 What wasn't abnormal in the detective kit?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction December 1956. 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. The janitor foreman weighed fifty pounds less than the Burma gentleman, who was the salesman's customary opponent. "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. To hear more of it, he said to her: "I'll bet that's been in there ever since the picture was framed. The flap popped open and an old-fashioned order blank fell out. He bent, reached painfully over his potbelly and picked up the order form. Milly was reading aloud the scrawled words on the order form: "Best electric doorbell. "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. Mr. Hawkins put his arm around Milly in a way that he intended to look fatherly. 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. Two-year-old Sally heard the box rattling. She waddled up on chubby legs and grabbed her mother's skirt. She found scissors in her sewing box, tossed a cushion onto the floor, sat on it, and began to open the parcel. The twine sprang away from the carton as if it were alive. Instead, she tossed the wrappings aside and removed the lid from the carton. "It's probably the wrong size, too," Ann said, pulling off Sally's dress to try it on. Its lid contained a single word: MANKY.
 the flashlight
 the white powder  the toy gun  the Detectolite  the flashlight