It’s nice to be a millionaire.

Money can buy you darn near anything. It can buy you things you’re only supposed to get for love. It can buy you the best-looking women—in a city where good-looking women come high.

It can buy a professional private eye—like Peter Chambers—to make sure the girls stay bough.

It can buy you the roughest, toughest strong-arm men going—if the private eye gets too interested in his work.

In fact, Chambers’s millionaires can even buy a murder.

The trouble is, he never knows when the murder is going to be his own.