Fortune In Furs

W. Fitch Company, makers of those fine-fit products, presents Dick Powell, a private investigator, Richard Rope. In Rope's Gallery. Brog speaking, well, things were a little slow at the office, which is my way of saying I didn't have a client or a dime.

And I was indulging in my favorite form of athletics. A fast game of snuggapool with Herb Heide, the bookie of the Deluxe Pool Hall. Heidi was born with a cool cue in one hand and a cue ball on the other and I was born with an eight ball birthmark.

He was preming me like a Christmas tree and I was glad when the elevator boy from my building yelled into the door that I had a customer in my office. So I shoved off the talk to this volunteer victim.

When I opened the door to my office I saw him standing there, a dignified looking white-haired gent. with a strong nose, a weak mouth and the nice middle class air of substantial citizenry. Your Mr. Rogue? That's Ryan. You want to talk business with me Mr.

Grant? George Grant? Yes. Oh, I have a chair Mr. Grant. No thank you. I prefer to stand. Mr. Rogue, I understand that you have connections with the fire insurance companies. That you are sometimes retained by them to investigate losses which might have been caused by awesome.

That's right. Go on. Are you interested in the fire at the Matthews Fur Company warehouse a week ago? I could be. That, that fire was awesome, Mr. Rogue. I can tell you some very interesting facts about it.

Well, good. That was a pretty important claim, wasn't it? The fire destroyed over $100,000 worth of furries. Well, start talking, Grant. I, uh, I'd like to have $1,000 before I talk with you, Mr. Rogue.