The Sunday Pigeon Murders

Bingo sat down on the sagging couch and reached for the remaining bottle of beer. "Shut up," he said to the speechless Handsome. "I'm thinking fast."

"The prints," Handsome began timidly. "Don't you want me to make--"

"This one is all we need," Bingo told him. He went on gazing at it. "Do you know where Harkness Penneyth lives?"

Handsome blinked. "In 1934," he said, "he lived just off Central Park West. It was a little, sort of yellow-colored apartment house. There was a tailor shop next door." He paused. "You want the number too?"

"Never mind," Handsome said. "That was seven years ago, and he's probably moved by now. But we'll find him."

Handsome asked, "Do you think he'd want to buy that picture?"

"No," Bingo told him, "but I think he'd like to buy Mr. Pigeon." He looked dreamily into space. "First, Handsome, we've got to find Mr. Pigeon and hide him. Hide him good, and fix it so h