A fairy tale in terms of blood—a world in anamorphosis—a perversion of all rationality.… It’s unthinkable… — S.S. Van Dine

“Oh, my dear fellow! I’m not indulgin’ in implications. I’m merely givin’ tongue to my youthful curiosity, don’t y’ know.”

“You’re probably right,” sighed Vance. “I haven’t any coruscatin’ arguments to combat you with. Only, I’m disappointed. I don’t like anticlimaxes, especially when they don’t jibe with my idea of the dramatist’s talent. Pardee’s death at this moment is too deuced neat—it clears things up too tidily. There’s too much utility in it, and too little imagination.”

“Do you play chess, by the by?” asked Vance.

“Used to. But no more. A beautiful game, though—if it wasn't for the players.”