The door hit the wall just as the bourbon hit the back of my throat. My hand went to my shoulder holster, but I kept my cool. It don't always pay to ask questions later in the private investigation business - after all, nothing keeps its yap shut like a bullet-riddled corpse.

Framed in the corridor was my latest case. She was a messed-up dame all right: half Minesweeper, half Cluedo. "Pull up a chair, ya crazy broad," I growled, pouring a second glass. "Sit down and spill the beans."

Boy, did she have a story to tell - a real chin-scratcher, make no mistake, with more ins and outs than a plate of spaghetti. But there was just one problem - by the time she'd blabbed her fill, my Raymond Chandler impersonation had run out of steam.

"Look Toots," I said, eyeing the windows. "Why don't you and me just forget this ever happened. Go play free games."

Play ClueSweeper