The Blue-eyed Brazen

Being a private investigator means two things. You can be sure you'll run into trouble and you can never be sure you get out of it. Well, there's not much you can do about it, I guess.

Except, like Julie always says, Walk Southley. Peter Troy. And now, Peter Troy investigates the blue-eyed brazen. Friends, in a lifetime study of the week or six, I've come to one startling conclusion. The guy that tagged the word weaker onto the label was out of his mind.

Take Julie my secretary for instance. Now she can reduce a fellow with bulging muscles into a quivering jelly, just by giving out with one gentle smile. Take another for instance. Take Hetty Jensen. Now there is a blue-eyed bundle of sheer dynamite for you.

Hetty can get more out of a man with a murmured sigh than the income-tax boys can squeeze out with a bundle of rits. Yes sir, just one murmured sigh. Mmm. It's yours, Heddie. It's all yours.

Mmm. You like it? You show me a single girl in London town who doesn't adore me, Kurt. Oh, yes, I like it. I love it. Well, hey, you better take this too. What is it?

It goes with a coat. Just the insurance policy. Mmm. Two thousand pounds. That's the valuation on it, Heddie. Don't go leaving it in any railway trains, huh? I won't leave it out of my side, Rick.

Mm. I've never given a woman a minke-coat before. I'm glad. Come to think of it, I've never spent that much money on anyone, look by so. It's appreciated, I assure you it. Oh, I'll treasure this all my life.