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Updated: June 29, 2025
"My dear fellow, what the la-diddly-um do you mean?" "Why, he seems to be a bit of an actor to do things because he wants to appear in a favourable light." "I say, that's doocid ungenerous of you," said Chappy. "And, by jove, if he likes to imagine himself very noble and heroic, and tries to act accordingly, very fine of him." "Very," endorsed Radley, cryptically. "I've a great liking for him."
Ramsay, with his "I say, old chappy, what an out-and-out swell you are at it, to be sure! You must do the horses." Thus encouraged, Mr. He must have spent a small fortune in chemicals alone, and all his talk was of light and shadow, background, draperies, foreground, plates, and proofs; every table was strewn with photographs, finished and not finished, mounted or curled up like paper crumpets.
He had gone across the river to gather up a loose end of the evidence accumulating against Chappy Morgan, king of the wireless wire-tappers. It was nearly midnight when he emerged from the ferryhouse. In sight was no surface car; so he set out afoot to walk across town to where he lived on the East Side.
I was feeling horribly anxious lest I should die without knowing whether it was of Doe or of me that he had spoken, when Radley cleared up the matter by saying: "He's playing a straight bat, isn't he?" So it was Doe. Well, he was clever, I supposed, but not as clever as all that. "Straight bat, rather!" agreed Chappy. "Does he play a straight bat in all things?"
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