The Lady Detective
Martha sat down at her desk, palms flat. “What a week,” she said to no one. She pulled open a side drawer and took out her case book to make her very first entries. She started with the date, August 21, 1912, then began to write, now and then fanning herself with her scented handkerchief. The clean smell helped her to feel cooler even if the stirring air did nothing.
She stopped for a moment to look out the window. She had taken the office, not only for its inexpensive price, but for the view onto the street. She had wondered why an office so splendidly situated cost so little. Now she knew. She couldn’t open the windows for the dust that came off the street. Not to mention the noise and smoke from the motor cars, too many of which tore up and down the street, scaring the horse-drawn carts and carriages. As Los Angeles was now experiencing the height of August’s heat, Martha was stifling in the closed up room. “I’ll have to purchase a kerosene motor fan for when clients come,” she thought out loud. “It would be rude and embarrassing not to.”
She had opened her office the previous Monday morning. And, most fortuitously, she had her first client by the middle of the day. There had been two additional visitors during the course of the week, both visiting in the morning when the heat wasn’t so terrible. The thought of her client brought Martha back to her casebook and she took up her pen again.
Martha Vangle, Private Detective. The caretaker had just finished the stenciling on the office door front when the woman had arrived. She was middle-aged, not very handsome, but dressed in well-kept clothes of medium quality. She looked extremely nervous and a bit haggard. Her name was Mrs. Beadie.
[Read more by downloading the PDF below]
Martha sat down at her desk, palms flat. “What a week,” she said to no one. She pulled open a side drawer and took out her case book to make her very first entries. She started with the date, August 21, 1912, then began to write, now and then fanning herself with her scented handkerchief. The clean smell helped her to feel cooler even if the stirring air did nothing.
She stopped for a moment to look out the window. She had taken the office, not only for its inexpensive price, but for the view onto the street. She had wondered why an office so splendidly situated cost so little. Now she knew. She couldn’t open the windows for the dust that came off the street. Not to mention the noise and smoke from the motor cars, too many of which tore up and down the street, scaring the horse-drawn carts and carriages. As Los Angeles was now experiencing the height of August’s heat, Martha was stifling in the closed up room. “I’ll have to purchase a kerosene motor fan for when clients come,” she thought out loud. “It would be rude and embarrassing not to.”
She had opened her office the previous Monday morning. And, most fortuitously, she had her first client by the middle of the day. There had been two additional visitors during the course of the week, both visiting in the morning when the heat wasn’t so terrible. The thought of her client brought Martha back to her casebook and she took up her pen again.
Martha Vangle, Private Detective. The caretaker had just finished the stenciling on the office door front when the woman had arrived. She was middle-aged, not very handsome, but dressed in well-kept clothes of medium quality. She looked extremely nervous and a bit haggard. Her name was Mrs. Beadie.
[Read more by downloading the PDF below]

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