Edgar Wallace

“ This is the darkest station house I've ever been in," he said.
"You've had a bit of luck," growled the sergeant. "Personally, I'd rather have a station dark than chilly. There's a draught coming through that hole that's paralysing. Good story, sir?"
Wembury had put the newspaper down and had taken a little book from his pocket and was turning the leaves slowly. He looked up.
"This? No."
"Novel, sir."
Wembury shook his head.
"I don't believe in novel reading. It puts ideas in your head," said the sergeant disparagingly. "I wonder whether the doctor's got any romance out of that job?" ”

“ There's big money for you if you detect him. Wait!"
Peter had made a protesting noise.
"I don't want you to walk up and lay your hands on him. I hardly imagine you'd be such a fool. But when you see him," he dropped his voice, "go to the nearest 'phone, call me up and tell me what he looks like."
Peter shook his head vigorously as they passed out into the charge room.
"I'm not going to nose on the Ringer." He was very definite for Peter. "Meister wanted me to do it, and I kidded him I would. But not me, Mr. Wembury!" ”

“ The sergeant looked at Wembury.
"What do you think about that?" he asked. "I've never seen him in that state before. Maybe he's taken to drugs. All these 'grasshoppers' get that way if they don't drink themselves to death."
The doctor blotted one of the many puzzling forms which he had to fill up, and stepped down from his stool.
"Here is the certificate, sergeant," he said briskly. "Now what about Meister?"
"What about him?" asked Alan, secretly amused.
"I've got a theory," said the doctor, "but I realize I shan't be able to work it out single-handed. ”