Self Made Corpse

I haven't kept you waiting. Yes, this is the crime club. I'm the librarian. The self-made cops. Yes, we have that story for you. Come right over. Good. Take the easy chair by the window. Comfortable. The manuscript is on this shelf. Here it is. The self-made cops. The The very unusual story of a plan for living in which the architect was deaf.

Let's look at it under the reading-man. It was late one evening and Scippy Parker, the head check girl of the Chikadee Club, was at her station in the cloakroom when a small timid looking man came into the spacious lobby of the club and walked over to her.

Excuse me, Miss. My name is Andrew Mitchell. That's nice. Here's something for you. I have a dollar. Well, it's all I can afford at the moment. Please take it. Alright. But what do I have to do for it?

Just tell me where I can find Mr. Spade's diamond. What? He owns this place, doesn't he? So I've been told. And he's one of the most successful gang leaders in the country, an empire builder?

Andrew, you wouldn't be crazy, would you? Oh, no, no. Ben, why do you want to be saved? Well, it's business. Very important and very private. Uh-uh. Give your money back. Why? Go home to your pad itself.

You don't believe me, do you? Try to think. I don't see it. Very well, I'll find Mr. Diamond without your help. And I'll tell him that you refuse to cooperate. But don't forget to mention my name. It's Skippy Parker.

I won't forget Miss Parker, but you regret it. I'm going to have you rubbed out. Well... So young and so beautiful, but your manners are bad. I'm going inside to look for Mr. Diamond. Every night at moon muh.