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Clouds of Witness ▾
contents
  1. I Of His Malice Aforethought O, who hath done this deed? Othello
  2. II The Green-Eyed Cat And here’s to the hound With his nose unto the ground— “Drink, Puppy, Drink”
  3. III Mudstains and Bloodstains Other things are all very well in their way, but give me Blood … We say, “There it is! that’s Blood!” It is an actual matter of fact. We point it out. It admits of no doubt … We must have Blood, you know. David Copperfield
  4. IV —And His Daughter Much-Afraid The women also looked pale and wan. The Pilgrim’s Progress
  5. V The Rue St. Honoré and the Rue de la Paix I think it was the cat. H.M.S. Pinafore
  6. VI Mary Quite Contrary I am striving to take into public life what any man gets from his mother. Lady Astor
  7. VII The Club and the Bullet He is dead, and by my hand. It were better that I were dead myself, for the guilty wretch I am. Adventures of Sexton Blake
  8. VIII Mr. Parker Takes Notes A man was taken to the Zoo and shown the giraffe. After gazing at it a little in silence: “I don’t believe it,” he said.
  9. IX Goyles “—and the moral of that is—” said the Duchess. Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
  10. X Nothing Abides at the Noon “Alas!” said Hiya, “the sentiments which this person expressed with irreproachable honorableness, when the sun was high in the heavens and the probability of secretly leaving an undoubtedly well-appointed home was engagingly remote, seem to have an entirely different significance when recalled by night in a damp orchard, and on the eve of their fulfillment.” The Wallet of Kai-Lung And his short minute, after noon, is night. Donne
  11. XI Meribah Oh-ho, my friend! You are gotten into Lob’s pond. Jack the Giant-Killer
  12. XII The Alibi When actually in the embrace of a voracious and powerful wild animal, the desirability of leaving a limb is not a matter to be subjected to lengthy consideration. The Wallet of Kai-Lung
  13. XIII Manon “That one word, my dear Watson, should have told me the whole story, had I been the ideal reasoner which you are so fond of depicting.” Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes
  14. XIV The Edge of the Axe Towards Him Scene I. Westminster Hall. Enter as to the Parliament, Bolingbroke, Aumerle, Northumberland, Percy, Fitz-water, Surrey, the Bishop of Carlisle, the Abbot of Westminster, and another Lord, Herald, Officers, and Bagot. Bolingbroke Call forth Bagot. Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind; What thou dost know of noble Gloucester’s death; Who wrought it with the king, and who performed The bloody office of his timeless end. Bagot Then set before my face the Lord Aumerle. King Richard II
  15. XV Bar Falling Copyright by Reuter, Press Association Exchange Telegraph, and Central News.
  16. XVI The Second String O, whan he came to broken briggs He bent his bow and swam, And whan he came to the green grass growin’ He slacked his shoone and ran. O, whan he came to Lord William’s gates He baed na to chap na ca’, But set his bent bow till his breast, An lightly lap the wa’. Ballad of Lady Maisry
  17. XVII The Eloquent Dead Je connaissais Manon: pourquoi m’affliger tant d’un malheur que j’avais dû prévoir. Manon Lescaut
  18. XVIII The Speech for the Defense “Nobody; I myself; farewell.” Othello
  19. XIX Who Goes Home? Drunk as a lord? As a class they are really very sober. Judge Cluer, in Court
  20. Endnotes
English ▾

Clouds of Witness

Dorothy L. Sayers

free · 84,042 words · 11 h 21 m audiobook, read by Kirsten Wever for LibriVox · first published 1926

text from Standard Ebooks

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The Solution of
the Riddlesdale Mystery
with a Report of the Trial of
the Duke of Denver
before the House of Lords
for
Murder

The inimitable stories of Tong-king never have any real ending, and this one, being in his most elevated style, has even less end than most of them. But the whole narrative is permeated with the odour of joss-sticks and honourable high-mindedness, and the two characters are both of noble birth.

The Wallet of Kai-Lung

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’.

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.

I

Of His Malice Aforethought

O, who hath done this deed?

Othello

Lord Peter Wimsey stretched himself luxuriously between the sheets provided by the Hôtel Meurice. After his exertions in the unraveling of the Battersea Mystery, he had followed Sir Julian Freke’s advice and taken a holiday. He had felt suddenly weary of breakfasting every morning before his view over the Green Park; he had realized that the picking up of first editions at sales afforded insufficient exercise for a man of thirty-three; the very crimes of London were over-sophisticated. He had abandoned his flat and his friends and fled to the wilds of Corsica. For the last three months he had forsworn letters, newspapers, and telegrams. He had tramped about the mountains, admiring from a cautious distance the wild beauty of Corsican peasant-women, and studying the vendetta in its natural haunt. In such conditions murder seemed not only reasonable, but lovable. Bunter, his confidential man and assistant sleuth, had nobly sacrificed his civilized habits, had let his master go dirty and even unshaven, and had turned his faithful camera from the recording of fingerprints to that of craggy scenery. It had been very refreshing.

