The Summer Mysterious Quote item

Jun 24 02:23 UTC 2001

Welcome to the Summer "Mysterious Quote" item.  In this item, somebody
(usually whoever won the last one) enters a quote from a novel or other book.
Other people try to guess the author.  That's about all the rules, I think.

response 2 of 104:

Jun 24 02:52 UTC 2001

  "Thank you," he said.  "Lestrade, would you mind pulling the crate over
from the corner?  Just put it here, thank you."  He leaned forward, untied
the grubby string, and removed the top with the flourish of a conjurer.
Inside was a jumble of chromium-plated bits of metal, hunks of broken glass,
a large slab of dented mud guard, and a sheaf of the inevitable evidence
envelopes.  My heart twisted at the sight, then started to beat heavily.
I must have moved or made a sound, because _______ looked at me.
  "Yes, ________, the murder weapon.  Or rather, portions of it.  I knew
it would be there, once I knoew that Miss Ruskin had been killed by a
motorcar, and particularly when the machine was not found nearby, stolen,
used, and abandoned.  Why a motorcar, a method which took at least two
persons to arrange and had all the attendant danger of the telltale damage?
The person who thought of it had to have the vehicles both ready to mind and
near to hand; plus, the means of repairing damage must be available to him.
I knew I should find some such facility as a garage, and the only danger was
how thoroughly they had covered their tracks.  In this case, they were too
sure of themselves--Jason Rogers had rid himself of the pertinent sections
in a load of other scrap metal to a local dealer, from whom I retrieved them."

response 4 of 104:

Jun 24 04:56 UTC 2001

Everyone knows who Lestrade went to, to get his murder cases solved.....

response 6 of 104:

Jun 24 06:04 UTC 2001

Nope, not Doyle.  Here's another quote from the same book which is,
perhaps, a bit less deceptive, though as everyone noticed, the previous
one already had strong hints of not being Doyle:


  I watched him as his long fingers caressed the much-travelled
envelope and his eyes drew significance from every smudge, every
characteristic of the paper and ink and stamp, and it occurred to
me suddenly that Sherlock Holmes was bored.

  The thought was not a happy one.  No person, certainly no woman,
likes to think that her marriage has lessened the happiness of her
partner.  I thrust the troublesome idea from me, reached up to rub
a twinge from my right shoulder, and spoke with a shade more irritation
than was called for.

  "My dear Holmes, this verges on _deducto_ad_absurdum_.  Were you to
open the envelope and identify the writer, it might just simplify
matters."

response 8 of 104:

Jun 24 23:03 UTC 2001

Not Meyer.