Dorothy L. Sayers - The Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club

Old Mossy-Face

The Queen Is Out

Hearts Count More than Diamonds

Lord Peter Leads a Club

And Finds the Club Suit Blocked

A Card of Re-Entry

The Curse of Scotland

Lord Peter Leads through Strength

Knave High

Lord Peter Forces a Card

Lord Peter Clears Trumps

Lord Peter Turns a Trick

Spades Are Trumps

Grand Slam in Spades

Shuffle the Cards and Deal Again

Quadrille

Parker Plays a Hand

Picture-Cards

Lord Peter Plays Dummy

Ann Dorland Goes Misere

Lord Peter Calls a Bluff

The Cards on the Table

WIMSEY, P ETER D EATH B REDON, D.S.O. ; born 1890, 2nd son of Mortimer Gerald Bredon Wimsey, 15th Duke of Denver, and of Honoria Lucasta, daughter of Francis Delagardie of Bellingham Manor, Hants.

Educated: Eton College and Balliol College, Oxford (1st class honours, Sch. of Mod. Hist. 1912); served with H.M. Forces 1914/18 (Major, Rifle Brigade).

Author of: Notes on the Collecting of Incunabula, The Murderer's Vade-Mecum, etc.

Recreations: Criminology; bibliophily; music; cricket.

Clubs: Marlborough; Egotists'; Bellona.

Residences: 110 a Piccadilly, W.; Bredon Hall, Duke's Denver, Norfolk.

Arms: Sable, 3 mice courant, argent; crest, a domestic cat couched as to spring, proper; motto: As my Whimsy takes me.

Old Mossy-Face

What in the world, Wimsey, are you doing in this Morgue? demanded Captain Fentiman, flinging aside the Evening Banner with the air of a man released from an irksome duty.

Oh, I wouldnt call it that, retorted Wimsey, amiably. Funeral Parlour at the very least. Look at the marble. Look at the furnishings. Look at the palms and the chaste bronze nude in the corner.

Yes, and look at the corpses. Place always reminds me of that old thing in Punch, you knowWaiter, take away Lord Whatsisname, hes been dead two days. Look at Old Ormsby there, snoring like a hippopotamus. Look at my revered grandpadodders in here at ten every morning, collects the Morning Post and the armchair by the fire, and becomes part of the furniture till the evening. Poor old devil. Suppose Ill be like that one of these days. I wish to God Jerry had put me out with the rest of em. Whats the good of coming through for this sort of thing? Whatll you have?

Dry martini, said Wimsey. And you? Two dry martinis, Fred, please. Cheer up. All this remembrance-day business gets on your nerves, dont it? Its my belief most of us would be only too pleased to chuck these community hysterics if the beastly newspapers didnt run it for all its worth. However, it dont do to say so. Theyd hoof me out of the Club if I raised my voice beyond a whisper.

Theyd do that anyway, whatever you were saying, said Fentiman, gloomily. What are you doing here?

Waitin for Colonel Marchbanks, said Wimsey. Bung-ho!

Dining with him?

Yes.

Fentiman nodded quietly. He knew that young Marchbanks had been killed at Hill 60, and that the Colonel was wont to give a small, informal dinner on Armistice night to his sons intimate friends.

I dont mind old Marchbanks, he said, after a pause. Hes a dear old boy.

Wimsey assented. And how are things going with you? he asked.

Oh, rotten as usual. Tummy all wrong and no money. Whats the damn good of it, Wimsey? A man goes and fights for his country, gets his inside gassed out, and loses his job, and all they give him is the privilege of marching past the Cenotaph once a year and paying four shillings in the pound income-tax. Sheilas queer toooverwork, poor girl. Its pretty damnable for a man to have to live on his wifes earnings, isnt it? I cant help it, Wimsey. I go sick and have to chuck jobs up. MoneyI never thought of money before the War, but I swear nowadays Id commit any damned crime to get hold of a decent income.

Fentimans voice had risen in nervous excitement. A shocked veteran, till then invisible in a neighbouring armchair, poked out a lean head like a tortoise and said Sh! viperishly.

Oh, I wouldnt do that, said Wimsey, lightly. Crimes a skilled occupation, y know. Even a comparative imbecile like myself can play the giddy sleuth or the amateur Moriarty. If youre thinkin of puttin on a false moustache and lammin a millionaire on the head, dont do it. That disgustin habit you have of smoking cigarettes down to the last millimetre would betray you anywhere. Id only have to come on with a magnifyin glass and a pair of callipers to say The criminal is my dear old friend George Fentiman. Arrest that man! You might not think it, but I am ready to sacrifice my nearest and dearest in order to curry favour with the police and get a par. in the papers.

Fentiman laughed, and ground out the offending cigarette stub on the nearest ashtray.

I wonder anybody cares to know you, he said. The strain and bitterness had left his voice and he sounded merely amused.

They wouldnt, said Wimsey, only they think Im too well off to have any brains. Its like hearing that the Earl of Somewhere is taking a leading part in a play. Everybody takes it for granted he must act rottenly. Ill tell you my secret. All my criminological investigations are done for me by a ghost at 3 a week, while I get the headlines and frivol with well-known journalists at the Savoy.

I find you refreshing, Wimsey, said Fentiman, languidly. Youre not in the least witty, but you have a kind of obvious facetiousness which reminds me of the less exacting class of music-hall.

Its the self-defence of the first-class mind against the superior person, said Wimsey. But, look here, Im sorry to hear about Sheila. I dont want to be offensive, old man, but why dont you let me