Memling Must Have an Alibi

By Rupert Hughes

This story is a sequel to four previous stories by Rupert Hughes in which he tells the story of a warehouse robbery. Among the things stolen are some private papers concerning a lady of society, Mrs Willoughby Worthington. The thieves cajole this lady into concealing them in her home, using the papers' contents as a threat to her privacy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: DigiCat
• Release date: Jun 3, 2022
• ISBN: 8596547054603

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Rupert Hughes

Memling Must Have an Alibi

EAN 8596547054603

DigiCat, 2022

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Memling Must Have an Alibi

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In his last four stories Rupert Hughes told us of the looting of a storage warehouse by Dirk Memling and Nellie. Among the interesting things found In the warehouse were certain private documents concerning Mrs. Wllloughby Worthington. In this story Dirk and Nellie use these documents to force the society woman to harbor them in her handsome home and thus put the police off their track. You couldn't call it blackmail, and Rupert Hughes wittily coins the word whitemail. The situation is a whimsical one, and you will enjoy the comedy.

OF all the house parties that ever house-partied, Doik, Nellie summed up the situation to Memling, this is soitainly the woist. Mrs. Hostess had to be blackmailed out of the invitation, and Mrs. Guestess and Friend Husband only accepted in pref'runce to goin' to the penitentiary. I'd always hoid that high society folks are bored to death all the time, but I didn't know how doleful they could be. Why, I couldn't be boreder if I was in a solitary cell. It's abs'lutely ghassly, that's all; just ghassly!"

Memling sighed dismally: "The circumstances are not particularly conducive to a jocund entente."

Nellie threw him a startled look. "I got the woid 'soicumstances,' but after that I fell off. But I think the soicumstances are such that we all got a right to be full of glee and moith. Here's you, the greatest sculptor in the woild, making the portrait bust of a grande dame—I suppose swells don't call it bust, but boist—anyway, you ought to be happy dabbling in clay again, but you act like you was kneading red-hot mush and it boint your fingers.

And here's Mrs. Woithington that ought to be proud as a Toik at having her double chin poipetrated to immortal fame by a great sculptor, but she's acting like she was a shoplifter being held and mugged for the rogues' gallery. And here's me, that's prayed all my life to get a look-in at high society, and now that I find myself really inside a swell home without committin' boiglary, I'm wondering if I can keep from screaming and chewing