50 Easy Lessons
Maybe Burleigh was a bonehead. Maybe he’d never be a good detective. But he got his man . . . and his girl
WILBUR S. PEACOCK
Home Detective Course, Chicago, Illinois.
MR. BURLEIGH HARRIS, Bank of the Maritimes, Halifax, N.S., Canada.
Dear Mr. Harris:
According to our records, as of this date, we have not received completed Lesson 39 of the Home Detective Course. We realize that the lesson may have become lost in the mail, in which event we would appreciate having the enclosed duplicate lesson filled out and returned.
We believe you realize the necessity of completing the entire course, tor you have shown great natural ability in preparing your lessons, and we want to impress upon you again that we are your friends as well as your teachers. If you are in doubt about anything, please do not hesitate to query us, for we shall be only too glad to help you in every way.
You have successfully passed the test and made high marks in make-up, disguises, shadowing, dactyloscopy (fingerprint identification), jujitsu, skip-tracing, modus operandi of criminal types, identifying criminal types, as well as other phases
of criminology. Can you afford to let a fine career slip through your fingers because of carelessness?
Of course not!
Therefore, may we suggest you send in the duplicate lesson, and when it is graded and returned, Lesson 40 will be mailed to you.
According to our contract with you, we also find an installment of $37.50 is due at this time. Please enclose a cheque with the returned lesson.
Good luck to you, and never forget that the world needs trained men, and you will be truly trained, when your course is finished. Sincerely,
Secretary to the President.
Junior Businessmen’s Club Halitax, N.S.
Home Detective Course,
Dear Miss Palmer:
I guess maybe I owe you an explanation, because I’m now two lessons behind in my Home Detective Course.
You see, I’m
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in love with Terry, and she doesn’t approve of detectives. Not, you understand, that she’s an anarchist; it’s just that she doesn’t think I should be a detective. In fact, that’s what we’ve been arguing about mostly since first I started the course.
Now I don’t like arguing, and especially arguing with Terry, for her blue eyes snap and she tosses her hair back, and my heart goes mushy in mv
chest, and I just can’t fight. Not that I like fighting, you understand, unless it would be to smack Herb Hollister in the teeth when he takes Terry out to dinner at night when Terry’s father makes me come in and work just so she can go out with Herb.
Herb’s the teller, and he and I just never did hit it off, not even when I first came to the bank and neither of us went around with Terry. Of course I don’t have much trouble with him any more, since I threw him into the vault one day, using the jujitsu of Lesson 21.
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Mr. Bartlett, that’s Terry’s father, almost fired me, hut he changed his mind, and so I got to keep my job. I was glad of that, because living in the city is expensive, not like back home, and anyway, I think there’s a future here in the bank for me.
Perry didn’t like my throwing Herb into the vault, but Herb stays out of my way mostly now; and since Terry didn’t hold any grudge, I guess it was all right.
Anyway, that’s mostly the reason I’m not filling in the lesson for the Home Detective Course. It’s not that I don’t want to be a detective, it’s just that Terry doesn’t approve.
So I guess I’ll just have to drop the rest of the course, for Terry is more important to me than being a detective; and anyway, maybe being a banker won’t be so bad.
So don’t send any more lessons.
Plome Detective Course, Chicago, Illinois.
Mr. Burleigh Harris,
Bank of the Maritimes,
Halifax, N.S., Canada.
Dear Mr. Harris:
While your letter was rather confusing in spots, we did manage to sift out the pertinent facts, hence this letter.
You must realize that anyone can be a banker, while very few people have the foresight to train as a detective. Both are fine careers, but crime prevention and detection is much the better. Figure it out for yourself. Bankers grow stuffy and old before their time. They sit behind desks and never have any fun, while detectives live glamorous exciting lives. They meet the best people, travel in the best circles, go on dangerous missions. Terry would be proud of you with your badge and your exciting experiences. And think of your country! You will be helping it to grow, by stamping out crime and making it safe for tiny children and old women.
You owe it to yourself to become a detective; you knew that, when you signed for the entire course of 50 lessons.
Therefore, may we suggest that you fill out and mail in Lesson 39, 40 and 41. You have shown extraordinary talent, particularly in make-up and disguise, and we believe you will be the finest graduate the Home Detective Course has ever turned out. Don’t let yourself down! Or us! Or the world!
