Word: sleuthed
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Farmer Cronin roundly declared his innocence, swore that his bicycle had been stolen the night before. Irish detectives went to work. Suspicion veered toward young David O'Shea, another of Dairymaid Ellen's suitors. A Dublin sleuth slipped into David's little whitewashed hut and hid under a bed for many hours. There he overheard a whispered conversation between David O'Shea and his sister. Sister O'Shea went out of the cabin with a bucket containing one yellow woolen sock and a leather gaiter, which she burned. That was enough for the sleuth...
...school to be: a messenger boy. clerk in an advertising office, in a broker's office, timekeeper in a machine shop, stevedore, railroadman. But his chief job, at which he worked both before and after the War, was as a Pinkerton detective. He says: "I was a pretty good sleuth, but possibly a bit over-rated because of the plausibility with which I could explain away my failures." During the War, Hammett acquired a sergeantcy and tuberculosis, has lost them both. Other books: The Dain Curse, Red Harvest, The Maltese Falcon...
...Pravda, Sleuth Wilson's expose was headlined "How the United States Prepared Intervention." The lead...
...Vancouver Kiwanians squirmed with discomfort last week. Other thoughtful citizens deplored. U. S. visitors were in a ferment of indignation. For, despite many a protest, Vancouver's loud evening Sun ("Vancouver's most useful institution") was publishing serially The Strange Death of President Harding by onetime Federal Sleuth Gaston B. Means (TIME, March 31). The U. S. Consul General was besieged with outraged demands for formal action. One Californian wired to Senator Hiram Johnson urging "proper protest against . . . insult." Nothing happened. The Strange Death of President Harding was widely circulated and reported in the U. S. last spring...
...definitely dead." "I've done with him," he said. "To tell the truth, I'm rather tired of hearing myself described as the author of Sherlock Holmes. One would think that I had written nothing but detective stories."* Asked if there was a prototype for his celebrated sleuth, said he: "Most certainly there was. He was an Edinburgh doctor under whom I studied. He had an uncanny gift of drawing large inferences from small observations. When I tried to draw a detective, naturally I thought of Dr. Bell and his methods. . . . Watson was just an average...