A Question of Propriety

Being a private investigator means two things. You can be sure you'll run into trouble, and you can never be sure you'll get out of it. But much you can do about it, I guess, except like Julie always says...

Woke's off, please. Please, Detroit. And now Peter Troy investigates a question of propriety. But it comes to investigating questions of propriety. My secretary, Julie, does not regard me as particularly well fitted. Now this is because she has a one-track mind as far as I'm concerned, and if I mention propriety she assumes I'm talking about some character getting himself involved with some

doll and starting the neighbours' tongues wagging about who was coming out of the doll's apartment at three o'clock in the morning, etc. But the question of propriety I am concerned with at the moment is nothing like that.

It has to do with all people that dashing devil may care enemy of the underworld, detective Inspector Caswell and a certain unhappy playing clothes sergeant of police named Jim Barrett. Sit down Barrett. Thank you sir. I don't need to tell you this is the most unfortunate and irritating business. Yes sir. I mean no sir. You had no right to agree to meet that hootlem

in that alley alone you know that. I suppose so sir but I thought I could perhaps pin him down with so. A good policeman Barrett doesn't go around looking for Q-dots for himself. He He does his job according to the rules.

Yes, sir. Well, I know that, but there are no butts. You've seen for yourself what happens when you disregard the rules. You get nowhere and almost get yourself killed. Well, there's only a slight knock on the head, sir.