The Grecian Goddess

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. What much you can do about it, I guess, except, like Julie always says...

Well, self-plea, please, it's right. And now, Peter Troy investigates the Grecian goddess. It doesn't take much to bring the walls of Troy a tumbling down, says Julie, my female Major Domo and typewriter jockey. Just a pair of dark eyes bordered by long, luscious lashes, hair, soft and silky, and a figure like a Grecian goddess.

Oh, and talking of Grecian goddess, this brings us to Helena, and here let us pause for a flexion. Let's think in terms of sweet music and the moonlit vista beyond the mountains of Athens. Let's think of Rosie Redlips pouting an invitation beside an Ionian olive grove.

In short, let's think of Helena. Is he dead? No. No. No. Not even a little bit. Elena, please. I have to get rid of him before we reach London. And I'll go open the compartment door and throw him out.

You are such a charming person, my dear. Those beautiful eyes of yours hide a lot. They are my fortune, Riki. And yours. Who is this man who will be Gia Tindlondon? His name is Peter Troy. He is a very competent private investigator.

Good looking. I don't know. And he's you. Ha ha ha ha. I'm worried about it. I'm worried about anything that you are concerned in. Ha ha ha ha. Oh my poor Mickey Neat. This man Troy is a reputation for being smart.

So? He's not easily fooled. He is a man, isn't he? No, of course. Then I can twine him about my little finger. Elena, he is to take me to presto, to prestasis, to your father, to Nicholas prestasis and we travel by car. Yes. And then like I say everything will be alright.