J. S. Fletcher

“ But all this is neither here nor there, as regards what I'm going to tell you.
"You know, gentlemen," he went on, with a knowing wink, "there are men who keep close in company—quiet, reserved sort of men, who aren't going to say all they think or tell all they know, when there's what you might call a general, promiscuous talk going on in such places as club smoking-rooms.
"We've such men in our little club, and two in particular—Mr. Willett, the bookseller, and Mr. Archington, the wine and spirit merchant, I dare say you've noticed their places in the town?" ”

“ Sunday night, gentlemen, is our best night for meeting—always a good number on Sunday night.
"I was there last night for an hour or two, as usual, and, of course, the talk ran a good deal on the disappearance of your uncle, Mr. Brixey—naturally, it's the topic of the town, just now. And as you'd expect, if there was one theory put out, there were a dozen!"
"Any of 'em any good?" asked Brixey.
"Some of 'em were pretty far-fetched," replied Brackett, with a laugh. "One man has an idea that Mr. Linthwaite will be found to be an absconding trustee. Another is certain that it's an elopement. ”

“ What the devil do I care what they say in the Sentinel?—all empty sensationalism!"
"There's a whole column of it, anyhow," said the manager, "and whoever's written it seems to know what he's writing about. He's not afraid of mentioning names, either!" ”