I hear it still. As I lay down my pen and take to my bed, I am aware of the bow being drawn across the bridge and the music rises into the night sky. It is far away and barely audible - but there it is! A pizzicato. Then a tremelo. The style is unmistakable. It is Sherlock Holmes who is playing. It must be. I hope with all my heart that he is playing for me . . .

…my life has been a remarkable one. Maybe one day someone will write a book about me . . .” "I’ve never much cared for horror stories.

There are many things in life that cannot be explained.

The worst time to feel alone is when you're in a crowd.

He looked from the phone to the unconscious figure of the Salesman. "What did you do to him?" he asked. "He got the wrong number," Alex said.

He had followed the trail left by a dead man. It was only now that he realized it might lead only to a grave.

You're nothing if you're not special.