LordPeter List Literary Contest

(Harriet Vane and Lord Peter Wimsey sit in the lounge of the Resplendent, watching the dancers. Lord Peter is flipping a coin.)

LPW: Heads. Heads. Heads. Heads! Heads...

HV: It doesn't make sense. I'm walking along a beach, and I happen to find a body. At the last possible minute before the tide comes in and covers it. What are the odds? And then, all the suspects have beautiful alibis ... for the wrong times. And now, you sit there and flip ...

LPW: Heads! One hundred and thirty-three.

HV: One hundred and thirty-three heads in a row. Probability is not operating as a factor. We are therefore in the grip of un-, sub- or supernatural forces.

LPW: Heads. (He pockets the coin). It's getting to be a bit boring, what?

HV: All these women in these ridiculous costumes ... it's a play, a farce, and we don't even know our lines. Or what kind of play it is.

LPW: The love, blood and rhetoric school. Blood is compulsory; you're a writer, you know that.

HV: Well, there was plenty of it. But that's not an answer. What are we doing here?

LPW: We were sent for.

HV: I didn't send for you.

LPW: We were sent for, all the same. Both of us.

HV: Who sent for us?

LPW: Don't you know that?

HV: How should I?

LPW: Aren't you a writer?

HV: What's that got to do with it?

LPW: Will you marry me?

HV: Non sequitur! One-love. Game, set and match.

-- a solitary red pawn

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