William Bouguereau paintings

Cocky enough for anything," he said. "I don't care for the type, myself. A loose-living lot, these artists, and very likely to be mixed up with a disreputable class of woman."
Craddock smiled.
"I don't like the way he dresses, either," went on Bacon. "No respect - going to an inquest like that. Dirtiest pair of trousers I've seen in a long while. And did you see his tie? Looked as though it was made of coloured string. If you ask me, he's the kind that would easily strangle a woman and make no bones about it."
"Well, he didn't strangle this one - if he didn't leave Majorca until the 21st. And that's a thing we can verify easily enough."
Bacon threw him a sharp glance.
"I notice that you're not tipping your hand yet about the actual date of the crime."
"No, we'll keep that dark for the present. I always like to have something up my sleeve in the early stages."
Bacon nodded in full agreement.
"Spring it on 'em when the time comes," he said. "That's the best plan."
Bouguereau William