Incidentally, please enclose the amount of $37.50, which is three weeks overdue.
Mabelee Palmer, Secretary to the President.
City Jail, Halifax, N.S.
Home Detective Course,
Dear Miss Palmer:
I’m sorry I didn’t have time to answer your letter before this, but I’ve been rather busy.
I guess, seeing as how you work with detectives a lot, you won’t be shocked to know I’ve been in jail for several days.
It isn’t any fun, even if I have been training to be a detective, for the cells are small and the beds are hard to sleep on.
It all began last Monday, when I received a letter from Aunt Minnie, who married Uncle Clarence. There was $1,000 in the envelope, and a note
which said that the money was my share of Uncle Clarence’s estate.
I hadn’t even known Uncle Clarence was sick, and while 1 was glad to get the money, I still felt sorry for Aunt Minnie. So I made a long-distance call to her, and Uncle Clarence answered the phone. That wasn’t so good, because Uncle Clarence is deaf.
Also, it made me suspicious that something was wrong, as you can understand.
Well, after I’d talked a while, I hung up, and tried to use Lesson 16 to reason things out.
As the lesson says: Rationalize all
extraordinary happenings, correlating every clue, and arrive at a conclusion.
I rationalized and correlated, and came to the conclusion that somebody was playing a joke on me.
But it did seem strange that the joke would be so expensive to somebody; it didn’t seem just right. The money was all in new $100 bills, and 1 thought for a time there might have been a mistake.
Unfortunately I must have dropped the letter and envelope in the wastebasket, for they had disappeared when I returned to my room from making my phone call. It didn’t matter, though, so I put the money in my billfold, and went on with my bookkeeping.
I figured something would turn up if I waited, as Lesson 11 says about Procedure; and so, even if I was puzzled, I still went ahead with my work, for the books have to be finished in time for the auditors to look them over.
About noon Terry came into the bank, and gee! she was a knockout. Her hair was like spun sunlight, and her blue eyes smiled with little dancing lights in them, and the dress she wore was brown and white and really something.
She stopped and said hello, and then went in back to see her father. Herb was looking my way, but he didn’t do anything; I guess he remembered my jujitsu.
Well, Terry came back, and we went to lunch. I grinned at Herb as we went out and he just glowered and turned away. We went to the restaurant where we go when we have lunch together, we talked and laughed, and I fell more in love with her every minute. I tell you, if I’d been making good money I’d have popped the question right there. But a fellow can’t just ask his boss’ daughter to marry him, at least not until he’s proved himself.
We had dessert and coffee and then left. I paid the check, and Terry saw the extra $1,000 in my billfold.
“Why, Burleigh!” she said. “Where did you ever get so much money?” “Saved it,” I said nonchalantly, knowing she wouldn’t believe the joke that had been played on me. And anyway, I wanted to impress her.
I hat was a mistake, as I found out later.
Well, we went back to the bank, and I began doing my bookkeeping again; and after a while Mr. Bartlett sent for me.
I here seems to be a discrepancy here, Harris,” he said. “Would yoii mind taking a look?”
He pushed a ledger toward me, and I looked at it. I found the mistake right away, and pointed it out. He thanked me, and asked me to sit down. He’d never been so friendly before, and while it was strange to be on such familiar terms with him, well, I figured maybe it was a good thing to have happen.
“I understand you’ve saved quite a bit of money, Burleigh,” he said, using my given name for the first time.
“Well, no,” I said honestly, not wanting to get too deep into the
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Uncle Clarence’s estate.”
matter. “It’s really my share of
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Mr. Bartlett said. “I didn’t know there’d been a recent death in your family.”
“Oh, Uncle Clarence isn’t dead,” I said. “It was just a joke played on me by somebody.”
“Oh!” Mr. Bartlett said.
Did I ever tell you that he is kind of fat, and his face is red? Well, he is and it is, and now he must have choked on cigar smoke, for he got redder than ever.
“Funny sort of joke,” I said, laughing. “Probably a mistake. The money must be for somebody with the same name.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Mr. Bartlett said. “Well, get back to work, Burleigh —we’ll talk again later.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, and went back to my office.
The rest of the day went pretty fast, and about 3.30 I was through, so I left.
I guess, like you say, I’m a naturalborn detective, for when I got outside I saw that Herb Hollister was leaving, and I decided to try out Lesson 6 and shadow him.
