THERE IS ONLY ONE CURE FOR GREY HAIR. IT WAS INVENTED BY A FRENCHMAN. IT IS CALLED THE GUILLOTINE.

AS A SLEUTH YOU ARE POOR. YOU COULDN’T DETECT A BASS-DRUM IN A TELEPHONE-BOOTH.

A melancholy-looking man, he had the appearance of one who has searched for the leak in life's gas-pipe with a lighted candle.

Unseen in the background, Fate was quietly slipping the lead into the boxing-glove.

He was the sort of man who would have tried to cheer Napoleon up by talking about the Winter Sports at Moscow.

A little bit added to what you’ve already got gives you a little bit more.

Ice formed on the butler’s upper slopes.

The Right Hon. was a tubby little chap who looked as if he had been poured into his clothes and had forgotten to say ‘When!’

What with excellent browsing and sluicing and cheery conversation and what-not, the afternoon passed quite happily.

It is a good rule in life never to apologize. The right sort of people do not want apologies, and the wrong sort take a mean advantage of them.