Oxford-educated Dorothy Leigh Sayers (1893–1957) was one of the most popular authors of the Golden Age era. Born in England in 1893, Dorothy Sayers received her degree at university in medieval literature. Following her graduation, besides publishing two volumes of poetry, she began to write detective stories to earn money.
Her first novel, "Whose Body?" (1923), introduced Lord Peter Wimsey, the character for which she is best known. Wimsey, with his signature monocle and somewhat foppish air, appeared in eleven novels and several short stories. Working with his friend, Inspector Parker of Scotland Yard, Wimsey solved cases usually involving relatives or close friends.
Dorothy L. Sayers was well known for "combining detective writing with expert novelistic writing," and the imaginative ways in which her victims were disposed of. Among the many causes of death seen in her novels were, among others, poisoned teeth fillings, a cat with poisoned claws, and a dagger made of ice! (The Whodunit).
Dorothy Sayers also edited several mystery anthologies collected under the heading "The Omnibus of Crime" (1929), which included a noteworthy opening essay on the history of the mystery genre.
Later on in her life, Dorothy Sayers gave up detective fiction to pursue her other interests. She spent the last years of her life working on an English translation of Dante's Divine Comedy, having always claimed that religion and medieval studies were subjects more worthy of her time than writing detective stories.
Dorothy L Sayers
Table of Contents
Chapter I: Old Mossy-Face
Chapter II: The Queen Is Out
Chapter III: Hearts Count More than Diamonds
Chapter IV: Lord Peter Leads a Club
Chapter V: —And Finds the Club Suit Blocked
Chapter VI: A Card of Re-Entry
Chapter VII: The Curse of Scotland
Chapter VIII: Lord Peter Leads through Strength
Chapter IX: Knave High
Chapter X: Lord Peter Forces a Card
Chapter XI: Lord Peter Clears Trumps
Chapter XII: Lord Peter Turns a Trick
Chapter XIII: Spades Are Trumps
Chapter XIV: Grand Slam in Spades
Chapter XV: Shuffle the Cards and Deal Again
Chapter XVI: Quadrille
Chapter XVII: Parker Plays a Hand
Chapter XVIII: Picture-Cards
Chapter XIX: Lord Peter Plays Dummy
Chapter XX: Ann Dorland Goes Misere
Chapter XXI: Lord Peter Calls a Bluff
Chapter XXII: The Cards on the Table
Lord Peter Wimsey
WIMSEY, PETER DEATH BREDON, 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: 110a 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.
Chapter I
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 wouldn’t 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 know—‘Waiter, take away Lord Whatsisname, he’s been dead two days.’ Look at Old Ormsby there, snoring like a hippopotamus. Look at my revered grandpa — dodders 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 I’ll be like that one of these days. I wish to God Jerry had put me out with the rest of ’em. What’s the good of coming through for this sort of thing? What’ll you have?”
“Dry martini,” said Wimsey. “And you? Two dry martinis, Fred, please. Cheer up. All this remembrance-day business gets on your nerves, don’t it? It’s my belief most of us would be only too pleased to chuck these community hysterics if the beastly newspapers didn’t run it for all it’s worth. However, it don’t do to say so. They’d hoof me out of the Club if I raised my voice beyond a whisper.”
“They’d 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.”