YOU know, being a detective is kind of expensive. I had to take two taxis and a bus to follow him home. We were almost two hours getting to wnere he lived. The neighborhood was run-down, children playing in the streets, and the house where he lived was a scabby three-story frame place.
I didn’t go in, naturally, just waited outside, and after a bit I saw him in a window upstairs. I thought he saw me, but I could have been wrong.
Well, I went back to the Club and changed clothes, then went out and had supper. Later I went to a show. I was disappointed in the picture, for I figured out the killer long before Humphrey Bogart did. Still, I guess maybe he’s just an actor without any special detective training like I’ve got.
I went back to the Club and to bed. About four in the morning detectives unlocked my door and came in and arrested me and took me down to jail. Mr. Bartlett was there, and some other people, and they all started asking questions at once.
It took me a long time to figure out what they wanted, and when I did figure it out, I hit the ceiling.
“Me steal the bank’s money!” I said to Mr. Bartlett. “You’re crazy, Mr. Bartlett!”
“Yeah!” Some big man, who kept blowing smoke in my face, pushed me back into my chair again.
“Yeah!” somebody else said.
“Yeah!” I said.
Lesson 9, “How to act when under arrest,” told me how to act then. But it was sort of hard to concentrate, what with the questions that were being flung at me by everybody. Still, I think you would have been proud of the way I reacted, except when it came to the money in my billfold. When I tried to explain how I got it, nobody believed me. One policeman even called Uncle Clarence and asked him about our phone conversation, but Uncle Clarence’s hearing being what it is, the policeman didn’t get to first base.
I guess I yelled a bit then, but the others yelled louder, and finally I shut up. When everybody was quiet Mr. Bartlett turned to me, and his big red face was awfully solemn.
“Burleigh,” he said, “this will break my daughter’s heart. Why not confess you’ve embezzled money from the bank? Then you can throw yourself on the mercy of the court. After all, my boy, honesty is the best policy.”
I drew myself up, which was hard to
do, what with a policeman’s hand on my shoulder.
“Terry knows that I am not a thief,”
I said. “I shall say nothing.”
“Take him away,” the man behind the desk said.
My cell was draughty and somewhat like a well-kept tomb. Other people were in other cells, and none of them spoke to me except a big man in the cell next to mine, and when he found out I didn’t have any cigarettes he rolled over and went back to sleep.
I guess I was plenty blue then. Nobody in my family had ever been in jail, and I knew mom would take it pretty hard when she found out. I sat on the bed, trying to think, and I was blue and mad and plenty sick of everything.
I knew a mistake had been made, but even knowing that didn’t help my feelings. I sat and brooded, and when the guard came around with breakfast, all I could take was the coffee.
I got mad and thought about a suit for false arrest, remembering the things I had learned in Lesson 6 of the Home Detective Course, and after I thought of that I felt a bit better.
Anyway, I sat and thought, and when the man in the next cell spoke to me I didn’t turn around for a minute.
“Listen, punk,” the man said at last, “I’m talking to you.”
“Sorry,” I apologized, “I was thinking about something else.”
“Oh!” He studied me for a moment, then smiled a bit. “First time in stir, eh?”
“Yes,” I admitted, figuring out what he meant, “and I can’t say I like it.”
I liked him right off, I don’t know why. Oh, he was an obvious criminal, his head structure being of the AB2 type, with the full nostrils and prognathous jawline of the schizoid, as explained in Lesson 18. But even so, I saw kindness in his eyes.
“Tough,” he said to me. “What they hang the sack on you for?”
“Sack?” I said.
“What’s the beef, the rap; what’s the
“Oh, you mean what am I here for!” “You latch fast, kid,” the man said. Well, like I said, I was blue, so I told him the whole story. I explained about Terry and Herb and Mr. Bartlett, and just about everything. He listened, clucking his tongue in sympathy.
“Somebody handed you a hot one, kid,” he said at last. “You really got the dirty end of the stick.”
He went on to tell me about himself, and I had to feel sorry for him. It seems he was an orphan, just barely managing to live, and because of a youthful mistake or two, he had been forced into a life of crime. His name was Gats Hannegan, and I remembered reading about him in the paper. But when I said so he seemed to get mad.
