The Case of the Murdered Players Quotes

“Wyatt arrived at the house shortly after Sara and Andrew got home. They were in the sitting room with Verna when his hansom drew up outside. Even before Matson opened the door and they heard his voice, Verna seemed to know who it was. She had been sober, quiet. But now her face lit up and there was a glow about her, a warmth in her eyes, that Andrew had not often seen there before.
“My dear,” she said when he came in.
“How are you?” he said, going directly to her and taking her hands.
They remained that way for a moment, he standing in front of her and holding her hands and Verna staring up at him. At first both of them seemed content with that, merely looking at one another. Then Verna smiled.
“Is that all the greeting I get?” she asked.
“Would anything more be proper?”
“Quite proper.”
Bending down, Wyatt kissed her and again they looked long and searchingly at one another before he straightened up.
“Good evening, Sara. Good evening, Andrew,” he said with deliberately excessive formality. “I trust you are both well.”
“We are,” said Sara, smiling.
“You’re staying for dinner, aren’t you?” said Verna.
“I’d very much like to.”
“Good.” She rang for Matson, asked him to tell Mrs. Simmonds that, as they had hoped, Inspector Wyatt would be staying for dinner.”
― Robert Newman, The Case of the Murdered Players

“Just before they reached Happy Jack’s corner, they passed a bake shop, and Sara said, “How would it be if we brought him a little something for his tea?”
“You do get ideas, don’t you?” said Andrew. “Let’s.”
They went in and, after some discussion, passed up the penny buns and jam tarts and ended up with a slice of lardy cake, all sugared and stuffed with raisins and heavy enough to sink a man-of-war.”
― Robert Newman, The Case of the Murdered Players

“I’m sorry I took so long,” she said. “Your mother wanted me to look at something.”
“A new hat.”
“How do you know?”
“When you have spent a lifetime unraveling the secrets of the human soul, my dear,” he began in a cracked, old man’s voice.
“Oh, poof! You saw the box!”
“Right.”
― Robert Newman, The Case of the Murdered Players

“I’m expecting another friend,” said Beasley. “I’m not sure when he’ll get here, but . . .”
“If I’m not mistaken,” said Sara, who was facing the door, “he’s here now.”
Andrew and Beasley both turned as Wyatt came in. He saw them at the same time that they saw him, scowled as he approached the table.
“What the blue blazes are the two of you doing here?” he asked.
“They’re having lunch with me,” said Beasley.
“Why today?”
“Why not today? They know they’re welcome anytime. Meet my friend, Keegee Clipson. Inspector Peter Wyatt of Scotland Yard.”
“What?” said Clipson, bouncing to his feet. “Is this the friend you was talking about? I ain’t having lunch with no poxy slop, specially not a crusher!”
“Ah, language!” sighed Beasley. “What riches we can find in common speech. Do you know what he’s talking about, Sara?”
“Of course. Used this way, poxy is a derogatory adjective like blinking and blooming. A slop is back-slang for a copper or policeman and a crusher is a plainclothes policeman.”
“Well done,” said Beasley. Then to Clipson, “Are you impressed?”
“No, I’m leaving!”
“You are not,” said Beasley, catching him by the sleeve. “Sit down.”
“I told you . . .” said Clipson.
“I know. But you’re not having it with him. You’re having it with Sara, Andrew and me.”
― Robert Newman, The Case of the Murdered Players

“And now,” said Wyatt when the headwaiter and the other waiters had gone, “what do you think we were doing in Worthington’s?”
“It was Sara’s guess that you were buying a ring,” said Andrew.
“As usual,” said Wyatt, “Sara was right.”
“May we see it?” said Sara.
Verna hesitated a moment, then took a box from her purse and opened it, showing them a gold ring set with a small but exquisitely cut diamond.
“It’s beautiful!” said Sara. “But why aren’t you wearing it?”
“I don’t know,” said Verna. “I suppose because I feel a little awkward about it. After all, I’m not exactly a young and blushing bride-to-be.”
“Because you have a son?” said Wyatt. “That has nothing to do with it. As for the rest, knowing your talent, I’m sure you could blush if you thought it was necessary. So, as a favor to Sara as well as me, won’t you wear it?”
“Since you ask me so nicely, yes,” said Verna and, taking off her glove, put the ring on. “It really is lovely, darling,” she said, holding it up. “Thank you.”
“No,” said Wyatt. “Thank you.” And leaning over, he kissed her lightly on the cheek. “All of which calls for a small celebration, which, with my usual foresight, I have of course provided for.”
He signaled to the headwaiter, who brought over a silver ice bucket with a bottle of champagne in it, which he twirled dexterously to chill before opening.
“On an occasion like this,” Wyatt went on, “I think the young people should be permitted to join us, don’t you, my dear?”
“I certainly do,” said Verna, smiling at the two of them.”
― Robert Newman, The Case of the Murdered Players

