THE EVIDENCE OF THE FISHERMAN
"There's a fellow
With twisting root-like hair up to his eyes,
And they are streaked with red and starting out
Under their bristling brows; his crooked tusks
Part, like a hungry wolf's, his cursing mouth;
His head is frontless, and a swinish mane
Grows o'er his shoulders: brown and warty hands,
Like roots, with pointed nails—He is the man."
Fragment
Monday, 22 June
Wimsey had not very long to wait before hearing the latest development. He had returned to the Bellevue for lunch, and was having a preliminary refresher in the bar, when he felt a smart tap on his shoulder.
"Lord, Inspector! How you startled me! All right, it's a fair cop. What's it for this time?"
"I just dropped along to tell you the latest, my lord. I thought you'd like to hear it.
