'If your husband were a private detective, and he kept talking about the body beautiful, how could you tell if he meant one of his beautiful clients, or a corpse?'

Pat was at his office in San Franscisco, and Jean was out of town visiting her family. It was about six in the evening, and the lights of the Golden Gate Bridge were just beginning to wink at Pat. Naturally, he was desperately lonesome without Jean, so he called long distance, before his new client arrived...