“Lord Peter Wimsey: Facts, Bunter, must have facts. When I was a small boy, I always hated facts. Thought they were nasty, hard things, all nobs. Mervyn Bunter: Yes, my lord. My old mother always used to say... Lord Peter Wimsey: Your mother, Bunter? Oh, I never knew you had one. I always thought you just sort of came along already-made, so it were. Oh, excuse me. How infernally rude of me. Beg pardon, I'm sure. Mervyn Bunter: That's all right, my lord. Lord Peter Wimsey: Thank you. Mervyn Bunter: Yes indeed, I was one of seven. Lord Peter Wimsey: That is pure invention, Bunter, I know better. You are unique. But you were going to tell me about your mater. Mervyn Bunter: Oh yes, my lord. My old mother always used to say that facts are like cows. If you stare them in the face hard enough, and they generally run away. Lord Peter Wimsey: By Jove, that's courageous, Bunter. What a splendid person she must be. Mervyn Bunter: I think so, my lord.”

“Bunter came with me in the role of a friend. A role he has always played to perfection.""It does not require dissimulation, my lord," said Bunter."Thank you," said Peter.”

“Bunter!”“Yes, my lord.” “Her Grace tells me that a respectable Battersea architect has discovered a dead man in his bath.”“Indeed, my lord? That's very gratifying.” “Very, Bunter. Your choice of words is unerring. I wish Eton and Balliol had done as much for me...”

“I took the liberty of ascertaining as much beforehand, my lord.""Of course you did, Bunter. You always ascertain everything.”

“Lord Peter Wimsey stretched himself luxuriously between the sheets provided by the Hotel Meurice.”

“Burn you, Nerim, that's a leg not a bloody side of beef!""As my lord says," Nerim murmured. "My lord's leg is not a side of beef. Thank you, my lord, for instructing me.”