. He’s about as much chance as a fly in a spider’s net.”

“What an awful thing. But you were a barrister once yourself?”

Several times he went carefully on to the landing and listened.

It was an ideal night for ghosts to walk.

He would piece the puzzle together. There was Jackson, the lunatic. He knew he was not the murderer, though the police would certainly make out a case against him. Very well.

“I am afraid this is all Greek to me,” said Sinclair stiffly.

He had expected Tragedy, and found Comic Opera.

“You shall know everything,” said Allery; “but come to dinner first. Can you manage it?” he said to Mabel.