The Minx In Mink

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 South neat Peter Troy. And now, Peter Troy investigates the mink in mink. Julie sees the gallow-wheel-to-wicket-type rider in my office, often comes out with cute little maxims like, uh, Walk South neat Peter Troy or...

You can't live forever, Peter Troy, or one morning you'll wake up very dead, Peter Troy. Always optimistic. Always looking on the bright side of things. That's my girl Friday. Anyway, you'll meet her again soon.

And you'll wonder why I didn't take more notice of her. Especially when there are women like Evelyn the Via Hennessy floating around London town. Now Evelyn was a high-toned girl. She liked to keep her mind on a higher plane. She had raven black hair.

The figure that could give a man sleepless nights, and the voice that could send shivers up a spine. But Roxy Kramer never got the shivers. But it's all quite straightforward, isn't it? I want my husband killed, that's all.

That's all. We'll put you on to me, lady. Frankie Saber. Oh, now come on. You think I don't know, Frankie? Well, not exactly, but I get around to asking myself how the VA Hennessy's wife comes into contact with a slick operator like Frankie Saber.

I wasn't always Hennessy's wife. I was a pretty slick operator myself before. You married into half a million times. Exactly. You do take commissions like this, don't you? Frankie said you were a specialist. Yes, I'm a specialist.