Strong Poison by Dorothy L. Sayers Page B

of enthusiasm, possibly because he was imperfectly acquainted with the book of Common Prayer, or possibly because he detected a hint of mockery in the other’s tone. “Well, I have very much enjoyed this chat. I am sorry I can do nothing for you about First Editions.”
    Wimsey begged him not to mention it, and with a cordial farewell ran hastily down the stairs.
    His next visit was to the office of Mr. Challoner, Harriet Vane’s agent. Challoner was an abrupt, dark, militant-looking little man, with untidy hair and thick spectacles.
    “Boom?” said he, when Wimsey had introduced himself and mentioned his interest in Miss Vane. “Yes, of course there is a boom. Rather disgusting, really, but one can’t help that. We have to do our best for our client, whatever the circumstances. Miss Vane’s books have always sold reasonably well – round about the three or four thousand mark in this country – but of course this business has stimulated things enormously. The last book has gone to three new editions, and the new one has sold seven thousand before publication.”
    “Financially, all to the good, eh?”
    “Oh, yes – but frankly I don’t know whether these artificial sales do very much good to an author’s reputation in the long run. Up like a rocket, down like the stick, you know. When Miss Vane is released -”
    “I am glad you say ‘when.’ ”
    “I am not allowing myself to contemplate any other possibility. But when that happens, public interest will be liable to die down very quickly. I am, of course, securing the most advantageous contracts I possibly can at the moment, to cover the next three or four books, but I can only really control the advances. The actual receipts will depend on the sales, and that is where I foresee a slump. I am, however, doing well with serial rights, which are important from the point of view of immediate returns.”
    “On the whole, as a business man, you are not altogether glad that this has happened?”
    “Taking the long view, I am not. Personally, I need not say that I am extremely grieved, and feel quite positive that there is some mistake.”
    “That’s my idea,” said Wimsey.
    “From what I know of your lordship, I may say that your interest and assistance are the best stroke of luck Miss Vane could have had.”
    “Oh, thanks – thanks very much. I say – this arsenic book – you couldn’t let me have a squint at it, I suppose?”
    “Certainly, if it would help you.” He touched a bell. “Miss Warburton, bring me a set of galleys of Death in the Pot. Trufoot’s are pushing publication on as fast as possible. The book was still unfinished when the arrest took place. With rare energy and courage, Miss Vane has put the finishing touches and corrected the proofs herself. Of course, everything had to go through the hands of the prison authorities. However, we were anxious to conceal nothing. She certainly knows all about arsenic, poor girl. These are complete, are they, Miss Warburton? Here you are. Is there anything else?”
    “Only one thing. What do you think of Messrs. Grimsby & Cole?”
    “I never contemplate them,” said Mr. Challoner. “Not thinking of doing anything with them, are you, Lord Peter?”
    “Well, I don’t know that I am – seriously.”
    “If you do, read your contract carefully. I won’t say, bring it to us -”
    “If ever I do publish with Grimsby & Cole,” said Lord Peter, “I’ll promise to do it through you.”

CHAPTER VII
    Lord Peter Wimsey almost bounced into Holloway Prison next morning. Harriet Vane greeted him with a kind of rueful smile.
    “So you’ve reappeared?”
    “Good lord, yes! Surely you expected me to. I fancied I’d left that impression. I say – I’ve thought of a good plot for a detective story.”
    “Really?”
    “Top-hole. You know, the sort people bring out and say, ‘I’ve often thought of doing it myself, if I could only find time to sit down and write it.’ I gather that sitting down