Now, however, the call of the blood was upon Lord Peter. They had returned late last night in a vile train to Paris, and had picked up their luggage. The autumn light, filtering through the curtains, touched caressingly the silver-topped bottles on the dressing-table, outlined an electric lampshade and the shape of the telephone. A noise of running water near by proclaimed that Bunter had turned on the bath (h. & c.) and was laying out scented soap, bath-salts, the huge bath-sponge, for which there had been no scope in Corsica, and the delightful flesh-brush with the long handle, which rasped you so agreeably all down the spine. “Contrast,” philosophized Lord Peter sleepily, “is life. Corsica—Paris—then London … Good morning, Bunter.”

“Good morning, my lord. Fine morning, my lord. Your lordship’s bath-water is ready.”

“Thanks,” said Lord Peter. He blinked at the sunlight.

It was a glorious bath. He wondered, as he soaked in it, how he could have existed in Corsica. He wallowed happily and sang a few bars of a song. In a soporific interval he heard the valet de chambre bringing in coffee and rolls. Coffee and rolls! He heaved himself out with a splash, toweled himself luxuriously, enveloped his long-mortified body in a silken bathrobe, and wandered back.

To his immense surprise he perceived Mr. Bunter calmly replacing all the fittings in his dressing-case. Another astonished glance showed him the bags—scarcely opened the previous night—repacked, relabeled, and standing ready for a journey.

“I say, Bunter, what’s up?” said his lordship. “We’re stayin’ here a fortnight y’know.”

“Excuse me, my lord,” said Mr. Bunter, deferentially, “but, having seen The Times (delivered here every morning by air, my lord; and very expeditious I’m sure, all things considered), I made no doubt your lordship would be wishing to go to Riddlesdale at once.”

“Riddlesdale!” exclaimed Peter. “What’s the matter: Anything wrong with my brother?”

For answer Mr. Bunter handed him the paper, folded open at the heading:

Riddlesdale Inquest.

Duke of Denver Arrested

On Murder Charge.

Lord Peter stared as if hypnotized.

“I thought your lordship wouldn’t wish to miss anything,” said Mr. Bunter, “so I took the liberty—”

Lord Peter pulled himself together.

“When’s the next train?” he asked.

“I beg your lordship’s pardon—I thought your lordship would wish to take the quickest route. I took it on myself to book two seats in the airplane Victoria. She starts at 11:30.”

Lord Peter looked at his watch.

“Ten o’clock,” he said. “Very well. You did quite right. Dear me! Poor old Gerald arrested for murder. Uncommonly worryin’ for him, poor chap. Always hated my bein’ mixed up with police-courts. Now he’s there himself. Lord Peter Wimsey in the witness-box—very distressin’ to feelin’s of a brother. Duke of Denver in the dock—worse still. Dear me! Well, I suppose one must have breakfast.”

“Yes, my lord. Full account of the inquest in the paper, my lord.”

restoring your place…

fetching the rest…

More by Dorothy L. Sayers

  • Busman’s Honeymoon
    You get Lord Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane as newlyweds, trying to inhabit a damp country house while their old habits of wit, suspicion, and independence collide. The mystery is less the point than the uneasy marriage and the servants’ sharp view of privilege, so it suits you if you like your detective stories thoughtful and a little theatrical.
  • Gaudy Night
    You’d like this for the atmosphere as much as the mystery: Harriet Vane returns to her Oxford college, where poison-pen attacks expose tensions beneath its polished, scholarly life. It’s talky and thoughtful, with Peter Wimsey used sparingly, so give it time if you enjoy moral questions alongside your detection.
  • Hangman’s Holiday
    You get Lord Peter in brisk, playful cases, but the real surprise is Montague Egg, the traveling salesman who applies trade maxims to murder. The stories are clever and pleasantly odd, though uneven, so it suits you better as a witty bedside collection than a sustained mystery.

genres

  • Mystery

appears in

  • Lord Peter Wimsey

—

thank you for reading

Clouds of Witness by Dorothy L. Sayers. The text is in the US public domain, from the Standard Ebooks edition. Served from our own copy; read on their site for the full edition with images and typography.

Narrated by Kirsten Wever for LibriVox, also public domain.

First published in 1926.

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