So, Mr. Nick,' murmured the valet, applying shaving soap to his employer's face with an ivory-handled brush, 'are you writing a book?'

Damn him, thought Lerner. He knows I detest conversation with a razor at my throat.

'My memoirs,' he muttered. 'A few jottings only. Waiting to die is such a bore, I write to pass the time.' ("The Overseer")

Author: Albert E. Cowdrey