 What wasn't abnormal in the detective kit?
One out of every three dirty stories started by party attendees had remained unfinished, because each had reminded someone else of another story. The recently developed liquors which affected the bloodstream three times faster had driven away twinges of conscience about untrimmed trees and midnight church services. "It's all in the spirit of good, clean fun!" cried Mr. Hawkins, the assistant general manager. Mr. Hawkins himself, acting by reflex, attempted to return the portrait to its place until new glass could be obtained. "We'd better put old H. H. away for safekeeping until after the holiday," he told a small, blonde salesclerk who was beneath his attention on any working day. Hawkins rolled the picture like a scroll and put it into a desk drawer, for later attention. He bent, reached painfully over his potbelly and picked up the order form. "Unless—" he said it loud enough for the employes to scent a great proposal and the room grew quiet—"unless we broke the rules just once and used the time warp on a big mission!" We were always told that it must be used only for complaints within three days." Mr. Hawkins downed the rest of his drink and pulled a batch of keys from his pocket. But the familiar RATTLE OK sticker was pasted onto the box, indicating to the delivery man that the contents would make a rattling sound and therefore hadn't been broken in shipment. She found scissors in her sewing box, tossed a cushion onto the floor, sat on it, and began to open the parcel.
 the flashlight
 the white powder  the toy gun  the Detectolite  the flashlight