to is the little stricture concerning my neighbour’s ox and my neighbour’s ass. Few and far between as are my neighbours who own oxes, and fewer and farther between as are my neighbours who own asses, I honestly think I could face either type, in an emergency, with a pure heart. But then it might be different if I lived in a rural district.
Leila. Well, anyway, I still say that you’d never commit a nation Your conscience wouldn’t let you.
Rupert. Ah, but have I a conscience?
Brandon. He’s quite right. And for one who hasn’t a conscience, I can understand murder being an entirely engrossing adventure.
Rupert. You mean a motiveless murder?
Brandon. Yes.
Raglan. Yes, That really does happen sometimes, doesn’t it? You do get people who murder purely sort of for the fun of the thing, don’t you?
Leila. What a peculiar idea of fun.
Raglan. No, but I’ve heard of cases like that.
Rupert. Certainly you have. And I for one can certainly enter into the excitement of it. The only trouble bout that sort of thing is that you’re bound to be found out.
Brandon (rather too quickly). Why should you be found out?
[Pause.
Rupert. Because, dear Brandon, that sort of murder would not be a motiveless murder at all. It would have a quite clear motive. Vanity. It would be a murder of vanity. And because of that, the criminal would be quite unable to keep from talking about it, or showing it off—in some fantastic way or another. The trouble with that sort of murderer is that he can’t keep quiet about it. He won’t hide it up. He wants to boast about it—and say something—do something—it may be something only just slightly outré—which gives him away. They have always done it and they always will.
Brandon. But then suppose your murderer—your really ideal, brilliantly clever and competent murderer—
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