Fatal nemesis

. . . and who better to shove him off the tail of the cart than good old Flashy, favourite ruffian of the Foreign Office, Palmerston-recommended, practically by Appointment Assassin Extraordinary to Her Majesty, demises discreetly arranged, moderate terms . . . if I were a sensitive man (and not a little flattered to be regarded as the most fatal nemesis since Jack Ketch) I might easily be offended.


Flashman on the March, p.249, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2005.


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As dangerous a man

      That was the worse part. Up there, on the top floor, was not only as dangerous a man as I’d ever met, but a top-hole shikari, a night-bird, a trained and skilful hunter who could catch the sound of grass growing.


Flashman and the Tiger, pp.305-6, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2000.


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In his prime

. . . if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes I’d not have believed it — and I knew Hickok in his prime, remember, before his eyesight went, and John Wesley Hardin, too.


Flashman and the Tiger, p.282, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2000.


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Nursing his blood lust

But mostly he was nursing his blood lust, I knew, anticipating the pleasure of shooting assassins — in the back no doubt. He was what Hickook called “a killing gentleman”, was our young Willem. Just like dear old dad.

Flashman and the Tiger, p.126, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2000.



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A Palmerston roughneck

…I received his disgusting proposal with the stern, shrewd look of a Palmerston roughneck who took back-shooting in his stride. I may even have growled softly.


Flashman and the Angel of the Lord, p.194, Harper Collins, 1995.


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Comb my memoirs

A scoundrel I may be, but I ain’t an assassin, and you will comb my memoirs in vain for mention of Flashy as First Murderer. Oh, I’ve put away more than I can count, in the line of duty, from stark necessity, and once or twice from spite — de Gautet springs to mind, and the pandy I shot at Meerut — but they deserved it. Anyway, I don’t kill chaps I don’t know.


Flashman and the Angel of the Lord, p.194, Harper Collins, 1995.

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Fatal breed

It’s the odd thing about deadly men — they’re all addicted to either God or the Devil, and I ain’t sure but the holy ones aren’t the more fatal breed of the two.



Flashman and the Mountain of Light, p.277, Fontana Paperback edition, 1991.



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Scotch nemesis

There was one quiet Lancer, though, a black-whiskered Scotch nemesis who said never a word, and played the bull fiddle for his recreation. He caught my eye then, and again fifteen years later when he led the march to Peking, the most terrible killing gentleman you every saw: Hope Grant.


Flashman and the Mountain of Light, p.274, Fontana Paperback edition, 1991.


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Killing gents

In a novel, of course, or a play, murders are committed so; the villain leers and gloats, and the victim pleads. In my practical experience, however, killing gentlemen like de Gautet are far too practiced for such nonsense; they shoot suddenly and cleanly and the job’s done.

Royal Flash, p.177, Pan edition, 8th printing, 1978.

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Flashman, Flashman quotes.