“Did he say anything about your mother?”
“No. I don’t think he saw her when he looked in. He just saw you.”
“Well, I suppose we should be thankful for small blessings.”
“Oh, there you are,” said Verna as she was bowed out of Worthington’s by the man in the frock coat. “Have you been here long?”
“No, just a few minutes,” said Andrew.
“Why didn’t you come in?”
Andrew glanced at Sara. “We didn’t mind waiting outside,” he said.
“I think that what we’re faced with,” said Wyatt, “is an excess of discretion, which, while unnecessary, does have its charm. But that’s enough of that.”
― Robert Newman, The Case of the Murdered Players

“But say that everything you’ve said is true, what possible connection can those murders that were committed ten years ago have with the ones that have just been committed now?”
“I don’t know. I just know that I’m very worried. Can’t you see how I would be?” he said to Verna. “It’s a very frightening situation at best. And when I think that you—you of all people—might be in danger . . .”
“I understand, Peter,” said Verna with unaccustomed meekness. “And I promise to be good. To keep off the stage until you discover who’s responsible for these horrible deaths and tell me it’s safe to go back on the boards again.”
― Robert Newman, The Case of the Murdered Players

“Do you remember old Harry Hopwood, Inspector?”
“Of course. He was one of the first major arrests I made.”
“Right. Nabbed him after that break-in on Greek Street you did. But there was a good deal of swag that was never recovered. Lot of old coins, for instance.”
“Yes. There was a goodish reward offered for their return.”
“Right. Well, old Harry’s dead, died about two months ago. We was pals in the clink, and knowing he was mortal sick and not likely to make it out the gate, he told me where he’d hid the stuff, and I thought I’d like to tell you.”
“Oh? To collect the reward?”
“No. I don’t want the reward. They can give it to Mr. Norwood here for that society of his. I’m just trying to prove to everyone that, from now on, I’m really going straight.”
“Nifty, I won’t say I’m surprised,” said Wyatt, “because I’m not. I’m dumbfounded, dumb-foozled, and just plain bowled-over!”
― Robert Newman, The Case of the Murdered Players

“Do you think you’ll be able to take care of what he wanted to see you about?” asked Andrew.
“As always, I intend to do my best.”
“All right,” said Sara. “We give up. So you don’t intend to tell us what the commissioner wanted or about the case you’re on. What did you want to see us about?”
“It’s the holiday season. Andrew has just come back to London after several months away at school, and I haven’t seen you since he was last here. Isn’t that enough reason to want to see the two of you?”
“To send me a telegram making an appointment for my first day home?” said Andrew. “The answer is no.”
“Why do you think I wanted to see you?”
“I don’t mind guessing when it serves some useful purpose. But since you’re bound to tell us sooner or later, I’ll just wait until you do.”
“You get more difficult every time I see you,” said Wyatt.
“You say that every time we see you,” said Sara. “And then you give us that look.”
“What look is that?”
“The one that asks, ‘Can I trust them to do what I want and keep quiet about it?’ And the ridiculous part of it is that you must have decided that you could trust us or you never would have sent Andrew that telegram.”
“True. All right, I’ll tell you.”
― Robert Newman, The Case of the Murdered Players

“Well,” he said. “The troublesome two.”
“Troublesome to whom?” asked Andrew.
“Us at the Yard. Though I’ll admit you’ve given a certain amount of trouble to a few yobbos, too.”
“I should say we have,” said Sara. “You wouldn’t have solved half the cases you have if it wasn’t for us. Where’s Wyatt?”
“He’ll be along. He was on his way here when the commissioner sent for him. So he sent me over to tell you why he was late and that he’d be here when he could.”
“Something up?” asked Andrew.
“There’s always something up at the Yard. What do you think we do all day, sit around figuring form for the races?”
“I know you do most of the time. But I meant something important. There must be if the commissioner sent for Wyatt.”
“How do you know he didn’t want to ask him who his tailor is?”
“He probably asked him that a long time ago,” said Sara. “Come on, Sergeant. Tell us.”
“I will not. That’s how the trouble always starts. Someone tells you three words about a case, and the next thing we know you’re in it up to your sit-me-downs.”
“All right,” said Andrew. “Just tell us if it’s animal, vegetable or mineral.”
“I’ll tell you nothing. I’ll tell Frank here,” he said to the waiter who had reappeared, “what his nibs is having for lunch. And by the time it gets here, he’ll be here. A steak and kidney pie for the inspector, Frank.”
“And a pint of your best bitter, of course.”
“Of course.”
Sara and Andrew decided to have steak and kidney pie, too, and Tucker proved to be as good a prophet in this as he was in most things, for about the time the waiter reappeared with their order, Wyatt came hurrying in.
“Sorry I’m late. You explained?” he asked Tucker.
“I did.”
“I left a note on your desk. Take care of it as soon as you can.”
“Aren’t you having lunch with us?” Sara asked Tucker.
“Someone has to hold the fort,” said the sergeant. “I’ll grab a bite at the pub, but I suspect I’ll be seeing the two of you again sometime soon.” And giving them an exaggerated salute, he left.”
― Robert Newman, The Case of the Murdered Players