“It’s a frame,” he said hoarsely. “I never shot nobody. I never touched a gun in my life. The cops just got to have a fall guy, so they elected me. I’m > really a peace-loving citizen; I love farm life and cows and chickens and corn.”
He told me a lot more, but there’s no sense in repeating it here. Anyway, I realized then that you had been right— the country does need trained men for crime prevention. Here we were, two innocent men, locked in the bowels of a jail, and there was absolutely nothing we could do about it.
I was just telling Mr. Gats Hannegan that when the police came and took me to court. The magistrate set my bail at $5,000 and bound me over for trial. He asked about a lawyer, and I told him I would not need one, being innocent.
Naturally, not having the bail money, I was brought back to the cell,
where I’ve been ever since. I’ve had a lot of time to think as well as talk, and I’ve just about decided to go back home to Antigamogamish the minute I get out of this mess. 1 guess the auditors are going over the bank’s books by now —but except for being questioned that one time, nobody has been to see me.
And that hurts, for I figured Terry, at least, would come by. However, she hasn’t, so I guess she’s really not interested in me.
I did manage to have some of my personal stuff brought from the Club, and, as I said, I’m enclosing the finished lessons. I naturally can’t send the money owed, for the court stopped my drawing on my bank account. But the minute I’m free, I’ll send the amount due.
Well, since this letter is extremely long, I’ll close.
Disclaim any responsibility for any of your actions Stop According to sworn statement you claimed to be of good habits and without a criminal record Stop Your name hereby being taken from rolls of Home Detective Course Stop Your attested statement swears you would not use course information for criminal gains Stop If you implicate us even by innuendo will sue for libel Stop
J. C. Govern
President Home Detective Course
J. C. Govern, President,
Home Detective Course,
Dear Mr. Govern:
Well, here I am back in the old cell again. My hand is still sore from using the machine gun when Gats Hannegan and I went to the bank, but I can still handle a pen, so maybe I’d better tell you what happened after I wrote that last letter.
First, though, I was very hurt and surprised at your telegram, for I never had any intentions of implicating you in what has happened. It wasn’t right to make such an accusation, at least not until you had heard all of the facts.
As I told you, I was thrown into jail on embezzlement charges, what with having money I couldn’t explain. I figured a mistake had been made, but even that didn’t help my thoughts any.
Terry never came by the entire time I was in jail, and that hurt. Herb sent a carton of cigarettes, but since I don’t smoke, I passed them out to the other prisoners. Mr. Bartlett came by just once, trying to find out exactly where I had done my embezzlement, and went away sore when I told him I was innocent.
Anyway, I was in jail for four days, and then, on the last day, Mr. Bartlett dropped the charges he had made, and I was permitted to go free. Mr. Bartlett took me home in his limousine, and you never heard such apologizing in your life.
“Burleigh,” he said, “I gave you a chance at the bank—I was always your friend. This entire affair has been a mistake, and I want to apologize. Now I know you may be rather bitter, but you must realize that I have to protect the bank’s interests.”
“All right,” I said, not feeling like pussyfooting, “what did you find out about the books?”
“Well, we did find mistakes, not criminal mistakes, of course,” Mr.
Bartlett said, and his laugh was hollow as though coming from a well. “It was foolish of me to jump to conclusions, and I want to apologize.”
“Mr. Bartlett,” I said, trying to talk like Gats Hannegan, “you’re going to pay for that jump!”
I’d been waiting a long time for an opportunity like this, and I wanted to squeeze him a bit. 1 didn’t really plan to do anything, of course. I just wanted to frighten him. What with Terry never coming near me, and being unjustly accused and everything, I was feeling pretty bitter.
Well, he took me back to the Club. I went up to my room, and after taking a shower and shaving, I dressed and lay on the bed, listening to the radio.
There was a knock on the door, and when I opened it Terry came in.
“Good gravy!” I said. “Get out of here; women aren’t allowed in the dormitory.”
“Oh, pish!” Terry said, and hugged me tight.
The room just sort of constricted into a noose about my throat. Here was Terry, slim and pulse-pounding, and as phony as a lead dollar, hugging me in the Junior Businessmen’s Club. It was enough to cause a scandal.
“Leave go,” I said. “This is just fine. You couldn’t find time to visit me in jail, but you can show up here and maybe get me in another jam.”
“Burleigh,” Terry said, “I was dating Herb, that’s why I didn’t come to see you.”
