The Case of the Camera

It was a day like any other when he walked into my office. He was wearing a suit, well-pressed, and a crushed fedora that shadowed his dark eyes. "Detective," he said, "I need your help. My favorite camera has gone missing. I must find it! Will you help me?" I consented. After all, it seemed like an easy job. I pulled out my sliding pouch to take notes. On its front was an old-style camera, printed in a shade of deep brown. You could see the pencils sealed tightly inside through the camera's clear lens. "That's it!" cried the man suddenly! He pointed to my case. "That's what the camera looks like!" I looked at the case, dumped my pencils out, put in my private eye necessities, and, case in hand, stood up and walked to the door. "I'll have the camera back for you within 24 hours," I told the man. Then, holding the heroic camera-print pouch in front of me, I strode out the door, ready to solve yet another mystery with the help of my favorite case.