The radio was playing, but I couldn’t hear the music. My heart was on a down escalator.
“That’s fine,” I said. “That’s just dandy!”
“Burleigh,” Terry said, “you’ve got
to listen. I’ve been acting a part with Herb, and last night he admitted he’d made some changes in your books, just to get you fired.”
“He what!” I was suddenly so mad I was shaking.
“That’s right, he wanted you fired. Daddy’s got the police looking for him now. He’s disappeared.”
The door pushed open.
“Hello, Burleigh,” Gats Hannegan said cheerfully, and slid into the room. His eyes lit up when he saw Terry. “Teh, tch!” he finished. “I didn’t know you had company.”
“Gats!” I said. “What are you doing here?”
The radio answered me.
“Flash!” the announcer said. “Thirty minutes ago Gats Hannegan, held on armed robbery charges, overpowered two guards and shot his way to freedom. He is armed and desperate, and—”
Gats Hannegan shut off the radio. “That’s me,” he said proudly, and showed his revolver for the first time. “Eek!” Terry yipped.
“Shuddup, sister, and you won’t get hurt,” Gats Hannegan said.
I sat up straight. “Don’t talk like that to Terry, Gats,” I said. “I don’t like it.”
“Terry, huh! The him who didn’t even come to see you in the clink.” “I’ve explained that,” Terry quavered. “Anyway, it’s none of your business, Mr. Gats.”
“Okay, okay, lady,” Gats Hannegan said, and leaned against the wall. “Look, Burleigh,” he finished, “I’m in a jam, and I need your help.”
“Not me,” I said. “I’m through breaking laws.”
I could have parked a truck in the gaping muzzle of Gats’ gun.
“You’re gonna help, Burleigh,” he said, and his voice was like a rasp on metal. “Get out your make-up kit and get to work.”
“Huh?” I said.
“I need a new face,” Gats Hannegan said. “The cops have got this town sewed up tight, and I’ll never get out, looking this way.”
“You’re crazy!” I said.
“Okay, I’ve tried to be nice,” Gats said, and his little eyes filled full of fire.
“Do it, Burleigh,” Terry said suddenly. “He’s got a gun.”
“Now that’s being smart, lady,” Gats said, and then turned to me. “I like you, see,” he finished. “But if you try anything phony, I’m gonna push a couple of slugs through your belly. Now quit stalling and get out that make-up kit you’re so proud of.” Well, to make a long story short, I did a make-up job on Gats Hannegan, disguising him completely. 1 fitted a wig over his black hair, worked his eyebrows over, changed the shape of his cheeks with padding, and generally made a new man out of him.
I enjoyed the job, after I started, and you would have been proud of my handiwork. I’d really absorbed Lesson 14, and I used every bit of skill in me to change Gats’ appearance.
Terry watched, amazement on her face, as Gats changed to a man 15 years younger. She blinked at the speed with which I worked, and once she started to say something, but changed her mind.
He borrowed one of my suits, which bagged a bit on him, making Terry and me turn our faces to the wall; and then he looked at himself in the dresser mirror.
“By the lord high Harry, you are good, kid,” he said. “I’d never know myself, the jerk you’ve made me into.” “Yeah!” I said. “Well, good-by, Gats.”
“Huh, uh!” Gats shook his head. “We got another errand to do. We’re gonna visit the bank where you work.” His gun came up, and it was strange to hear his voice coming through that new face.
“Don’t try nothing,” he said, “or I give it to the lady. Don’t speak to nobody, and don’t cause no trouble. Just follow orders, and nobody’ll get hurt. Now march.”
We marched, Terry and me first, and Gats coming along behind. We went down the steps, instead of the elevator, and even though the clerk and Club manager yelled to me in the lobby, we went right ahead out to Gats’ stolen car.
“You drive, kid,” Gats said to me. “The lady and I’ll he in the back seat, so don’t do anything foolish. Now get going.”
So I drove. I took no chances, for I was beginning to realize that this Gats Hannegan was a very tough criminal. Traffic cops looked at us, but just waved us on, and I wondered if all of them were blind.
I parked in front of the bank, leaving the motor running like Gats said to do, and then all three of us got out of the car and went into the bank. I was shaking, for I figured this was just about the last chance 1 had to stop Gats.
“Don’t get ideas, kid,” Gats said, as though reading my thoughts; and my stomach turned over when I saw that he had a submachine gun bundled in an overcoat.
It was almost closing time, and the bank was deserted, except for the clerks and about five customers. We went across the lobby and toward Mr. Bartlett’s office, and nobody paid any attention.
Mr. Bartlett’s secretary smiled as
we went through the gate, and then bent over her typewriter again. I wanted to yell, and the cold sweat on my back was like crushed ice cubes.
“In!” Gats said softly, and I opened the door of Mr. Bartlett’s office.
Two men were there, Mr. Bartlett and a thin old fellow I recognized.
“Burleigh!” the thin man said, and came to his feet. His hair was white, and he was old, but he grabbed my hand and pumped it vigorously.
“Uncle Clarence!” I said.
Mr. Bartlett came slowly to his feet, and I got a glimpse of his face, redder than ever as he stared at Gats.
“There he is, there’s the ciook!” he bellowed. “Help, police!”
“Get back!” Gats Hannegan said, and sudden panic was in his voice. Here he had walked into a bank, wearing a new face, and had been instantly recognized. It was enough to break anybody’s nerve!
“Help!” Mr. Bartlett screamed again. “Police!”
I slapped Terry. I hauled off and knocked her clear across the room. There wasn’t anything else I could do. She had to be out of the way. Then I went for Gats.
He hit me with everything but the rug. He tried to use the machine gun, but I kicked him in the stomach, using Lesson 24, Commando Tactics, and he doubled forward, the machine gun skidding against the wall.
“Smack him, Burleigh!” Uncle Clarence was yelling, and waving an ash stand in futile waggles for a clear shot at Gats.
I smacked Gats. I hit him with a left and a right and another left. Then he hit me.
The office whirled, and a ball of white fire exploded in my jaw. I bounced off the wall, square into his other fist. He was grunting, trying to knock me out.
I hit him, and his wig fell off. I bopped him, and his cheek pads spurted across the room. I wiped my knuckles along his jaw, and his make-up was suddenly lopsided.
« Accidentally, I smacked Mr. Bartlett. It felt good, so I accidentally looped another his way. He sat down, hard.
Gats was sore. I could tell it by his eyes. So when he picked up a chair to crown me, I kneed him, then used jujitsu, like in Lesson 21. He went over my head and lit beside the machine gun.
I just beat him to it, but I must have clutched the trigger, for bullets began to spray over the room. Things had happened so fast, the guard was just beginning to run toward the office. Slugs came through the glass door, they tell me, and took off his hat. Women screamed, men fainted, and the burglar alarm began to bong.
Then Uncle Clarence smacked me with the ash stand.
That’s all I remember, until I woke up here. The guard tells me I’m here for trying to rob the bank with Gats, and Gats is in the next cell, threatening to break my neck for stopping his bank robbery.
I guess maybe that’s about all for now.
Junior Businessmen’s Club.
Halifax, N.S. Home Detective Course,
Dear Mr. J. C. Govern, President:
I’m back at the Club. Everything is cleared up now.
The police captured Herb—he was in the old apartment house to which I had followed him a few days ago. He confessed he had tampered with
my books, trying to get me into trouble. I think he’ll get off with a suspended sentence.
Uncle Clarence is leaving for home tonight, and taking his $1,000 with him. I told him I didn’t want it, at least not until he dies. And I guess I hurt his feelings when I told him his idea of dividing up his estate among his heirs before he died was silly. Anyway, he’s going back. I’m grateful, of course, that he should come to the city to help me out of the jam he suspected I was in, but I sort of blame him for helping me get in that jam. If he hadn’t had Aunt Minnie send the $1,000, I’d never have gotten into it.
Mr. Bartlett’s speaking to me again. His swollen jaw is going down nicely, and he’s convinced my clipping him was an accident.
And Terry, well, I’m to meet her in an hour. Wish us luck, Mr. Govern. Sincerely,
Glad you got out of jam Stop Details a bit garbled Stop Seventy five dollars due on course Stop Why did Bartlett recognize Hannegan Stop J. C. Govern
President Home Detective Course
Home Detective Course,
Wonderful here Stop Wonderful everywhere Stop Knew police were looking for Herb Hollister so disguised Gats as Herb Stop Mailing cheque for balance owed Stop Giving up detective course Stop Send literature of courses on home economics and baby rearing St°P Burleigh Harris. ★